Derek found some crutches, but still has a long way to recovery.  Ms. Ridge, the nosey next-door neighbor, has spoiled Derek’s first clue about Naomi.  He listened to the later news to no avail.  Ellie and Wren now linger back to discuss what they heard.

 

Chapter 5: Very Tight

 

            “Look, he’s basically ignoring every question I send at him,” Wren said, sitting down next to Ellie.  Wren slid her newly poured juice closer to herself, cupping it in her hands.

            “So… you think that means…”  Ellie trailed off, leading Wren to finish her sentence.

            “It means that he’s guilty!  If he’s avoiding my questions like he is…”

            Ellie grabbed her chin.  “You sure?  I don’t believe he’s done anything wrong.”

            Wren slapped her forehead.  “Nothing wrong?”

            “Well, to us at least.”

            “He blew his cover!  He’s done that to us.  He introduced himself to our next-door neighbor, for heaven’s sake!  Introducing himself as my cousin, even.  My cousin…  Ellie!”  Wren said, taking in a sip in anger.  Wren sighed.  “Well, what are we going to do about tomorrow?”

            “I don’t really know,” Ellie admitted.  “What’s the whole situation?”

            Wren sighed harder.  “The situation is that we have a stranger within his very house that seems to be unable to remember certain crimes he committed.  Someone then caught up with, nearly killed him, and caused him to crash into our home.”

            “His… well, I would assume his girlfriend –since wife is a little too old—was killed recently as well.”

            “It’s probably that missing woman, but for all we know he might have killed her.”

            “But he said he didn’t, and why in the hell would he kill someone he loves?”  Ellie retorted.

            “If his girlfriend was murdered, don’t you think he would be a lot more grief stricken?”

            Ellie thought for a moment.  “I guess that’s true…  Or maybe he just hasn’t shown us any grief.  You know, that whole macho-guy thing?  –Whatever the hell they call it– He might be suffering far more than just physically.”

            “Uh huh,” Wren said, taking Ellie both skeptically and seriously.  Wren continued.  “And, as apparently agreed by everyone—I guess—he needs to leave when his leg heals.”

            “Sure, I guess.  Hopefully you can also find his necklace you lost.”

            Wren’s attitude darkened.  “Must you bring that up?”  She demanded, answered only by Ellie chuckling.

            Ellie stopped chuckling.  “So, back to what we are going to do tomorrow.”  Ellie said.

            Wren brainstormed.  “Well,” she started.  “We can’t have him go outside and hide in the neighbor’s lawn or something, because that’s far more suspicious than him just never leaving the house.”

            “Uh huh,” Ellie acknowledged.

            “However, we cannot have him inside because our… uh, well, my father is coming over.  We could risk him being seen by others if he would go to the store for a while… but I don’t think he’ll go willingly.  However, my father is going to be snooping around inside so we cannot have him here.”

            “Uh huh.”

            “Hey!”  Wren exclaimed as a brilliant plan came to mind.  “We could just be mean and kick him out coldly?”  Wren exclaimed, looking at Ellie with a beaming face.  Ellie returned a cold stare.  “Or not…” said Wren.

            Ellie nodded.

            Wren sighed yet again.  “There’s also a chance, though slim, that someone who sees Derek connects him to the description on the news.  So, I think it’d be best just to hide him inside.

            “Yeah…”  Ellie agreed.  “Think it’ll work?”

            “Who knows, but how about at eight A.M. sharp you wake him up.”

            Ellie shifted and slightly blushed.  “Y-yes.”

            “He needs to get up.  No sleeping in.  None, and don’t feel bad for him because we didn’t warn him before hand.  It’s his own fault that he ran off to bed after watching the night’s news.”

            “Uh huh.”

            Wren finished her glass.  “And speaking of sleep,” she said, setting the cup down.  “I think I’ve had enough for one day.  I’ll see you in the morning,” Wren said, standing up and walking away.     

            “Good night,” Ellie called after her before standing up.  She followed Wren’s lead and headed to bed.

 

            I woke up this morning feeling a bit more refreshed.  The day outside had darken compared to the clear bright day of yesterday, but in retrospect, that is completely fine with me.  The bottom line is that I looked forward today like I would a vaccination.  I make this comparison because it fits perfectly.  I know there is pain, but it is quick and better for me in the long run.  Today, my father continues to check up on my residence, although Ellie’s father has ceased visiting for the time being.  To make this situation worse, a certain inconsiderate jerk-off has established residence in my basement.  Defying all known medical logic, he’s managed to survive a conglomeration of minor wounds.  He does not seem to be a fitness fanatic, so his abilities to recuperate so quickly baffle me.  But this all points back to my colossal problem.  A broken leg and Ellie’s talent of swaying my mind has allowed him to stay and not venture back to the hole he crawled out of.  So, instead of a clear, straight shot of my father reviewing my living space, I had to endure several heart attacks due to the close calls.  However, everything came out all right in the end and that is why today I didn’t mind the clouds blocking the sun’s heat.

            Today I woke up and readied myself for the day as usual, but my nervousness certainly made my morning worse.  Though, for some reason, the last few days I had felt no nervousness in me.  I suppose other circumstances distracted my thoughts about today.  This morning it finally dawned on me that I had to hide a complete stranger while my father very thoroughly made sure everything was in line by searching every room in the house.

            The notion of successfully navigating the course of this day seemed unfathomable at the time and I constantly imagined myself pulverized by one earnest error.  In the aftermath, I imagined Satan transmitted through my father as he drew a noose around my neck after he discovered a man living within my dwelling.  This thought replayed repeatedly as I dressed, during which I also continually developed how I would react to my father.

            First off, I would react by claiming he had no business about my business.  Second off, I saw him removing his funding for my house.   

