CHAPTER | EIGHT
I leaned forward and rubbed my chin. My brows were furrowed in concentration. I timidly lifted my hand and then shook my hand, lowering my hand down to my lap.
As I tried to figure out how to trap Tristian in chess, the said devil was pacing around the living room, pausing often to pull out a book and slide it back in.
"You should have practiced before bringing it out." Tristian commented, pulling out Drakon's old science textbook and flipping through the pages.
"I did practice." I said in an almost hushed voice.
Tristian only hummed in respond and leaned on the couch with the book still in his hands. I sighed and decided to move one of my few pawns towards his knight. I slapped my hands on my thighs and Tristian looked over his shoulder for a mere second.
"Move my rook over your bishop." He commended.
I lifted his piece and groaned, thumping my head down on the table. Tristian cleared his throat as if trying to hide his amusement.
"It's not funny." I muttered, my voice muffled.
It had been two weeks since we started hanging out. At first, it was awkward. He didn't seem comfortable sitting anywhere and kept his hands to himself as if afraid to touch anything without permission. We hardly had anything to say and mostly played chess at first.
By the second week, he walked freely around the living room and commented more. Though he didn't ask about my personal life, I often found myself biting my tongue. I knew I shouldn't ask. With just one look, one could have a billion of questions.
But none would be answered. He closed himself off, I noted.
"I was not laughing." He said, closing the book.
I lifted my head up and rested my chin on the table. I nibbled on my bottom lip as Tristian started pacing again.
"Do you want to play another game?" I asked before thinking it through. My mouth snapped shut and my cheeks felt warm.
Tristian didn't seem to sense my regret as he paused in front of a picture of Drakon. "What game?"
I cleared my throat and started putting the pieces away. "It's more of a 'getting to know each other' game. You see, we each ask a set of twenty or so questions about what you want to know about the other player."
Tristian slowly nodded as he went down the line of photographs. "We can ask anything?"
"Well, that depends on how you feel about the question." I said, noticing his posture tense slightly.
"I'm fine with it then. Do you want to start?" He asked, not once turning to look at me.
"Um, sure." I said, caught off guard. I was positively sure he would have rejected my suggestion or made an excuse to leave. "What's your favorite fruit?"
"Apples." He quickly answered. "What is yours?"
"I like cherries. What's your favorite..." I trailed, afraid to ask a very personal question when my eyes landed on the books. "Who's your favorite author?"
"Poe. What is yours?" He moved towards the fireplace, admiring the painting.
"Dr. Seuss."
Tristian looked over his shoulder. "Dr. Seuss?"
I nodded, standing up and putting the chess game away. "I've always liked the rhymes and pictures when my step-papa read it to me."
Tristian slowly nodded, taking a step to the side when I came to stand next to him. "What happened to your father?"
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and titled my head. "My biological papa was an angel in the sky before I was born. My step-papa was really who raised me along with my mama."
"Where's your step-father?" He asked, his attention focused on me.
I kept my eyes on the painting. "He died when I was around eleven."
From the corner of my eye, I could see Tristian's gloved hand clench as if holding something in. "I'm sorry for your lost."
I shrugged. I heard that too many times. "It happened a long time ago. It doesn't matter."
Tristian cleared his throat and neatly folded his hands together. "It does matter. He clearly is someone important to you."
"Was." I corrected, but Tristian shook his head and stared at the pictures. It was difficult to pinpoint which picture he was looking at.
"No matter where that person is, dead or a hundred miles away, they're still here. Sometimes you cannot sense their presence, but they are."
"You speak like a wise old man, who sits under a 'magical' tree and mediates all day." I joked, elbowing him. He didn't budge. I cleared my throat and composed myself. "But I do see where you're going with this. Who told you that?"
Tristian hesitated and shifted away a little. "My older brother."
I was taken back by that. "Brother? You live with someone?" I asked, forgetting my rules of not asking anything too personal.
Tristian lowered his head down briefly. "No," He said, voice void of emotion, but I was able to detect his sadness. "He passed away. I live alone."
