Starring: Patrick 'Spot' Conlon, Richard 'Snipeshooter' Conlon, Sue-Ellen Conlon, Alexander 'Specs' Conlon, John 'Dutchy' Dutchyshen
Chapter 4: Welcome to Wincrest
—Spot's PoV—
Monday morning at my house was chaotic.
Though she rarely yells, everyone makes exceptions. From the minute Snipeshooter and I stumbled out of bed and to the breakfast table Mother was all over us.
"Did you tell your friends? You told them, didn't you?" she accused, brandishing something papery at us.
Snipeshooter and I both confirmed to doing no such thing, leading her with only one person.
"Jeremy Michael Abbot Conlon! How dare you allow the sheriff to mention Alexander in the paper? You know we're to keep this all in the family!"
Our father, like us, was confused. My mother thrust the paper at him and I watched him read, his eyes growing larger with every line.
"Sue-Ellen, I swear I gave no say in putting our boy in the paper."
Her face grew red and she stormed to the door. "Just you wait until I get my hands on Sheriff Meyers! That man…" she jerked the door open and stormed down the front walk.
"Mama," I chased after her. "Mama, come back inside. I'll make you a cup of tea."
Reluctantly she turned to come in. Snipeshooter hurried to put on the kettle.
"Just relax," I told her. "I have to get to school now."
She grabbed my arm. "Oh no you don't. We're visiting Alexander today."
==
Wincrest County Rehabilitation Centre is a large, white stone building. The driveway leading to it is long and red-bricked. Along this driveway, as well as the perimeter of the building and the yard, are hundreds of clean shrubs, all cropped to similarity and indistinction. It looked more like a swanky country club of a large private boarding school. Instead, behind those walls were the country's richest and most messed up children.
The front foyer of Wincrest is very typical, considering the exterior. Upon entering I noticed how spectacularly clean it was, full of white furniture and walls. The only thing not white were the full, green potted plants and the black check-in desk. My mother spoke to the woman behind the desk and Snipeshooter sat delicately on a stark white couch.
"Come on boys," calls my mother after a moment, before following another woman through a metal door and down a long white tiled hall. Some of the doors were open, showing off their sleeping occupants or unmade beds. Most of them had their windows open, allowing a breeze in.
"His room is number sixty-two," the woman told us, gesturing to the room across the hall. Like many of the others his door was wide open.
"Mama?" he saw us and backed up slightly into his room. "Spot? Snipeshooter?"
Snipeshooter ran up to him and hugged him. "I missed you Specs."
Specs stiffened and answered robotically. "Missed you too Snipes."
"How are you Alex?" Mama asked him, not moving from her spot in the hall.
"Do you...want to come in?"
We entered his room, which was plain and sparse in decoration. Against two of the walls were twin-sized beds, similarly made, with white comforters, blue and white striped sheets, and a single, smooth white pillow. The only difference was on one of the beds a yellowy-blonde boy sat, watching us lazily. Above his head, on the ceiling, was a poster of a model wearing a bathing suit.
Specs took off his glasses and cleaned then jerkily. His breathing sounded heavy, but so did mine. Maybe this building made people feel nervous, it was so white.
"This is John Dutchyshen. John, this is my family, my mom, Patrick and Richard."
Other than being very blonde, John was extremely pale and had dark, almost purple shadows beneath his eyes. He was slumped over in his bed, miserable and gloomy in a sense of the extreme. Contrary to his obvious mood, he wore all white, as if to blend in with his surroundings. A depressed chameleon.
Our attention was ripped from this strange boy by Specs speaking again.
"Why…" he swallowed and started again, rubbing his palms together in a panicked manner. "Why are you here?"
It was a completely relevant question, seeing as Snipeshooter and I hadn't visited his since his stay began, the same I suspect of our parents.
My mother handed Specs a clipping on the article. "Sweetheart, have you read the paper today?" she asked.
Specs shook his head dumbly and read the article silently. I couldn't help but notice a slight twitch in his hands.
He didn't say anything when he was done; he just folded it and handed it back to my mother.
"I don't know what's going on with the scholarship. I hope they didn't read this." My mother gazed at Specs sadly, wishing he would comprehend all of this properly.
"Scholarship, eh? Aren't we a smart one? Got a fuckin' scholarship. Alex, why didn't you tell me what a damn smartass you are?" Dutchy spoke for the first time. Though his speech was quiet, it was also slurred and negative sounding.
Specs looked away and ignored him.
==
"What's up with your roommate?" I asked Specs before we left.
Specs' fingers twitched again and answered, though failing to meet my eye in the process. "He was…uh…loaded on anti-depressants. His…um…his friend's father was a…um…pharmacist and they'd…uh…swipe anti-depressants to get a, uh, y'know, buzz. Dutchy, he—he took so many that they have to…uh…ease him off or he'll—he'll collapse."
I looked at Specs. He wasn't nearly as big as I remembered. He was taller than me, sure, but he wasn't as big. He looked and sounded small. He was weak and feeble, not like my big brother. "How are…how are you?"
"I'm…I'm good," he assured me, though not very convincingly. ""Being clean is—is stressful. Surreal and…uh…" he trailed off. He wasn't making sense.
"And what?"
"And I'm…I'm glad you came to see me." It was the first thing he's said without a question in his voice of a stutter in the phrase.
Specs is still sick and he's not the way he's been most of my childhood. Beneath the once calm, collected exterior of Alexander Conlon is a small boy, begging his little brother to make everything better.
How do you fix a broken family?
[End Chapter]
We-ll! That's another chapter in the book. What do you think of the portrayal of Dutchy? I tried my hardest to make him come off nervous and panicky. He'd probably be insecure. OK, just review now. Thanks!
Shoutous:
C.M Higgins—I say 'ew' top anyone on drugs. It makes you braindead and smelly.
Almatari-of-Arda—I don't think it translates directly (in fact, I'm positive of it) but it's like…the equivalent. It makes sense with the movie.
Jacky Higgins—don't worry, I forgot if you told me too.
Dreamer110—I like how you seem to like the endings to my chapters. I try to write them to leave an impression. Like each chapter is a mini-story.
Icanreadncount—no one thinks I look like Shirley 'cause…I don't. At all. Why does everyone seem to do Newsie related stuff? All I do Newsie related is obsess! And…yeah, that's it. The people across the street are…I haven't talked to them. I know this sounds racist, but they're some of the only black families on my street. I don't have anything against black people, one of my best friends is and I'm mixed, but my part of town is very…white. Where I go to school, however, it's very ethnic. Ok, off topic there.