And after another exciting plotting adventure with Shreek (this time pertaining to the Merry Men and thier place in the story, among other things) I have another chapter for you. Please enjoy.

Chapter 4

After dinner, which went as well as anything can go when Steve is seated directly in front of me chewing with his mouth open, I did half an hour of piano practice and then met Mom, Dad and Steve in the living room for our bi-weekly, family viewing of crime shows. There were a heap on TV these days and what's even more convenient was that you could by the series on DVD. The entire west wall of the den was taken up by a massive bookcase that was filled only with DVDs and the majority of them were crime or superhero related. We had CSI in all its locations, Law and Order both normal and SVU, Criminal Minds, Bones, Castle, NCIS original and LA, The Mentalist, Lie to Me, Burn Notice, Jag and MacGyver. Not to mention the fairy tale and mythology based crime shows, like Lost Girl and Grimm. We also had all the Batman, Spiderman and Superman movies.

They were a bit fanatical, I suppose, but watching them with Mom and Dad was really interesting. I don't know whether he's seen them all before, but five minutes into any movie or episode, old or new, Dad knew who the culprit was and how the crime played out. Mom was pretty good too, but Dad was the expert.

The viewing had been a family tradition ever since I was old enough to not get totally freaked out by crimes and seeing dead people on TV and stuff. Generally we watch one disc per viewing session, but on school holidays when we don't have to be up to go to school the next day we sometimes watch two or three. We go through all the discs in a series chronologically until it's finished before moving to the next, because Dad likes order.

If you don't believe me, you should come over next time we do spring cleaning. The house is scrubbed from top to bottom. Literally. We start at the top and work our way down. The theory is that the dust and grime we may disturb in the process of cleaning will travel downward so we're saving time and effort by not having to clean it twice. My personal opinion was that I shouldn't have to crawl around in the dark corners of the attic ever because attics are meant to be dusty and spooky and by cleaning ours regularly we are in violation of the Household Standards of America. Just like every house should have those perfect archway mouse holes.

We didn't have any of those either, just for the record. Steve and I checked when we were younger.

Speaking of Steve he was sprawled in one of the two armchairs set at either end of the sofa when I entered the living room, his legs thrown over one armrest as he texted God only cares who. Mom and Dad were side by side on the love seat, touching from shoulder to knee just like always. After a brief contemplation, I grabbed the cushion from the other chair and set it in front of Mom on the floor so that I was leaning against her legs – she liked to braid my hair while we watched TV.

Mom was giggling over something Dad had said as I settled before her.

"What's so funny?" I asked, tilting my head back so I was looking at the pair of them upside down. Dad, I noticed, had changed from his trousers and blue button through shirt that he wore for work to a dark grey t-shirt and his black cotton pyjama pants.

"They put your dad on the Demo table again today," she informed me, brushing my rampant curls back from my face. "He had a group of about twenty housewives and old ladies gathered around at one time." She placed her hand on Dad's arm. "Tell her about the slicer demonstration, Ric."

Dad got that look on his face like he wanted to roll his eyes again, but proceeded to explain how he was demonstrating the new slice-o-matic thing and a blue haired, permed old lady had asked to have a try. He'd obliged, beckoning her around to his side of the table so he could guide her through the motions, informing her that she could go slow and long or fast and short depending. Apparently, she'd fainted; the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the ground was Dad's arms around her. I was laughing by the end, despite how suggestive and gross the story was. I mean, sure, Dad's a good looking guy for his age, but the thought of ladies getting so hot and bothered over his slicer innuendos that they fainted was just appalling. I'd rather not think about it.

"Alright, phones turned off and on the coffee table," Dad announced. That was the rule. Family time is family time. All phones and devices that can be used to communicate and /or distract are to be either left in their respective rooms or switched off and put out in the centre where they are out of reach and in full view of everyone. We'd had to bring it in when Steve got to high school and started spending every waking hour texting or chatting with his friends.

The moment Steve tossed his phone onto the table Dad pressed a button the remote and we were all simultaneously absorbed into the mysterious world of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit.

