This chapter has been rewritten and events have changed.
The days at the Parker house pass quickly, my father calling around his 'busy' work schedule, us clambering in small talk before awkwardly hanging up the phone.
Wendy had to extend the visit with her mother, apparently her dad had been sick, and wasn't making the progression they had been hoping for. She wasn't quite sure when she would be back.
The boys had started summer football camp, leaving me to have the house to myself other than for Thomas, who graduated this year, leaving him to wait for his semester at Florida State to start this fall. We occasionally would catch each other watching a movie in the living room, and would join, resulting in a little small talk afterwards, but other than that the first few hours of the day were quiet, only to be bombarded by sweaty and smelly boys by noon.
I had started myself into their routine, I would make or get something simple for lunch, help them gather their things for practice the night before, simple things I know Wendy lifted a hand with. They became used to my presence, and me to theirs.
Nothing had been heard about, or from my mother, not that I was surprised.
My flip flops smack the ground slightly as I make my way down the sidewalk towards the line of mailboxes aligned down the street. The sun beams down on my skin, warming my shoulders, and causing me to pull my sunglasses from the top of my head, to cover my eyes.
Down the sidewalk, I can see someone else making their way towards the mailboxes. From what I can tell, he was around my age, maybe a year or two older. I silently thank the sunglasses for hiding my eyes, continuing to look him over as we got closer.
"Hi." I welcome, opening the lid of our mailbox.
"Hey." He smiles, his white teeth catching the sun's rays. He was an attractive boy, coming to stand a few inches taller than me as he grabs mail out of the only mailbox without a name plastered on the outside. I look down the street, finding moving trucks outside the house next door to ours, about a football field away.
"Did you just move in?"
"We've been back and forth for the past couple of days, but yes." He tells me, shutting the door on the empty mailbox. His eyes move to the mailbox I too was shutting, reading the name on the side. "Parker?"
I shake my head, slapping the envelopes against my open palm.
"Carter." I correct. "Brook Carter."
"Ridge." He holds out a hand. "Tanner Ridge." He shoots me yet another smile, my lips turn up in a smile and I take his hand.
"Expecting mail so soon, Tanner?" I gesture to his empty mailbox and he shrugs.
"That or maybe I seen the cute girl checking the mail yesterday and this was my smooth way of an introduction."
I laugh, my hand flying to my mouth, cheeks burning from his compliment.
"Is that so?" I raise an eyebrow at him.
"How am doing?"
Before I am able to answer, blaring horns break me away from our conversation. Music blasted from the speakers of Dalton's blue Jeep, the doors have been removed for the warmer season, making it easy to see his arm slamming against the horn. He is followed by Logan's older model red Ford Bronco, and lastly Rodger's black Dodge pickup truck. Leaping from the vehicles, grabbing bags from the trunks and beds, the Parker brothers fill the driveway.
"Anything for me, B?" Dalton calls, snapping my eyes away from them and back to Tanner.
"Brothers?" He asks me, watching the seven boys as they playfully smack each other with their backpacks, making their way to the front door. Rodger grabs his bag from the back of his truck, throwing the strap over one shoulder as he looks our direction. His eyes hover, feet moving forward, then he looks away.
"It's hard to explain." My feet are moving backwards as I speak, my free hand pointing over my shoulder. "I'll see you later."
My mother is mentally unstable, father isn't around to take care of me, so I am stuck living with eight teenage boys who I have known or two weeks.
Great conversation starter.
My feet move quickly, carrying me to the front steps of the porch, Dalton hovering in the doorway, raising his eyebrows and opening a gaping mouth.
"B, were you strutting your game out there at the mailboxes?" He screeches, his voice carrying across the yard and through the neighborhood. I shove the mail into his chest jokingly, cheeks flaming red.
"Shut your mouth, no." I mumble, shutting the door quickly before he says anything else any louder.
Going to the kitchen, I pull out the plate that was piled with ham and turkey sandwiches that I prepared under an hour ago. Setting it on the counter, it is only a matter of seconds before hands are reaping the pile.
"Who was that anyways?" Lucas asked around a mouthful of sandwich, grabbing a water out of the fridge while tossing multiple around the room to his brothers.
"Tanner, he's moving in nextdoor." I inform them, leaning against the cool counter, fingers wrapping around the bottle he just handed me.
"What's his last name?" Thomas asks from the dining room table, after telling him he nods, looking up from his phone screen. "Ridge, I remember that. You guys know him? He was the quarterback in Gainesville."
They all begin in on 'Tanner Ridge from Gainesville', each of them chattering their own part into the conversation. Rambling about sports, eventually leading to another topic.
