Once they pulled up to the address in Tweed's old Honda, they got out. Ethan stared at the house in awe, but he wasn't very surprised. Red probably built this home with all the money he stole from nice old ladies.
It was vast, much larger than its surrounding homes, and it had a palatial air about it. The grass on the lawn had a rich green tint that met at the base of the house, which was free of caked dirt like most houses in Arizona.
The exterior was grandiose. The roof had new clay tiles that flashed with an orange hue, and the stucco was a creamy vanilla color. Even the driveway portrayed the house's grandeur with marble-like stone slabs. It looked like a palace... and if it looked this expensive, there was bound to be palace-level security guarding the place.
"Think we can get away with this?" Ethan asked with uncertainty. Tweed raised his brow at his friend. "I've never heard you question one of my plans before," he observed. Both of the boys stared at each other for a moment of introspection before Tweed cleared his throat.
"If push comes to shove, we can just—Mara, what are you doing?" he hissed. Her skirt sashayed behind her as she approached the front door. Tweed sprinted across the lawn in an attempt to catch her before she reached the door, but she inserted the key into the knob and flung it open, much to their surprise.
Tweed's jaw dropped, and his nose twitched. "It's... it's open," he whispered in disbelief.
"We had a key," she pointed out and stepped inside. With a shrug, Tweed followed her. Ethan flanked his side.
The hall they spilled into had a ceiling so high that Ethan couldn't clearly see where it started. The chandelier above them shined from the rays of the sun flooding the room through a skylight in the kitchen.
The walls were painted in a soft white, not unlike the color of the stucco, and it brightened the whole room. Ethan's fingers ran along the back of the tan leather couch as he studied the place with amazement.
"Ethan!" Mara snapped, and the dark-haired boy turned his attention to her. "I'm going to check the study, and Tweed is checking his bedroom. Why don't you... check the kitchen?" she suggested before darting toward the brown parquet steps.
Sighing, Ethan shifted further into the room, studying the stainless steel appliances. He opened a few oak wood cupboards and scowled at his friend's doubts about his investigative skills.
I can be sneaky and find something, he argued in his head as he swung the pantry door open. He wasn't actually expecting to find anything. As if his thoughts were premonitions, Ethan's eyes landed on almonds, and a whole lot of them.
The pan of almonds was as big as his head. He picked it up, hefting it, and peeked inside. It was nearly empty. Why would Red need such a huge amount of almonds? He couldn't have eaten all of them within the short time that it took to move into this house... The lid opened with a pop, and the can of almonds was half-empty.
"Woah."
Ethan jolted forward when he heard Tweed's voice behind him, snapping the pan of almonds back in its place on the white metal shelf. He felt uncomfortable with being so close, yet so far from Tweed.
Ignoring Ethan's discomfort, Tweed touched the metal tin, his fingertips brushing over the label. "Do you think...?"
God, Ethan hoped that wasn't the case. He prayed that it wasn't. "I don't know," he admitted truthfully. Tweed glanced around the house as if Red sneaked in without them hearing.
"Let's go check on Mara," he said, and Ethan hid his amusement. He wondered when, if at all, they were going to come forward and tell him about their relationship. He shipped them more than he shipped Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.
When they arrived at the door to the study, Tweed rapped once and entered. Mara was standing next to a bookshelf in the room, rifling through the assortment.
"You'll never guess what we found," Tweed said.
She raised her brow. "A life?"
He scowled and punched her arm lightly, causing her to snicker. "No. We found a huge pan of almonds," he said. Her head snapped up, causing her space buns to wobble a little as her earthy brown eyes scanned him, searching for any signs of deceit.
"Really? Go take a shot of it then," she ordered, tossing the camera into his arms. A bit thrown off that she wasn't going to accompany him, he sulked back to the kitchen. Ethan came to stand next to Mara, making his way over to the wooden case displaying all of the books.
Red's variety of books was vast, and he had everything ranging from Charles Dickens to Jen Wilde. Ethan thought it was funny that he had a single teen fiction novel. The further Ethan looked, the more suspicious he became of the bold purple letters. There was nothing like it on the shelves.
"Hey, wait a second," Ethan whispered as he pulled out the book's spine. He opened it up and immediately narrowed his eyes in confusion. The pages inside the book were not traditionally printed pages, but rather handwritten, scrawled in tight cursive.
"I think this is a journal," he told Mara as he began reading. As she read over his shoulder, she shook her head, and Ethan's nose caught a whiff of her coconut-scented hair gel.
"It's not a journal. It's a memoir."