            If that happened, I would move into an apartment.  The problem with moving is that I care too much about this house.  Guess I’m just spoiled.  However, this was not a subjective case about whether or not my father truly has a say in where and how I live.  I love my father and I suppose that I cared about not embarrassing him, or disgracing him, or troubling him, or anything him when he comes to visit.

            The best-case scenario was my father and I just sitting down to a peaceful lunch and talking.  Nothing but talk about the weather, about the news, about anything that does not involve walking around and snooping into rooms containing certain individuals.

            I wore my nicer cotton shirt I purchased the week before last.  Turns out that it was a little tight, but I believe it was highly flattering on me.  Shame it flattered me so well, because no one beyond this day will ever see that shirt again.  Ever.  That morning, I loved the shirt, adored how swell I looked in it, but instead of admiring myself, the more intelligent action would have been to connect it to when I purchased it.  I still quiver with quakes when I recall the week in question and the shirt probably resurrected a portion of the bad luck that transpired during that week.

            My reflection in the mirror appealed to me, and therefore I did not change my clothes.  Instead of doing the smart thing, I praised my image and kept the shirt, which matched the pants, which matched the hot accessories, which eventually spelt my heart attacks.  My outfit made me feel nice and so my anxiety lessened.  The outcome of my day brightened, until I ventured out of the comfort of my room.  Oh, what a mistake.  Ellie moped heavily and Derek, having moved himself upstairs for unknown reasons against better judgment, was contemplating himself into a comatose state.  Only a short while passed until I realized that I became a third party in an unknown situation.

            The way these two avoided each other’s stare told me plenty.  I kept my mouth closed, hoping that this would help Ellie find it easier to kick him out.  Wishful thinking, though. 

            I prepared my breakfast, watching them closely.  Ellie watched television, lazily lying over the table and propping her head up with one hand.  I could tell she was moping in spite that I only saw the back of her head.  Derek also sat at the kitchen table, gazing into his breakfast endlessly.  I studied Derek.  I contemplated his features, his clothes, his crutches, and his splint, and I saw a criminal.  A fugitive accused of heinous crimes now sat at my kitchen table, gazing into a pair of eggs.  An urge to call the police crossed right then.  Though I urged to call, doubt passed through my mind, questioning if I should.  He seemed too vulnerable and kind.

            Then his eyes moved from his meal to my stare.

            I glared at him before looking to the cupboards.  Thing was, I did not know how or why I felt so hot headed suddenly, or why I blushed.  He lied to Ellie and me, but my anger did not stem from that reason.  People lie for serious reasons and I am not angered easily by lies.  If the reason behind the lie is petty and lame, if miffs me, but Derek lied for no lame reason and I should not hold that against him.

            Yet there I stood, pissed off and trying to pour cereal.  I tried my best not to look stupid either.  I felt his gaze upon me and I knew if I gave so much as an inch, he would disregard my anger as nothing more than a bide for attention.  Therefore, after I finished pouring my cereal, I started eating right at the counter.  By not dining at the same table there would be no doubt that I wasn’t angry at him.  Though after eating a few spoonfuls, I realized the stupidity my actions.  He kept looking at me and I assumed he noticed.  I switched to offense.

            “Being up at eight too early for you?”  I asked him aggressively, turning to him.

            “Meh,” he shrugged.  I frowned.  The lazy bum!  How worthless was he, sleeping all day yesterday and barely able to function today?

            “Is for me,” Ellie yawned, trying to regain her title as laziest person in the house.  The way she talked and sounded signaled that the two may not have been fighting.  My curiosity rose, so I led them on.

            “What, you both tired?  Is that why you’re acting so dead?”  I asked them, chomping down on Wafer’s off-brand Happy-O’s, which, incidentally, I don’t recommend.  Especially with over poured milk.

            “Didn’t know I was acting dead,” Ellie said, giving me one of her canned responses.  She remained focus on the television.

            “I’m just exhausted,” Derek explained.

            There was no fight, no Ellie siding with me, and no change in Derek’s empty headed stare.  I’m sure I uttered something, but I really don’t remember.  I remained silent after that and ate my Happy-O’s gloomily.

            Half-way through my bowl, I gazed over to the two of them.  Derek slowly ate his eggs and Ellie detached herself from everything using the television.  Not even a meal lay before her.  Slowly, Derek glanced over to Ellie.  He fixed his gaze upon her for a slight while before dropping his eyes to his meal.  Shortly afterwards, he turned to me.

            “So, what’s happening today?”  He asked quietly.

            I rolled my eyes.  “Going on today?”  I started, but stopped.  “Today, being Tuesday, and every Tuesday, Ellie’s father and my father come here to examine the house.  They confirm that nothing is going awry, otherwise they pull the finances for this place.”

            “Uh huh,” Derek said.

            “I’m telling you this, being that it would not be any of your business otherwise, because we need you not move from where we hide you.  You’re not to make a single sound.  Until my father leaves, you will go unnoticed.”

            Ellie coughed.

            “So I am to do nothing?  Nada?”  Derek asked, pausing to think.  “What happens if I am discovered?”

            “You’re not to be discovered.  I am not going to give you a plan for that because it isn’t going to happen.”

            “Why, will he kill me?”

            I stared down his stupid smirk.  “Why are you smiling?”  I asked him.  “This is serious.”

            “Sorry, sorry.  It was only a joke.”  His joke was not funny.

            “Well, this is no joke.  Ellie and I will not be able to keep this house if our fathers refuse to pay for it.  You owe us for saving your life,” I said, cashing in my trump card.  He did owe us for saving his life and for keeping his whereabouts hidden.  “You’re not to talk, leave your room, or make any sound, smell, sight, or action that will make your presence known to my father, understand?”