I reached up and rubbed his shoulder. His body tensed under my fingers, but I didn't pull away. "It sucks losing people, huh?"
Tristian finally titled his head towards me. "Yes. It does... suck."
-------
The rolled windows allowed the wind to blow my hair around, but I didn't mind. I liked feeling the wind and hearing the roar of it as we zoomed past the vacant road.
Mr. Steven gripped the steering wheel and exhaled loudly. I reached over and gently patted his hand.
"Relax, Mr. Steven. My offer still stands y'know?" I reminded him, sitting up and kicking my bag to the side.
He exhaled deeply and shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I can drive. It's just... I feel like something is going to happen."
"A good happening or a bad happening?"
"Honestly? I don't know." He sighed, his fingers relaxing before he gripped the wheel again.
"Well," I paused, thinking of what to say to calm his nerves. "The worse that can happen in a locked hospital is a deadly virus breakout that turns everyone into zombies."
Mr. Steven chuckled. "Don't tell me you started watching that new zombie TV show."
"You mean The Walking Dead?"
He nodded.
"No. I mean I've wanted to, but I... got caught up in other things."
"Good. Don't watch it. Every Sunday night, I hear my neighbors crying and yelling at their television. 'No, don't kill him. No, don't eat that.' It drives me crazy."
I laughed and leaned back. "Yeah, TV shows have that power. When my son was around four, he was crazy about Blue's Clues and every single time I grabbed the mail, he'd sing 'We just got a letter. We just got a letter. We just got a letter. I wonder who it's from.' I started hiding the mail after four months of hearing that."
Mr. Steven chuckled. "Kids. What're you gonna do?"
I hummed in agreement and stared out the window as the tall trees slowly turned to bushes, grass, and then pavement. We entered into the city and we oddly stood out with Mr. Steven's beaten up pickup truck. My ears were assaulted with honking, chatter and construction work. The streets were packed with people and cars. The buildings were high and on all the store's windows held up autumn sales.
As we came to a stop on a red light, a person dressed as Woody and Buzz from Toy Story walked by and children screamed, refusing to go near them. The parents tugged at their arms as Woody and Buzz purposely tried to get near them. The light turned green and we were unable to go forward unless the screaming children moved. The cars started honking from both ways and I scoffed.
Oh, how I missed the city life.
I rolled the window up and watched as the parents finally crossed the street with their kids. I gazed out the window and Mr. Steven continued to drive with obvious discomfort, but I knew I shouldn't say anything. He looked like he was lost in his world as he focused on the streets before him.
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Steven drove into what looked like a gated community. I sat upright as he stopped in front of the gates, vines and leaves curled around the irons. It was almost impossible to see what was inside with the leaves in the way. A security woman came out from behind a wall, her eyes narrowed. She tapped on the window and Mr. Steven rolled the window down halfway.
"What can I help you with, sir?" She asked, her voice rough.
"I'm here to visit someone, ma'am."
The security woman leaned away and turned towards the gate, nodding and waving her hand. The gate opened and she motioned for Mr. Steven to enter. He waved grateful at her and drove inside.
"Wow... This is..." I trailed off as I stared in awe.
"Creepy. I know." Mr. Steven filled in, also staring.
The building was tall and very wide. It's gray and black stones were almost covered in vines and weeds. The trees long branches and curtain-like leaves hung around the building, swaying as the wind blew. All the windows had fences and some were even boarded up and shattered. A few ill patients walked around in gowns of white while the nurses sat or trailed behind them.
Mr. Steven drove to the parking lot around back and sighed as the engine turned off. I reached forward and tapped his hand.
"It'll be okay. I'm sure she's fine." I reassured him for the millionth time.
Mr. Steven forced a smile and nodded. We got out of the truck and made our way back towards the front entrance. It was creepy to drive by, but it felt more frightening to actually walk among the patients. We walked along a cobblestone path with bright green grass on either side.