***
"Papa, look at der Schmetterling!" the little boy shouted to his father, tugging his hand. The man scowled and snatched his hand away.
"I told you not to speak German out in public. Are you crazy?" the man asked the boy, whose eyes widened at his father's rebuking.
"I'm sorry!" he cried. His father let him go, glaring at him coldly as he turned his back on the little boy. The boy stood in silence as he watched the butterfly flitter away, never to be seen again.
***
"This is too easy," the boy boasted but cowered at the angry look from his mother as she pulled him aside from the table, away from the girl.
"Your sister isn't doing so well. Don't say that it's easy. You'll make her feel bad," she gently rebuked him. The boy returned to the table and was silent for the rest of the time with his sister.
***
"How was school today, Karen?" their mother asked their little girl, who was beaming from ear to ear and holding up a certificate of participation from the spelling bee.
"Look what I won!" she shouted, proudly displaying her certificate in her tiny hands. The boy behind her dragged his feet as he walked in the door, not bothering to kick off his shoes and place them in the cubby. He instead choose to retire to his bedroom.
"What did you win, Thomas?" the lady asked the boy, who wanted to disappear. He held up his second-place trophy, but said nothing, choosing to stare at the shag carpet.
"Why didn't you win first? Weren't you practicing for a whole week?" their mother asked, her eyebrows lifted in concern. The boy's eyes welled up with tears unconsciously. He pushed himself into his bedroom, slamming the door shut.
***
"Why does it matter that I skip a grade? Why should I stay with her in the same grade?" the boy, who was a bit older now, asked his mother, who was pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Please, Thomas, your sister really needs her big brother with her in school right now. She's really struggling," the woman pleaded with the boy, but he continued shaking his head, this time more vigorously.
"No! She always needs help! Karen is just stupid!" Thomas yelled, the open bedroom door. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, Karen was in the doorway, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
His mother glared at him as she got up from the rocket comforter and chased after the girl, who ran down the hall sobbing.
***
"I want to study chemistry, not do sports," the boy argued. He was clad in an oversized football jersey passed down from an older German teen in their community.
"Your sister is doing volleyball, so you have to give her a ride and occupy your time. Football will-"
"No! I'm done pandering to Karen! It's always Karen-this or Karen-that! You didn't even come to my awards ceremony for the science fair," he challenged, his hands clenching at his sides. "I just want to study chemistry. Is that so much to ask?"
"At least with football, you can get a scholarship like Elias," the man countered, clenching his fists at his sides.
"Forget it. I won't do football if I can't study chemistry."
***
"Who was that boy you were hanging out with?" the man asked his son over dinner as he sliced a piece of schnitzel. The boy gulped and looked at his father's stern expression.
"No-nobody," he stuttered, remembering his boyfriend's lips on his, the glint of his father's truck's windshield reflecting the sun into their eyes.
"I didn't raise a gay to live under my roof," his father warned, waving a knife loosely in the air. The boy nodded, staring hard at the meal on his plate, which sat virtually untouched. His father continued to glare at him for the rest of dinner and said nothing to him as he stalked away to the living room.
***
"Look! I got accepted to Caltech!" he shouted, holding the acceptance letter close to his chest. He beamed brightly, flashing hope and pride in his smile. His father scowled.
"How will you help Karen in college if you go halfway across the world, boy? Who raised you to be so selfish?" his father asked, ripping the letter from his grasp and shredding it down the middle. His mother watched silently, grimacing, but did nothing.
Thomas didn't let his tears fall until he was alone in his room.
***
"What's wrong with dating a man? I love him!" the boy, who was all grown up now, argued with his father.
"Do you want to be a sockenfalter?"
"That's exactly who I am!" he screamed back. His father's irises darkened from their usual light blue into a murky sea of shame as he pointed up the stairs.
"Get out of my house then," he said, his tone as cold and emotionless as ice.
"Gladly."
His mother made a move to try to stop him from leaving by gently placing her hand over his, but he pulled it away roughly. As he stomped up the stairs, he shouted back down at his father, "One day, I'll drive your stupid business to the ground, just like how you've damaged everything I ever loved or wanted to be."
***
"Is there any more?" Mara asked, leaning in to flip through pages, but the rest of them were empty. Ethan set the book back on the shelf right as Tweed's blonde hair rushed into view.
"Guys," he panted, placing his hands on his knees. "Red is home."
.
.
.
Woah, some background into Red's life! What do you all think of them sneaking into his house? What about the almonds? Did he really murder Mrs. Heifenmeir? These are the questions, people! Find out what happens next time in The Donut Shop! Love you all, peace!