            “I do, I do,” he said.  “What I do not understand is the contract you’re bound to with your father.  You obviously work, so why can’t you afford this house yourself?  If he pulls his money, can’t you just pay for it?  I mean, so what if he’s angry afterwards?  It is really that big of a deal if I’m found?  For all you know, he might not even get angry,” Derek said, placing an entire egg into his mouth.

            I remember sighing, greatly annoyed by Derek’s questions and, sadly enough, truth.  I knew that I did not earn enough money to pay for the house alone.  I guess I just did not want to disappoint my father.  Though I hated the dependence, it also gave security to my finances.  Additionally, Ellie could live with me without hassle and I would never want her to move away.  During our short time here, I would say we’ve become best friends.

            Derek, on the other hand, brought up valid arguments.  However, he did not need to know my actual thoughts on the matter.  I set the matter straight.  “First off, you don’t know my father, nor will you get to know him.  Ever.  Because you’re not going to be seen.  Trust me.  He’ll get angry.  Secondly, don’t make assumptions about how much I make.  It’s very rude, in my opinion.  And lastly, be grateful we’re hiding you.  We could’ve just kicked you out or given you to the cops.”  He likely knew that I was bluffing at the notion, but I said it nonetheless.  “Now, if you will excuse me.  I’ll leave you to keep making googly eyes at Ellie.”

            “What!”  Derek said startled.  “I didn’t- Hey!  Wait!“

            Ellie peeled her eyes away from the television.  She looked over to Derek with a confused look.

            I quickly finished off my now soggy cereal and poured the remnants into the drain.  I walked into the living room and peered at where I rubbed the stain out.  A faint outline still discolored the carpet, but it was dull enough that no one, unless they searched for the stain, would notice it.  The living room thus met my standards of cleanliness.  I continued on to the rest of the house.  Overall, I had cleaned the house fairly well last night before heading to bed.  I vacuumed the entire house after washing many of Derek’s stains.  I cleansed the bathroom first, moved on to the basement, and worked on the foyer, though not finishing the foyer fully.  Some of the stains had inexplicably worked their way far too deep into the carpet and tile.  I now studied the house for anything else to clean, any gear that did not mesh with the rest of the house.  I passed through the foyer and the stains stood out against the pure tiles.  I checked the basement and closed the door to Derek’s room.  Except for the foyer, everything seemed fine.

            I only needed to explain the blood stains in the foyer, if he asked anything about them.  Passing the examination didn’t seem totally hopeless.

            I felt a rush of relaxation.

            My father is a very thorough man, but if I distract him enough, I could certainly make it through this!  Well, Ellie would make it out as well, but it’s more important that I do.

            I moved away from Derek’s door into the family room.  I stood in the middle of the room with my hands on my waist.  “Everything’s set,” I said, looking around once more.  “Now, let’s see where it goes.”

 

            From my room on the second floor, I watched Father’s four-door sedan pull up from down the road.  I recall the wind picking up suddenly; rustling around the fallen leafs as the car turned into the driveway.  He parked his car perfectly straight and slowly exited his vehicle.  I looked at the clock.  My father arrived at twelve-thirty and two seconds, setting yet another exemplary instance of my father’s punctuality. 

            The thought of not answering the door crossed my mind.  He possibly would leave after several rings of the bell.  My nerves were certainly persuading me not to move.  I started to doubt the whole operation.  If I let him in, would I not be sealing my own fate?  My mind told me not to act.

            For the record, I consider it a miracle that I finally moved to the downstairs to greet him.

            I opened the door for my father and sighed at the sight of him.  For reasons beyond my sense of fashion, he had decided to wear an ugly, heavy winter jacket; pale and disheartening brown with dark, sickly looking fur lining the inside of the collar.  A pocket dangled; ripped from some outing.  Stains covered the coat here and there.  Making this bum-attire complete was a plaid golf cap, which covered very little of his head.

            He put on a huge smile, with his well-groomed mustache accompanying his smile across his face.  “Wren, my darling!”  He exclaimed over-enthusiastically, walking inside to wrap his arms around me.  “How are you, my little dove?”  He asked, emphasizing ‘dove’ as he crushed me in his hug.  Without his knowledge, I rolled my eyes at his over-used pun.  Never had the joke been fresh, new, or funny.  When my father said the joke, I grit my teeth.  I could not believe he played off the name he named me and hearing it then only confirmed its banality.

            Gasping for air after his hug, I replied to my father.  “I’m fine, Father, how are you?  Why are you wearing that heavy coat?  It’s not cold out nor is it ever really cold out.”

            “I think it suits me,” he replied, smiling again.

            “Uh huh…”  I said, examining his coat once more.  I would forever be baffled by my father’s reasoning.  I sat down on the steps that lead to the kitchen.  “How’s Mother doing?”

            He laughed hefty.  “Debra’s doing fine, Wren!  Not to worry, not to worry.  I’m doing fine as well.  Lost a little weight!  Can you tell?”

            I laughed awkwardly.  I definitely could not tell if his weight had changed, yet he expected some sort of answer.

            My father, Andy Lydel, is a very heavy man.  Though he showed little sensitivity about his weight, he certainly took well to praise and compliments.  Compliments from strangers worked wonders, though those were a rarity.  His balding head and brown mustache left must to desire to actual physical attractiveness.  Compliments usually came in the form of friendships.  My father’s charisma has brought him far in life, yet his controlling nature tugs always sets him back.

            My father removed his coat and hat, setting them down on the bench.  Something awry came to my father’s attention.  “Wren, where has the padding disappeared to on your Deacon’s bench?”