I couldn't help, but stare as I walked behind Mr. Steven. One patient sat on the grass, her hands dirty and her hair greasy. She had her knees up as she cradled a doll to her chest, humming a familiar lullaby. She kept twitching and rocking back and forth as the nurse sat a few feet away. I looked the other way and saw another patient walking in circles, covering her head with her arms as if she scared of being struck. She kept mumbling under her breath and would look up for a split second and then shield her head again.
I tore my eyes away from the patients as we went up a few steps and entered a very dull lobby. Mr. Steven walked right up to the front desk and I stayed back as he spoke to her. I rubbed my arms as it suddenly got colder.
I stared at the only painting of a vase when Mr. Steven called me. I followed behind him as a different security woman lead us deeper into the building. She used her keys for every door we walked through and once we got to the last door, she spoke to a doctor, who brightened up when her eyes landed on Mr. Steven.
"Why, Mr. Steven! It has been so long since I saw you!" She exclaimed, coming forward after the security woman left.
Mr. Steven smiled politely. "Yes. I was caught up with a few things, so I couldn't visit as often."
Her red painted lips formed an O shape as she nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, I'm glad you could still come. Who's this?" She asked, referring to me.
"I'm Varia, a close friend of the Stevens." I introduced myself, holding my hand out.
"I'm Dr. Ross; it's a pleasure to meet you, Varia." She smiled, shaking my hand gently and then turned to Mr. Steven. "Well, I bet you want to see her. She's in the mess hall. Please, see me afterward. I would like to speak to you about certain matters."
Mr. Steven nodded and we went around her and towards a long hallway.
"Gosh, they should at least put up a painting or something. It's so boring here." I commented, wanting to cut through the tension.
Mr. Steven chuckled. "They used to have paintings, but after two patients got into a fight and used the wood to stab each other, they took 'em all down."
I blinked. "Oh..."
We came to the mess hall and a janitor was just about finish wiping the tables. Only a few patients wondered around, but one caught my eye. She sat in the corner, facing the window, but there wasn't much to see for a huge tree stood in the way. Her gray and black hair was messily tied in a bun with a few strands framing her face. Her features were soft and she seemed lost.
Mr. Steven walked first in, causing a few patients to stop and stare as he walked by. I hung back, not wanting to mess with their small reunion.
Mr. Steven sat across from her and cleared his throat. She snapped herself out of it and looked at him. Her eyes widen and her dry lips broke into a small smile. Her hands cupped his cheeks and her lips moved as she said something I couldn't hear.
I smiled as Mr. Steven covered her hands with his and leaned forwards. They spoke for a few minutes until Mr. Steven turned and waved for me to come. Belle's eyes landed on me and she stood up.
I smiled and hugged her back when she pulled me in with her fragile, but surprisingly, strong arms.
"It's been so long..." She whispered.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I'm so sorry."
She pulled away and wiped her tears with her sleeve. "For what, my dear?"
I shrugged slowly. "I don't know. For everything?" I stated, but it sounded more like a question.
She tilted her head and grabbed my hands, squeezing. "Never feel sorry for something that is out of your control. I'm okay."
"If you're okay here then why stay here?" I asked, looking around in disdain.
This time, she shrugged slowly. "It's... complicated."
I nodded as if I understood her and sat down with her. We all chatted, catching up for seemed like hours until the same security woman who showed us the way came to tell us visiting hours were over.
Mr. Steven hugged his wife goodbye and she rose on her toes, kissing his cheek. He kissed her forehead in return and went towards Dr. Ross, who stood waiting by the entrance of the mess hall.
"Ugh, I hate that bitch." Belle scoffed.
I gasped at the sudden vulgar behavior. "Why would you say that?"
"She thinks she's hot shit, but have you seen her ass? It's so flat you could write on it." She said, sitting back down.
I chuckled and stuffed my hands in my pockets. "I could see that in her."
She nodded and sighed. "Listen, Varia. I want you to be careful around him."
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Who?"
"He turned dangerous," She continued, dodging my question.
I opened my mouth to ask who again when Mr. Steven came back with Dr. Ross by his side. I side hugged Belle and promised to come back to visit mostly because she got me curious as to who I should be wary of.