Nightmare Street

I LOVE NY! I just got back from New York at 3:00 a.m. Friday morning, lol. I'm reeeally tired, but…whatever. Figured I'd write this, thanks for all the lovely reviews! You guys rock!

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Chapter 3

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Mac sighed, and checked his watch. '5:03', it read, which meant he was already three minutes late from when he was supposed to be home, which was supposed to be when dinner was supposed to be ready, which meant it wouldn't be until he came home. Because what was supposed to be never was. This meant, of course, that he had to make dinner again. If there was any food, that was.

He hurried up his walk into a jog, glancing every few second at his watch. 'Slow motion, slow motion! This would be a good time to go into slow motion!' But his watch apparently did not agree, and the seconds kept slipping by. Hearing a deep rumble, he peered upward. Thunder. Joy.

And all at once, he was soaked. "Why, why rain?" He asked the sky, before realizing it must look rather weird for him to be talking to it. Not that there was anyone else on the streets—it was pouring down raining after all. If he was old enough he figured this would be a pretty good time to add in a few curses.

And finally, he could spot the apartment. He hated that apartment, but it was better then the time they hadn't been able to pay for their old one and were homeless for a few days. He surveyed the apartment, taking in the height—6 stories, he lived on the 3rd floor—and the parking lot, complete with a beat-up old navy blue ford pickup. He knew that truck all too well.

He checked his watch. '5:14'. He was fourteen minutes late…and his dad was apparently visiting.

And it was still raining.

'Sing a happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy song…'He repeated in his mind quietly, walking into the building and up the stairs. Before he knew it, he was facing his front door. Door number 8, it read, the once shiny number dull and scratched. Screaming could be heard from inside, and someone was definitely throwing something.

He paused in the doorway, debating going in. He was already—he checked his watch again—16 minutes late. As soon as he put his hand on the doorknob, however, the creak of an opening door could be heard to right of him. His neighbor, Elsa Sheinkopft, peered out at him.

"Mac, honey, don't you be going in there." She said, her glasses sliding down her nose. She stopped to push them back up, "Want me to call the police?"

Mac shook his head no, "I've got to go in, and I'm already late." He headed back towards his door when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, sweetie, you can stay over here until he's gone. I don't want you going in there while they're fighting." She smiled at him, and in an instant Mac wished she had been his mom. How he longed for a smile like that…one that told him he was loved, that someone cared if he lived or died. He knew his real mother felt like that for him—but she never showed it.

"I can't, thanks for the offer Mrs. Sheinkopft." Mac stretched a smile across his face, "I've got to make dinner, and make sure they're not making too big of a mess."

A sigh left Mrs. Sheinkopft's lips as she nodded her head, her pale blonde hair falling over her shoulders. "You just be careful, honey. And if you need anything, you come right over here, okay? I'm telling you, if I hear you or your brother screamin', I'm going right over to the phone and calling 9-1-1." She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. She had lived in that same apartment building for 10 years….and she remembered the day they had moved in. She had kindly introduced herself, and had at once fallen for the cute little 5 year old with the deep brown eyes—eyes that knew more then they should, and witnessed more then many would ever know. And now, as she gazed into those same eyes three years later, she wondered how someone as innocent as him could remain unchanged throughout all the years.

Mac smiled faintly, and gave her a little wave of a goodbye. He put his fingers on the cold doorknob, and pushed in slightly. And all at once, everything came to life. His brain registered an object flying at him, and he quickly ducked. He looked behind him to where a glass vase lay shattered on the porch. He shoved it aside with the heel of his shoe, and closed the door.

He took in the room, disheveled—with silverware, pots and pans, and their only glasses (which were shattered into about a million pieces) strewn amongst the floor. A few tomatoes had apparently been used as artillery, and were splattered on the walls and tiles of the floor.

"Mac, 'ol buddy." His dad slurred, limping over to him. His shirt was wrinkled and stained, and it looked like his mom had hit him pretty good with something purple on his pants pocket. "How about we…" He hiccupped, and then grabbed a hold of Mac's shoulder, "Get outta' here…and we let…we let your…bitch…your bitchy mom…"

"Shut the hell up!" Mac looked over to see his mother, still in her work clothes, with a pan raised over her head. She looked rather crazed, her hair in a messy bun, her eyes wide. "I said you leave right now, you hear? And don't you come back again!"

"Aww, Bran, you know you wanted me…you wanted me back!" He smiled, dropping Mac on the ground and attempting to slide over to her.

She raised the pot even higher, as if daring him to come any closer. "I'll call the cops on you! I'll get a restraining order, and then they can throw your drunken ass in jail!"

"That's what you said…hic, last time!" He shouted back at her, "And besides…I'm n-not even drunk!"

It was an obvious lie, but his mother's face softened. "Really?"

"Yep…s-sober for…a…for a couple a' days now." He replied, and the pan lowered down to the table.

Mac stared in disbelief—how could anyone believe such an obvious lie? But he kept quiet, actually glad for the fact that his dad was being rather nice.

"Yep…but I got kicked outta' my place." His dad said, and then put on a dramatic sad face, "Think I could stay here for a bit? Just fer one night?"

"Oh, I don't know…"

"C'mon, babe…it'll be just like old times!" He said happily, and from the very moment Brannie nodded her head, Mac knew something was going to happen.

And there was no possible way that 'something' could be good.

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Please review, me peeps! Hehehe…peeps…