            I expected this question and had an answer ready.  “I’m currently cleaning it.  I hoped to have finished before you arrived, but, well, here we are – Pad-less,” I joked.  In actuality, I hid the pad downstairs underneath the steps.  Derek’s coat must have stained them and I had yet to remove the blood.  Time had not permitted me to do so.

            Derek-in-the-flesh currently hid in his bed.  Ellie noticed that my father had yet to inspect the room and there was no reason as to why my father would do so today.  If all went according to the plan, Derek’s presence would go unnoticed if he stayed to the confines of that room.

            “Ah, I see,” my father said, accepting my answer.  “Well, I’m glad you’re cleaning up your house.  Good to see, good to see.”  He turned around sluggishly to look at me.

            “Daughter, you certainly look nice today.”  He commented, smiling extravagantly.

            “Indeed,” I acknowledged, not returning a smile.

            “Well then… shall we have at the house, then?”

            “If you want,” I said gloomily.  “Unless,” I interjected, “you’d care for something to eat first.”

            My father thought for a moment.  “Well… if you insist,” he smiled.  “I can never pass up food!”

            I smiled to myself.  My smile was not from my father’s connection to food and his weight.  I was pleased that he accepted the lunch.  “Lunch meat sound good?”  I asked him, heading upstairs.

            “Sounds excellent, my dear daughter,” he said, following me up, gripping the decorative, wooden hand rails for all their worth.  I sighed in disgust at his sweet response.  He continued speaking, “bologna and wheat bread sounds great.”

            Though I implied no such details to what lunchmeat, I knew better than to disagree with his decision.  I sighed yet again, silently.  “Bologna and wheat it is, then!”  I said, faking enthusiasm as I entered the kitchen.  I moved to the counter to start preparations.

            “You all alone?”  My father asked, completely unexpected.

            I, unprepared for such a question, stopped abruptly and began to sweat.  Had my father, somehow though means unknown, discovered Derek?  Or was Derek standing at the steps now, my father and him staring questioningly at each other?  My eyes refused to turn around.  I feared what I would find.

            “I asked, young lady, if you were alone?”  My father repeated himself, forceful as ever.

            I took a shot in the dark with a logical answer.  “Yes, I am Father.  Why do you ask?”  If Derek stood before my father, I would plea ignorance after the fact.

            “I see.  I was just wondering where Ellie was.  Haven’t seen her for a while now.”

            I blinked.  “Ellie?”  I asked in disbelief, dumbstruck at my oversight.  “Oh, no, she-“  I started, but stopped.  I had almost said she was here.  This all started to turn real bad, real quick.  To be caught up in a lie with my father never led to good.  Moreover, to be caught up in correcting yourself never helped the matter either.  I thought fast and hopefully smart, but I ended up just taking the easiest path.  “Ellie’s not here, now that I think about it.”

            My father looked at me suspiciously, before dropping his keen eye to shrug.  “That’s too bad; I looked forward to seeing her!  She always makes me laugh,” he said, starting up into a healthy laugh, as if the entire world knew it to be the truth or if she had just amused him right then herself.

            I groaned silently and rolled my eyes as I continued to make the sandwiches.

            After a short time, I had the sandwiches done.  My father and I sat down at the table.  We conversed and consumed our meal.  I took my time eating, and I tried to avoid topics that would lead to the house examination, all the while praying that Ellie would not come upstairs.  I knew she had decided to stay downstairs, but if she wanted something, she would blow my story if my father saw her.

            However, many topics and minutes both passed.  Both Ellie and Derek remained unseen and unnoticed.  Little by little, I felt hope rising within me.  Seemed that my luck had finally turned itself around.  I felt slightly elated by my fortune.

            “--But other than that, we haven’t been doing a whole lot lately.  Your mother has me out in the yard, though.  She claims that it's for my own good!  Can you believe it?”  He laughed.  He also sincerely asked me if I found my mother's request audacious.

            “Uh huh,” I answered, putting the last bite of sandwich into my mouth.

            “I’ve been tending to the yard for a few weeks now, but I don't see how it is helping, other than the yard looking unnecessarily nice."

            I kept silent as my father droned on.  I stared at him and pretended to be fairly interested.  I would have been normally if only he was not complaining about improving his own health.  He can say all he wants about my mother putting him to work, but I bet a hundred dollars his doctor ordered him out into the yard.  My father’s life habits, ever since money started rolling, have not changed.  His affinity for television and eating extravagantly caught up to him rather quickly.  His job promotion allowed him to accomplish extremely little for ludicrous amounts of money.  After I was born, his ability to be around to raise me with my mom was helpful.  It was certainly nice as well and I love him for it, but everyday his activities with me slowly decreased over the years.  Soon, my father refused to go on walks with me, refused to go to the park with me, and refused to go swimming with me.

            In essence, my father stopped being an active father and it hurt.  It hurt deeply.  Due to that, though, I started writing.  I discovered a talent that I never knew I had.  Writing soothed some of the pain and I partially forgave my father.  I forgave him for giving up and ignoring the people who tried to help him and change him for the better.

            He still has yet to improve much.  My father’s controlling nature oversaw his decent into the health he currently has.  He denied and overpowered anyone's attempt to change him.  Finally, one night years ago I told him my feelings, the ones that had been building up and finally exploded.  I told him how I felt, and he came around.  At least for a short while.

            Despite all that, he still has an active roll in my life, which I guess is both appreciated and despised by me.  Now, my father sat across from me complaining about another professional worrying about his health.  He then finished his sandwich, surprisingly taking longer than I did.

            “Maybe Ellie could give you some pointers on the lawn work,” I suggested.  “You know how she loves that stuff, and I’m sure she could help you with your problem.”

            “If she was here,” my father commented.