*
"Brook." Her voice echoes, bringing me to take in my surroundings.
I am standing in the bathroom of our old apartment, the light above me casting an eerie greenish haze to the dark room. The blood in and around the bathtub is easy to spot, it's the first thing I see, but she isn't there. Turning around the room slowly, I find that everything is the same way they were left.
"Brook." She says again, sounding closer this time.
The door is shut, I grab the knob and attempt to open it, only to find that it was locked from the outside.
"Look at me." Her whisper is so close, I can feel her breath on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
I have searched the room, finding her nowhere in sight. Coming to a stop in front of the mirror, I find nothing but my own reflection. My body is shaking, fingers trembling, hands forming fists as I beg myself to wake up. Glancing back to the bathtub, I find that it is in fact, still empty.
When my eyes meet my own reflection again, I find her standing behind me, her face peering over my shoulder into the mirror. Her skin was ghostly white, lips so purple they looked bruised, it was as if all the blood had been drained from her veins.
Cold fingers wrap around my bicep tightly, nails digging into my skin with a burning pain.
"Or should I call you B?"
*
My door is thrown open just my eyes open wide, gasping for air, I sit up quickly.
Rodger appears in my doorway, baseball bat clutched in his hands as his eyes search the room, meeting mine when he finds me. Dalton and Thomas come behind him, sleepy eyes now wide awake as they pear inside.
"What's the matter?" Rodger asks, walking inside the room, glancing inside the bathroom as if he thinks the problem was a physical being hiding away in my room.
"I'm sorry, I just had a bad dream." I say breathlessly, fingers tearing through my hair and down my face, massaging my eyes before I open them again.
They stare at me a moment, all of them unsure what to say after barging into my room like the swat team. My alarm clock reads three in the morning, meaning they would be waking up in an hour for football practice, instantly making me feel guilty for waking them.
I apologize several more times while Rodger makes his way back to the door silently.
"Try and get some sleep before practice, I didn't mean to wake you."
When they have left the room, I turn on my lamp, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. Resting my elbows on my knees, I place my face in my hand a moment, hand coming to rest over my mouth.
Where is she?
*
None of them say anything about my screams waking them earlier that morning. I was still awake when they went off for practice, so I helped them gather their needed things, and ushering them out the door before they were late.
Dalton left me with a debit card, asking me to go grocery shopping since the food supply was getting low in Wendy's absence. After I had showered, and dressed in yoga pants, sublime t-shirt, and a pair of black Adidas, I slide into the seat of the BMW I had yet to drive.
I sit still behind the wheel, the car was completely dark since the sun had yet to awaken. Turning the keys in the ignition, the lights inside beam to life, showing me all the dials and other meters on display in the dash.
Thanking the Maps app on my phone, I make my way to the nearest Publix, finding one fifteen minutes away. The boys had thrown out some suggestions for things to buy, helping me to form somewhat of a list before I entered the store.
Receiving multiple texts of desired items flood my phone in the group chat, as the boys think of things they hadn't when they talked to me this morning.
I fill the cart with everything requested, ranging from actual food, to pretty much snacks. The cashier shoots me a questioning look, finding my selection to be odd, I smiled sheepishly, putting the rest of my items on the belt of the register, and placing them in the cart as she bags.
When I returned home, I unpacked the groceries, the full cabinets and fridge bringing satisfaction to my inner adult. Next, I decide to wash the laundry I knew needed to be done. Emptying the hampers from all the bathrooms, I divide them into color piles, starting with darks.
The house was already relatively clean, leaving only a few things that needed to be tended to. Sunlight shines through the windows now, radiating off the dark wooden floors brightly.
Walking back down the hallway, I pass his bedroom, finding his door open. I stop, taking a step back to stand in front of the doorway.
Everything was neat and tidy, except two pairs of shoes that were stretched across the room from being shed off his feet. Framed photos of players in maroon and grey uniforms were posted on the wall, trophies lined across several shelves. Two video game chairs were off to one side of the room, placed in front of a flat screen much like my own, an Xbox One connected.
On his dresser, pushed back the furthest from the rest of the items on the surface, was a framed photograph. I squint slightly, trying to put together what the photo was of, through his room that was darkened by closed curtains.
A girl, probably the age of sixteen, smiled at the camera. Her blonde hair blew around her face from a light wind that caressed her skin right as the photo was taken. Brown eyes stared back at me, a pair of lips pressed gently to her cheeks.
Rodger's.
Without control, a strong feeling of disappointment fills me.
Did he have a girlfriend?