The next evening, I was spread out on the sofa, reading 48 Shades of Brown, the book I was studying in English class, when Steve stuck his head around the doorway. "Bug's here," he announced. "I'm leaving. Mom left some money for pizza on the fridge, but don't forget Dad's protocol."

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Don't open the door until after the guy's left. I'm not an imbecile, Steve."

"Didn't say you were," he said innocently. "Anyway, I'll probably be back late."

"Whatever. Just leave so I can enjoy your absence."

Without another word he was gone, arming the alarm system before he left, and I was home alone. Steve was off to his party, which he'd had to beg Dad to let him still go to this morning, because he'd forgotten to put the bins out last night. And Mom and Dad were on their mandatory date night. Once a month on a Friday night they'd meet at a restaurant after work, have dinner and see a movie or whatever. So for the next few hours I had the house to myself. I could do whatever I wanted – within reason of course, because somehow, Dad always knew what we were up to when they were out – and I could do it without distractions.

My plan? To catch up on my assignments. Boring, I know, but sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. If I got good grades this semester Mom and Dad have promised to buy me an iPad. And let me tell you, this girl wants an iPad.

By eleven o'clock I'd finished the book, written up chapter summaries, stared at my math homework for an hour and was online chatting with my friend Amanda when the phone rang. I'd brought the hand set into my room with me so that I wouldn't have to run halfway across the house to answer it if it rang, so I reached over to the bedside table and noted Steve's number displayed on the read out.

"What's up, Fart-face?" I greeted, typing a quick BRB to Amanda and sitting up so I could concentrate on his slurring voice better.

"Reggie!" he exclaimed merrily. "Can you put Mom on?"

"They're not home yet," I informed him.

"But izz late. They should be home."

I rolled my eyes. "Well they're not. They probably had to catch a later movie time than they intended," I reasoned. "It's happened before. Why do you want Mom?"

"I need a lift home," he explained, letting out a disgusting belch as he did so. "I'm drunk and I need to come home."

"So get Bug to drive you."

"Bug's drunk too," Steve chuckled.

"Of course he is," I sighed. "Well good luck getting home then, maybe Darlene will come pick you up."

"I know!" he said loudly, causing me to move the phone away from my ear just a little bit. "You can come get me!"

Oh, right, because that's such a great idea. "Steve, you're drunk, so you probably don't remember, but I don't have my license. I can't come get you."

He sounded like he was trying to sigh through his drunkenness, but failing horribly. All that came out was a series of breathy grunts until finally he gave up and used his words. "You know how to drive, Reggie. Dad taught you. You can come pick me up and we'll go home. It'll take like ten minutes. No one will ever know!"

"What if I get caught?" I pointed out. "What if I'm pulled over by the police?"

"You won't be! I promise!"

And that is how I found myself twenty minutes later, navigating the roads in Steve's VW, my intoxicated brother in the passenger seat, giggling at the pretty lights through the window as I passed. "You owe me big time for this," I informed him, slowing to a stop at a red light and glancing in his direction.

His hand was waving back and forth in front of his face, his eyes following the movement avidly. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to see in black and white?" he asked me.

"All the time," I replied sarcastically. I reached over and forced his hand down to his lap just as the light went green. "I am never covering your dinner shifts again," I began. "And you'll have to do my chores for at least a month."

Steve was back to examining his hands. He had his right hand about an inch from his face, staring at the palm with a furrowed brow. His other hand was poking at a spot, squeezing it briefly before flicking it. The next thing I knew, he hand was in my face, blocking my view of the road ahead. "Does this look cancerous to you?" he asked as I swerved on the road, craning to see around him.

"Steve!" I exclaimed, at the end of my patience with him. I was just about to slam on the breaks and insist that we call Mom and Dad to come pick us up, because I refused to drive any further with him in the car, when a siren sounded from behind. My eyes darted to the rear view mirror, which was now filled with red and blue flashing lights, and I groaned, slowly pulling over to the curb. "See what you've done now?" I muttered to Steve as the police car pulled in behind us and the officer got out. "Dad's gonna be so pissed."

Dun DUN DUUUUUNNNNNNN! What on earth have Reggie and Steve gotten themselves into? Leave a review for a hopefully speedier update.