            “Yeah,” I said.  I frowned.  I disliked that my train of thought had led to the reinforcing of my lie.  I did not want to dig further into that hole, and would now avoid any other comment leading to such an outcome.

            “But, I’m sure to see her next week.  Though, Debra could have me doing something completely different by then.  Who knows?  Actually, she certainly has not been cooking the same, either.  Nor buying the usual groceries, you know,” he laughed, “like a few pounds of steak!”

            “Mom’s been buying different stuff?”  I asked, but knowing full well why she purchased different foods.

            “Yeah.  Doesn’t even get soda anymore.  So, you mind getting one for your father?”  He asked, looking sternly at me.  Though it sounded like a question, there was only one answer. 

            “We have Coke and maybe some Sprite.  Neither diet.”

            “That’s fine, that’s fine.  Coke, please.”  My father’s please contained no value.  His tone came out shallow and commanding.

            As I grudgingly obliged my father, I stood up and soon the cool fridge air hit my face.  From top self to bottom, I searched for a can of soda.  Luck smiled upon me.  There was no pop upstairs.  However, pop dwelled downstairs in the junk room inside the extra fridge.  I planned to head downstairs, alert Ellie to not move and keep silent, and head back up with some pop in hand.  If all bodes well, my father would continue sitting to talk to me.

            “I don’t see any pop up here,” I reported.  “But I know we have some downstairs.  I’ll go grab you one.”

            “Thanks, Wren.”

            I headed downstairs after closing the fridge door.  I rounded the stairs and entered the downstairs hallway; debating how quickly I needed to talk to Ellie and Derek.

            I opened the door to Derek’s room silently.  Before I finished opening the door, I placed my finger over my mouth, telling them to remain silent.

            The two of them were smiling at each other.  They were actually enjoying each other’s company.  Though expected, I found accepting that they were so friendly hard.  They turned to me when they noticed me.  Both looked horribly concerned at the sight of me, probably expecting my father to wander in from behind me.

            “Wren?  What are you-“  Ellie spoke.  Her voice seemed far louder than normal.  Her voice trailed like a foghorn over open water.

            I winced and smacked my finger against my lips, stopping her from talking anymore.  I was able to push the notion into her thicker than normal skull.

            I looked at Derek, still under the covers, and I saw he was all ears.  I turned to Ellie, who sat at the edge of his bad, facing him, but looking at me.  I noted the odd arrangement, considering the participants.

            My mind snapped back to the important.  My purpose here was to explain quickly and quietly the situation at hand, not to speculate odds and ends about those two.  I stepped further into the room and started the tale what transpired.  I efficiently retold the lie and the change of plan.  Neither Derek nor Ellie questioned what happened and both agreed to stay still.  What a fool I was to believe them, especially Derek.

            I figured I explained the situation quickly enough, but just for reassurance I quickly exited the room and zipped across the hallway to the junk room.  Within was where Ellie and I stored, among other things, an extra fridge.  We kept excess food in the fridge, so any extra soda would be inside as well.

            I opened the door and gazed into the room, seeing only the clutter.  I shuttered.

            Stepping over three cardboard boxes filled with useless items, I reached the fridge.  The room’s clutter had reached such a level where I had to move a casket of junk to allow the fridge door to open.  I picked out a soda for my father and a soda for myself.  I embarked on the perilous journey back to the door.  In the process of exiting, I knocked down a box or two.  Out spilled a multitude of items that I decided were not worth picking up.  I exited the room, leaving the mess upon the ground.  Unbeknownst to me, lying motionless upon the cold, hard ground was an artifact of my childhood: a stuffed rabbit.

            I entered the kitchen.  I gave my father his soda and opened up mine.  Sitting back down, my father turned to me as he popped open his can.

            “Thanks dove,” he said, smiling vainly.

            I rolled my eyes, unnoticeably.

 

            “Um…This is not good.”

            “Not good?”

            “Yep.  I have to go to the bathroom.  And I’m thirsty.”

            “Wait…Where the hell do you think you’re going?  You can’t just get up from bed…  What about your leg?”

            “I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry about me.”

 

            My father stood up.  “Well, seems like I’ll be getting this show on the road.”

            My heart cried in joy to his sudden statement.  A wave of relief flushed over me.  I was surprised he was leaving so soon.  I smiled widely, pranced for joy, heard the bell toll, and watched the cows return all in one gesture, at least, until my father paused and smiled awkwardly at me.

            “You certainly seem eager about the inspection!”  He murmured.

            “-What?-“  I repeated what I heard in my head and frowned.  I felt my heart pulverized in a swift blow.  I will never know what made me think getting a show on the road meant taking off, but more than likely my anxiousness played a cruel trick on my ears.

            “Where’d your enthusiasm go?”  My father asked.  “It’s time to inspect.”

            I stood up; crushing my empty soda can within my hand.

           

            “Don’t worry, I won’t get caught.  I’m a master of stealth!”

            “…  I’m thinking no.”

 

            Since we were currently in the kitchen, my father logically decided to start with the upstairs.  Since he inspected the kitchen when he entered it, he started to open the drawers and pantries.  He commented on the amount of food we kept around the house, the arrangement of cooking supplies, and the cleanliness of the dishes.  All the while, I stood there and waited for him to finish.  My father was the doctor examining the health of my lifestyle and I always felt nervous and awkward around a doctor.  I did not answer his questions, though.  Too often his questions were meaningless and petty.  This was my silent protest to this ridiculous custom.  A custom I regrettably grew too lenient on.

            “Seems like everything’s in order here,” my father said, rising up from the rotating pantry.

            “Uh huh,” I muttered, acknowledging his completion of the kitchen.

            My father moved into the living room and I reluctantly followed behind him.  He scanned over the living room, doing a complete circle before walking towards the hallway to the bedrooms and the bathroom.

