Part Two of Three written by Tom Liljeholm
DAVID's POV
Mum walked me up to my room, and as we made our way up the stairs she leaned in on me as to tell me a secret and whispered, “We’ve kept your room exactly the way you left it. We knew you’d come back.”
I smiled at her and I could see how much she appreciated it.
When we reached my room, mum opened up the door for me and stood aside for me to step in. What I saw confused me a bit. The room was spotlessly clean. Pristine. Hadn’t she just said that they had left it as it was when he had left? If there was one thing that I would admit about myself, it would be that I didn’t exactly keep the tidiest of habitats. I could never be bothered with picking the dirty socks up and putting them in a basket. Making the bed had never seemed to make much sense either. It was just going to be a mess again the next morning anyhow.
But this place was quite unlike any that I had ever stayed. The books in the shelf had been alphabetically ordered. There were perfectly aligned stacks of paper at a patinated wooden desk, and everything just screamed order.
Still, I felt strangely at home as my mum made my bed with clean sheets and hugged me good night. But the feeling vanished as soon as she had gone. If my mother reminded me of my true origin, the room played quite the opposite part.
I walked over to the window -- trailing the bland wallpaper with my index finger. I looked out the window to find that it faced the back yard.
There was not much of notice outside the window. There was no pool, no trampoline, no playhouse. It didn’t seem like a place where a kid could run around and play. Besides a toolshed and a cellar door, the only thing that caught the eye was six small crosses positioned perfectly outside my window.
I felt a searing pain in the back of my neck and had to support myself against the window ledge. Then came another attack. And in a flash of bright lightning I saw myself burying the cat in one of the graves below, my father peering at me angrily.
When the flashback was over I found myself lying flat on the floor. What the fuck had just happened? I got up as gracefully as I could manage and took another look out the window. Nothing had changed. So the crosses outside my window was graves? That’s uplifting...
As tired as I was, I realized that there was nothing that would convince my brain to sleep at this point. This house was not a place that I’d ever want to live, and still – I was sure I was here for a reason.
I turned around and headed out from my room. I could hear a soft sobbing when I came out in the corridor. I tracked the sound to a door further down the hall. Gently, I swung the door open and stepped in.
Martin was sitting on his bed. He had changed out of his clothes and into pajamas that seemed a bit too big for him. “Did you inherit those from me?” I inquired.
It took a split second before I realized how what I asked must sound. Stupid, stupid David! If it’s your old pajamas, you’d know about it.
Martin didn’t seem to notice though. Instead he lit up into a big smile and nodded eagerly.
“Did I hear someone crying in here?” I asked.
Martins smile died off quickly and he shook his head, looking down on the floor.
“It’s ok. I’m your brother, right? You can tell me anything.” I prompted. I needed to know what was going on, why I was here.
Martin investigated my face for a while before he said: “It’s just... I... I don’t like it when dad gets angry with me.”
My heart bled for the little guy.
“Does he get angry with you a lot?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“No, it’s just when I talk about Alina. I know I’m not supposed to,” Martin said with numb eyes.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m just not supposed to,” he replied.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“She didn’t come back yet. Mum was really worried when she didn’t come home. And then you left too. She cried a lot then,” Martin said and I could see my question was beginning to upset him, his eyes suddenly wet and glassy.
But my spider senses had started tingling. And not in that good way either, so I kept prodding him.
“Has anyone talked to her since she left?” I asked.
“No... Can I tell you a secret David? I think Dad forced her to go. I heard him tell mum that he hid her and that no one was going to find her,” Martin said with a voice much more innocent in tone than content.
Martin leaned on top of my shoulder and squeezed me hard. As he did, I could see through the gap between his neck and pajamas that he was heavily bruised. He had been beaten badly.
I knew it! I knew this fucking family was batshit crazy, and I didn’t want to have another second of it. But the kid made me feel bad. My alternate self had apparently gathered up enough wits to break out of this hellhole. But he had left his brother – our brother – behind. How could he do that? Did that mean there was some part of me that would be capable of leaving a child behind to live amongst an abusive man? Or even worse?
I was ending this right now. I patted Martin on the cheek and told him that it was all going to be better soon before I rushed out the door. As I sprung down the stairs and through the lower corridor, I could hear my mother calling for me.
I slammed the door shut behind me, and back out in the pouring ice cold rain I realized that I had no idea where I was going. The police? I guessed that that would make sense, but I had no idea where to find a station.
The icy water splashing against my face didn’t feel so bad anymore. Instead, the distraction felt welcome. The sound and the sudden strikes of pain as drops hit my skin cleared my mind, and I saw some lights that formed a small town down the hill.
When I got down to the town, I realized that most of it had closed business for the night. There were no signs or police cars to guide me to wherever the station was, so when I heard loud music playing from one of the doors as I passed it, I turned around and headed in.
I was standing in an Irish themed pub, with large Celtic carved wooden shelves above the bar that held hundreds of bottles of various spirits and beers. There was a large, fiery haired woman behind the counter. She was talking to a client that was sitting at the bar and smiling while polishing a glass with a rag.
I headed over to the bar and tried not to intrude on their conversation. When the bartender saw me standing there, she excused herself to the client and went over to greet me.
“Hello honey! Haven’t seen you here in ages! Where have you been? What can I get you?” she purred at me with a jovial smile.
Sounded like I had pretty much been a regular at the place before my migration. Figured.
“Hey! It’s silly – I seem to have forgotten how to get to the police station,” I tried.
She looked back at me, concerned.
“Why? Is everything alright?” she said with a furrowed brow.
I didn’t know what to say. Everything was not fine. But I wasn’t sure telling her about Martin’s bruises, Alina’s disappearance or my search for Emma was going to make much sense to her, so I thought on my feet.
“I just lost my car keys and I thought someone might have turned them in,” I covered, not so shabbily I thought.
She smiled at me and put a beer on the counter in front of me. I took a deep gulp and set it back down on the bar. The place was nice enough. The bar stools were made out of leather seats sitting on frames of polished oak. For the dinner guests there were booths, where the tables had proper linen tablecloths. None of that glass covered, easy-to-wipe crap. All in all it was a comfy bar, where I was sure that small town hellhole David had spent plenty a night trying to escape the reality of his life.
“You want another beer, honey?” the bartender asked over my shoulder.
“No thanks. I need to be able to drive home later,” I heard a slick charismatic man’s voice behind me.
“Didn’t you say you forgot your keys?” I heard him address me now, and my blood turned to ice as I turned around.
“Gabriel...” I whispered, as I turned to stare into his cool ice blue eyes.