Author's Note: Wow. So, it's been almost a year since I've updated this story. I wonder if I have any loyal readers left. Hopefully, I do, and, well-- this chapter is for you. With summer on the rise, maybe I'll be able to finish this epic and soon. For right now, I'm back, and I hope that you enjoy!
Mark stared at his feet. He hadn't gone home after his hospital visit-- he still had the container of leftover lime Jell-O in his hands. It was beginning to melt. A puddle of green slime. Jell-O didn't jiggle once it had melted.
It wasn't far to Roger's house, maybe a twenty minute walk, but already Mark's insides were twisted inside out. He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to have to tell Roger what was going on inside that house.
"Okay," Mark sighed, eyeing the front door carefully. "Okay. I can do this."
He haphazardly stuffed the Tupperware into his knapsack, and started up the front walk. The sun was too bright, and Mark felt himself begin to sweat beneath the ribbed collar of his sweater. He raised his hand to knock, and bit his lip. It was quiet. He didn't hear any of the strange sounds behind the door that he had his first time at the O'Neil house. He had been more scared of Roger than anything or anyone inside. Now, he knew, he had so much more to be afraid of.
Mark managed to gulp down the lump of apprehension that had lodged itself in his throat, and rapped meekly on the door.
He stood, waiting.
"Maybe no one's home," he muttered to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of feet.
The door opened.
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. O'Neil stood before him, wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt, looking no less tired than she had the first time they'd met, but much healthier. Her bruises had disappeared, he noted with hope. She cocked her head him.
"Can I help you?"
"Uh, hi, Mrs. O'Neil," Mark said, waving feebly.
"Hi," she replied uncertainly.
"I'm a friend of Roger's. Mark."
"Oh, sure," Mrs. O'Neil said. She obviously didn't recognize him. "Well, Roger isn't home right now. I'll let him know you stop-"
"Um, actually, ma'am, I was kind of hoping that I could come in. Roger wanted me to get some of his stuff for him."
"Oh. So, you know that he- he had an accident, then?" Mrs. O'Neil asked, staring over Mark's head.
"Yeah," Mark replied. He felt annoyed. How could Roger's own mother pretend like this? His chest began to tighten. He didn't feel afraid anymore. He was mad.
"Well, then, Mark, I suppose you can come in," she replied with a quick smile.
He nodded politely, wiping his feet. "Thanks."
Mrs. O'Neil moved aside, letting him into the house. Mark made sure to take a careful look at his surroundings. The house was silent. Toys were strewn everywhere, and, glancing past Roger's mother and into the kitchen, a week's worth of dirty dishes sat undone. He could make out a pile of empty beer bottles next to the sink, but Mrs. O'Neil quickly shifted in front of him.
"I guess you know where his room is?"
Mark nodded.
"Well, have at it then. I'll be down here if you need anything," Mrs. O'Neil said. She didn't sound very convincing. Mark smiled and started up the stairs, watching the woman move toward the living room. He stopped on the landing, peeking discreetly around the wall. She was already curled up on the couch, her arms wrapped tightly around a throw pillow. She was shaking. Mark looked away and continued up the stairs. He didn't understand.
He remembered where Roger's room was, but didn't go in. He knew he'd have to find something to take to the hospital the next day to convince Muriel he'd been there, but that wasn't his first priority. He could see the purple paint on the walls, the bunny rabbit door hanger on the white paneling. Annie's room.
His steps were measured as he headed toward the toddler's bedroom, waiting for Matthew to appear or for Mrs. O'Neil to holler from downstairs. Neither happened.
Annie's room reminded him of what Cindy's had been when they were little. The walls had been sponge-painted a soft shade of lavender, and were decorated with various posters and coloring book pages; Mother Goose stories, Disney princesses, teddy bears. Her bed was small, and white whicker, piled high with stuffed animals. Mark smiled. He thought of Annie, her white blonde pigtails flying out behind her as she rushed for her big brother. She was cute, and she needed Roger-- he wished that he had had someone who cared for him half as much as she and "Rogie" cared about each other. Then, he noticed the little, white table in the corner. It was overturned, and the cracked remnants of a petit, porcelain tea set lay underneath the splintered legs.
Mark bit nervously at his lip. He picked up a stray shard of glass, imagining how the porcelain could have been cracked. Closing his eyes, he saw Annie, cowering beneath her bed, and Adam trying his best to distract Matthew. He shook his head. He couldn't let Roger's doubts get the best of him. Still, it didn't look good.
"C'mon, Annie, what happened?" he muttered to the broken tea set. His eyes scanned the room for any other signs of unrest, but there were none. Mark stuffed the piece he was holding-- what was left of a miniature saucer-- into his pants pocket, and stood up. He had to get out of there, and quick.
He ducked across the hall to Roger's room. As he pried open the door, he saw his answer. Adam and Annie lay together on the bottom bunk, tucked tightly beneath the covers. Adam's arms were wrapped protectively around his little sister, who was sleeping fitfully. Adam wasn't asleep. He was crying, softly. He jumped as Mark came into the room, swiping carefully at his cheek, not wanting to wake Annie.
"Hi," Mark said stupidly. He didn't know what else to say.
Adam stared at him.
"I'm- I'm Mark. Roger's friend-"
"From school," Adam finished, whispering. Mark could see the kid's hackles rising. He untangled his arms from around his little sister, and sat up.
"Yeah."
"Did- did he send you to check up on us?"
Mark shrugged uncomfortably.
"He did," Adam said, more to himself than to Mark.
"Yeah."
Adam stood up, and Mark gave him a quick once over. He looked fine; no black eyes, and no bruises that anyone could see. He didn't seem afraid.
"Is- is she all right?" Mark asked, gesturing to Annie. "I mean, has anything-"
"Only once. And I stopped him," Adam replied proudly. "Tell Roger that I'm looking out for her. She'll be all right."
"The tea set?" Mark began.
Adam cringed. "Tried to find something to cut me with. Mom came home just in time."
"Is that why-"
"Yeah. He's at work now, but she doesn't want to leave us alone. Not after last night."
Mark nodded. "You're sure you guys are all right?"
The younger boy shrugged. "For now. Just- just tell Roger to get home as soon as he can." Adam looked to his little sister, thrashing around under the covers. "I'm not quite as strong as he is, you know? And he'd kill me if anything happened to her."
"I'll try."
"Thanks, uh-"
"Mark."
"Thanks, Mark," Adam said. "But you'd better go. He'll be home soon."
"Look, does Roger have a baseball card album or anything?" Mark asked quickly. He knew that he needed to leave.
Adam nodded, and grabbed a red binder from the desktop, shoving it into Mark's arms.
"Tell him that we miss him, 'kay?" Adam asked.
"I will."