            He checked the bathroom quickly and efficiently before moving on into my room.  Thankfully, many of the faint stains that still remained went unseen.

            I sighed as my father stood in the middle of my room.  “Father, why do you do this?”  I asked in boiling annoyance.

            My father turned to me in surprise, as if to say something, before moving his attention back to my room.  He probably checked the expression on my face, to see how or why I was asking the question.  My goal was to insinuate to my father his unreasonable actions.  That weeks of inspections were nothing more than his ridiculous controlling ways.  His hurtful controlling ways.  I did not expect an answer, which came surprisingly quick.

            “Because I worry,” he said with his back turned against me.

            “No you don’t,” I retorted, not believing his answer.  After some silence and no immediate reaction from my father, the room’s air tightened to a deadly grip.

            “Yes I do," he finally said.  "Never say that I don’t worry or care about you."

            I refused to respond anymore on the matter, miffed not because my father could say those sentences, but because he said them so shallowly.  I stood and watched him inspect my room, which took longer than usual.

            Hopefully this lengthy delay was caused by my question.  I imagined the gears within my father's head slowly rotating and contemplating what I had asked.  I speculated on what he was thinking in response to my question.  Speculated if he was considering asking some questions back, answering truthfully, or possibly leaving the rigorous evaluation for another day.  My God, I hoped for the latter.

            None of these came, however.  “In here looks fine,” was all he said, before plodding along towards the door.

            I took offense to his reaction.  I'm certain I shouldn't have, being truly irrelevant in the long run, but right then I was helpless to cease my feelings.  He ignored my question or rode if off as dismissed and I refused to allow my serious question to be ridden off.

            “Father!  I asked you a question that I have yet to hear an answer to,” I demanded but my father had already turned the corner into the hallway.  My words stopped him, and he turned around, blank faced.  I walked out of my room and into the hallway, standing in front of the closet that held the cleaning supplies.  I looked upon my father, who backed up slightly.  Once again, I could not tell what he was thinking or how he was going to respond, but it did not worry me.  I wanted to know why he did this, why he inspected my home.  Even if Derek was downstairs, being a tormentor to my home and causing problems, even if Ellie had yet to be employed for more than a month, I decided to discard them from this personal operation.  My father and I needed to settle our disputes now.  We had set them aside before I moved in, but today they charged back.  My inability to act when Derek came had shown me that I needed to accomplish what counts, and there was no better time than the present.  I stared directly into my father’s eyes, trying to read any hint he might give, whether his answer would be truthful or an awful lie.

            “Well?”  I demanded.

            “You forget the other person that's making me do this, Wren.”

            I searched for the "other" people in my mind.

            “Your mother also is making me do this.”

            My eyes grew huge to what I saw, but I hastily withdrew my expression.

            “Believe it or not, Wren, but your mother and I both worry about you and we both want to see that you’re taking care of yourself and your house.  This is an investment I made, and I keep track of my investments.”

            I said nothing to react to my father, but my legs shook slightly.  I quaked not because of my father, though.  I was startled not because my mother complied in these inspections.  Far from it.  That knowledge I knew from the beginning.  My startle came when Derek, in-the-flesh,  wearing nothing but those bandages and hobbling on those crappy old crutches, had turned into the hallway from the steps, stopped instantly when he noticed that between him and me was my father, and nervously moved into the kitchen.

            Suddenly, surprising my father and me, the dishwasher started its wash cycle.  My father’s face turned to confusion and he turned around.  I followed him as he went to investigate the kitchen.

            Around this moment, sweat started to roll off my skin.  I silently panicked, worrying about what the next few seconds held in store, and to what end this would all come to.  However, when my father and I traversed the minute distance from the hallway to the kitchen and rounded the corner, my father only eyed the dishwasher with suspicion.  There it sat, running, with no one around to turn it on.

            I panicked more.  A panic that generates that lightheaded feeling where the visual world becomes roughly two shades too bright and movement of said world becomes blurry.  I leaned up against the fridge, but straightened myself before my father turned around.

            “Who’s here?”  My father demanded sternly.

            “No one,” I said in my delirium.  I covered my forehead with one hand and tried to rub out the lightheaded feeling.  ''No one that I know of."

            “Wren, there must be someone here!  The dishwasher cannot automatically turn on.  Now tell me who is here!”  My father demanded again.

            “Yes it can,” I said, shooting very wildly from my hip.

            “What?”  My father asked, stepping one foot closer to me.

            “The dishwasher turns itself on because it’s –Oh God…– broken,” I said, not even consciously talking, but blurting out any word that instinctively came to mind.  Unfortunately, a horribly unbelievable lie came to mind, so it escaped my mouth.  I just wonder what that says about my character.

            My father’s anger and confusion changed to just confusion.  “Broken?”

            “Yeah…  The dishwasher does not start up until it wants to; usually about an hour later,” I explained, not really thinking through the reason.  However, I did not expect to receive any ground on this excuse either.

            “Are you serious?”  My father asked, buying my excuse.

            I looked at him and his stern face.  He truly was serious!  My panic resided slightly and I placed on a straight face.  “Yes, I am completely serious, Father.”

            A puzzled look crossed my father’s face.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  Before we even started.”

            I looked at my father and tried to read him, looking for a trap of some sort.  I saw no trap, but less sincerity in his expression.  “I don’t know.  I didn’t think it was a big deal, nothing to really fuss over.”

            “Wren," he stated seriously.  "I’m disappointed in you.  You should have told me right when it happened.  This is an old dishwasher.  I could have looked at it,” my father said, turning around and bending down to open the dishwasher and look at it.

            My father went exactly where I realize he should not go.  Examining the dishwasher would only lead to discovery of it being fully functionally and would only lead to more questions about why it turned on unexpectedly.  I quickly darted around my father and grabbed his hand that gripped the dishwasher’s latch.  “No, there’s no need, Father!  I’ve everything under control.  No need to worry and no need to strain yourself looking at it.”

            My father stopped to listen to me, and now he stood there looking at me perplexed.  “Excuse me?  Oh, is this what this is about?”  He asked cryptically.

            “Huh?”  I asked, speaking over the dishwasher's wash cycle.

            He only smiled at me.  “I think I understand now.  Okay, I’ll leave it be.”

            I gave my father a perplexed look, but he just kept smiling back at me.  The same shallow grin that always plasters his face.

            “Whatever, Father,” I said, walking past him to stand above the stairs.  I turned around and looked at him, commanding him to follow me.  Wherever Derek was at, I knew that I certainly covered his idiotic actions and I wanted to finish this now, before I calmed down enough not to rip off his head.

            My father and I descended the stairs.  We headed left into the family room.  Right of the bat my father opened the laundry doors and peered inside, panning the room from one side to the other.  “Everything working fine?”  My father plainly asked.

            “No problems,” I said with equal banality, crossing my arms and not even entering the laundry room.  As I watched my father step out and walk over to the corner nook, I contemplated this ridiculous situation.  My father stepped around a bookshelf.  He stepped around that so he could inspect my house, a simple corner of my house.  My father stepped around to inspect because he demanded complete control of my life.  He stepped around that shelf only because I allowed him to rule me like this.  Now watching my father survey the nook, I could only question any phantom problem he might be looking for.  What exactly could I be hiding in a nook that would warrant him to remove his investment?  Drugs?  Alcohol?  Neither of these would be located out in the open in my basement!  My frustrated brain raced through all possible problems he could be looking for.  Absolutely nothing came to mind, except one thought: my father is an idiot.  A plain, simple idiot who I now realized had no checklist in his mind.  He was not looking for a specific problem.  He only searched my house for the sole purpose of oppressing me in my own home.

            Now I knew.  I hated my father.  This growing hate overpowered my appreciation for raising me and overpowered my pity for his health.  This hate felt more like disgust than frustration.  A frustration that strangled me because this hate was silent.

            My face puckered up as I stared at my father rummage through a cabinet.  Right then, I heard the most inaudible noise of someone creeping up the stairs.  I heard the footsteps of Ellie.  She must have walked out of Derek’s room in an attempt to bring him back downstairs.  My problem now doubled.

            I turned to the hallway, then back to my father, who still rummaged through the cabinet.  I made my decision and spun around to walk to the hallway.  I ascended the steps quickly and quietly enough to spot Ellie rounding the corner upstairs into the hallway.  I frowned when I saw her and hurried my pursuit.

            “What the hell are you doing…?”  I heard Ellie quietly demand when I set foot beyond the last step to the upstairs.  Our old dishwasher was still running strong, so I could barely decipher what she asked.

            “Going to the bathroom…  Doing exactly what I said I was doing,” I heard Derek whispered back.  I rounded the corner to the hallway and both of them jumped at the sight of me.  Probably because of the pissed look upon my face.  I barely contained my anger and frustration as to what exactly these two were thinking.  I glared at them.

            “Wren?”  Ellie asked, bewildered.  “What are you doing?  Where’s your father?”

            “That’s a stupid question, Ellie,” I said harshly.  “My father is downstairs... and for some reason, beyond the bounds of stupidity, you two are standing in this hallway…!”  I whispered forcefully.

            “I had to go—“

            “I don’t care, Derek!”  I snapped.  “Both of you, stay inside my room and do not come out!  My father is almost finished, and then you two can go back to screwing around without a freaking care in the world!”

            “Shh!  I think I hear your father,” Ellie said.

            The three of us went silent and listened, but the dishwasher drowned out any and all sound.

            I listened very closely, trying to hear any faint sound beyond the running water.  I concentrated hard.  Finally, I heard the sound of my father’s heavy footsteps upon the second set of steps.

            In great haste, I threw open the large closet’s double doors to the right of us and pulled out the vacuum cleaner.  I pushed Ellie and Derek inside and shut the doors.

            My father rounded the corner into the hallway.  He looked at me with a large frown upon his face, which demanded I explain myself for abandoning him during our inspection.  With my anger towards Ellie and Derek and hatred for him subsided temporarily, I decided to use the vacuum cleaner at hand as my excuse.  “I came up here to grab the vacuum cleaner,” I said calmly, lifting the device up slightly. 

            My father, yet to say anything, walked right up to me.  I started to sweat, perceiving the only reason he would up this close to me was to open the closet door.  My heart skipped a beat as he turned, but he turned to open up the bathroom door on the left side of the hallway.  He entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

            I let out a huge sigh of relief and chuckled quietly at my fortune.  Had I placed Ellie and Derek inside the bathroom, their uncovering would have been inevitable.  Thankfully, my poor decision to place them in the closet became the best outcome.

            Soon, my father exited the bathroom and we both headed back downstairs to resume the inspection.  We quickly finished the family room and moved on to the downstairs bathroom, which essentially finished the tour.  Once again, and much to my frustration, my father’s random searches had skipped both the junk room and Derek’s current room.  Derek and Ellie’s flight from their completely safe hiding spot again burned at the back of my mind.

            I contemplated my lecture those two as I escorted my father up the steps to the foyer.  As I walked up the steps behind my father, something faint made my senses tingle.  My father had not said anything since he exited the bathroom.  I knew that was a very negative reaction.  Even though the walk up the steps was very short, I felt simultaneously nervous and angry as I entered the foyer.  Nervous at what my father would say when our eyes meet and angry that he was making me nervous, especially since his motives for being angry with me were more than likely idiotic and illogical.

            My father grabbed his hat and his coat.  He placed his hat on his head, stiffly put on his coat, and slowly turned to look at me.  An ominous sort of glare he gave me.

            “Everything seems normal, but…”  He stopped.  “Wren, I look to your own best interest.  And I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said lowly.  He adjusted his hat, stepped to the door, opened it, and passed through it.  I watched through the screen door as he walked down the driveway to his car.

            A few seconds later, he was gone.  So ended his inspection, leaving me confused and miffed.

 

            After my father left, I sat down.  I needed a sit badly, so I rested long and hard in the living room.  Reading a book restrained me from screaming at those two and helped me not dwell on the close calls.  Those two caused me unnecessary stress, so as a punishment I decided to leave them in the closet for a while.  A very long while.

            Thus, I kicked my feet up onto the coffee table and I snickered to myself.  Snickering allowed me to try to cover up my anxiety from today.  Unfortunately, my laughter only turned into a crippled sigh.  I shook my head.  I truly was unable to coup with what I went through today.  Nor could I believe that I survived today.

            Two hours later, I let Ellie and Derek out.  They did not say a word and both looked downtrodden.  They knew the stupidity of their actions.  Derek hobbled downstairs and Ellie entered the bathroom.

            I had watched both of them disappear from view.  Then I went back to the couch, sat down again, and continued reading my book.  Though, every word I read disappeared from my mind, slipping away to nothing.

 

 

            Ellie and Derek were touching each other and neither one could prevent it.  Wren had shoved both of them into a closet and both focused so hard on not making a noise that they ignored each other’s touch.

            Both listened as Wren maneuvered around her father with a believable excuse.  Ellie shifted slightly to better support herself.  Derek moved his hand up to grab the wooden beam that stretched across the length of the closet and held canvas bags and other miscellaneous items of clothing.  Now both of them were comfortable, but they were still touching.

            Soon enough, Derek began to wish he were wearing normal clothing.  The bandages were doing nothing to help the situation be more comfortable, and being pressed up against Ellie caused his mind to pander through some certain emotions.  His heart beat rose slightly and some fluster gnawed at his throat.  It was her perfume.    Derek could smell Ellie's perfume and it was driving him insane.  Confined to a tight spot made her smell far more potent that what it normally should be and Derek found himself worked up.  Her perfume smelled fantastic.

            "-Hot damn, this is unbelievable...-” Derek thought to himself.  He shifted his weight slightly.  Ellie reacted by moving herself.  Even though the room was pitch black, Derek knew exactly how she was positioned.  Ellie reversely knew how Derek was positioned and she also found herself flustered.

            "Ah...  Derek...”  Ellie whispered.  "Can I just..."  Ellie moved her hand around Derek's waist and pushed up her hand against the back wall.  "Sorry," she whispered.  "I needed to support myself better."

            "Ah...  That's fine," Derek whispered, feeling his face heat up.

            "So," Ellie muttered.  "I think Wren and her father have moved away from the closet.  That was too damn close, huh?"

            "Indeed.  Good thing Wren is a quick thinker.  We would have been properly screwed."

            "Well, why did you decide to leave the room, dumbass.  Were you trying to shit on our plan that thoughtlessly?"  She whispered, but giggled afterwards.

            "Well," Derek whispered.  "I haven't used the toilet in how many days?  I needed to use it, okay?"

            "Noted.  And understandable, I guess.  But how’ja use the restroom without Wren's father hearing?"

            "I turned on the dishwasher.  It seemed like a pretty old one, so I took a chance that it was also a loud dishwasher.  Since I was right, I used the noise to distract her father and cover up any noise.  Wren's a smart kid, so I knew she could come up with something.  From what I heard not two minutes ago, I believe she lied beautifully and things worked out for the best.  -And thank you Lord for putting me in this closet!-” Derek whispered as Ellie shifted.

            "That's clever enough.  But Wren's going to be furious with us, and especially you.  I don't think I can change her mind this time.  Oh, I don't think I'll ever see her this mad again..."

            "So she'll be mad, huh?"

            "Yes, she will," Ellie whispered.  "You damn right she will."

            Silence fell between them.

            “So...”  Ellie spoke after a short while.  “Did you do all that stuff the news caster said?"  Ellie shifted again, causing her face right up to Derek's ear.  "Sorry, it’s cramped."

            Derek said nothing at the moment.  He contemplated a response.  "Do you not believe me?"  He asked calmly.

            "No!  I didn't mean it like that, okay?  But if something did happen, it would be nice to know."

            Derek felt her breathe on his ear, her whisper ringing through his head.  "They are called casters for a reason.  Nothing happened, that I know of," said Derek with a frown.

            The room's darkness masked his frown, and for what felt like hours, Derek stood body to body with Ellie.  Tormented, Derek bathed in mixed emotion and Ellie's perfume, counting every second that passed.

            When Wren finally opened up the closet door, Derek felt relieved to see the light.  Ellie contemplated why they did not exit sooner, but removed the thought by stretching.  She looked at Derek.

            "What's wrong?"

            Derek looked at the floor.  "Nothing's wrong...”  He said, trailing off.  "It's nothing...  Just...”  He struggled for words, a predicament Derek never found himself in.  Ellie must have noticed too as he trailed off.  "Nothing...  Nothing...  It's just I..."

 

 

End Chapter 5

 

            Halloween has come.  Derek and Ellie are both in the holiday spirit, but Wren dampens their mood by reporting that the necklace has yet to be found.  As the three housemates grow a little closer, Derek gives Wren and Ellie a terrible scare.  Chapter 6: Every Single Romeo