Chapter 14
He crawled out of the closet, his eyes adjusting to the bright bedside lamp that was on in the room. It was a dim light, but to him, it was blinding. He spent his days in darkness, hiding behind the clothes, and inside the walls. The only time he saw light was when he would sneak in and watch Fiona, or his own daughter, Holly, sleeping.
Or when he would watch Misty getting dressed in her bedroom, or when she was having sex. He had overheard their conversation about her being pregnant, and he had hoped it wasn't true, but Misty was a small woman, and the baby weight was beginning to show now, but she was still so beautiful. As beautiful as she had ever been.
Tracey's eyes adjusted to the light and he looked at Rose. The door to the bedroom was locked, though they were both certain everyone wouldn't be out again until morning. The kids were definitely asleep, even through Brock and Flint's fight.
"Did you hear about what happened?" She told him, and he nodded his head.
"I'm sorry you lost Flint," Tracey Sketchit's voice was rough and scratchy, and Rose offered him a sip of her water. He had gulped it down in two large gulps. It had been a couple days since he was able to sneak out and get any food or water.
"I'm sorry," Tracey said, handing her back an empty glass. "It's been a few days since I've been able to get down to the kitchen. And you haven't brought me anything since Tuesday."
"I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "I'm afraid something terrible has come up, and it's not Flint being kicked out, which I knew would happen eventually."
"What is it?" Tracey asked. "I know about Misty's pregnancy." He said, remembering when Rose had told him Misty was going to have another baby. He hated Brock even more than he already did. He hated watching the two of them have sex, but he couldn't take his eyes off of it. It only fueled his fantasy that the baby could be his own, like he had wanted since the moment he laid eyes on her, when she was out on the beach with Brock, and he heard her moans of ecstacy.
His jealousy had turned into hatred, and he truly loved Misty. He never meant to hurt her, he never meant to slap her across the face when he had found out she still loved Brock when they had returned to pallet town to meet up with him again. He never meant to snap and lose it when he heard them having sex in the shower together in Delia Ketchum's house, and then the next day trick her to come to the Xanadu nursery, where he tried to rape her, but almost lost his own life because Brock had almost killed him.
He didn't meant to hold a gun to her head, or shoot Gary Oak in the abdomen when he had figured out that they had slept together, behind his back. But he had meant it when he held Brock down on the kitchen floor and wanted to choke the life out of him for sleeping with his girlfriend.
His girlfriend. Tracey's mind echoed for a long moment.
His girlfriend.
Misty was his girlfriend, and she should have been his wife. Right now. He should be the man who was in there with her, holding her, keeping her safe from the dangers out there. Keeping her warm from the cold night. Making love to her every night. Having a baby with her, again.
This should have been his family.
Even his own daughter loved Brock. That bastard stole everything!
"Tracey?" Rose asked, handing him a fresh glass of water. He snapped out of his thoughts, he was so deep in his own head that he hadn't noticed Rose had left the room to get him a glass of water. He drink half of it immediately.
"Sorry," he said breathlessly. "I was thinking...I do a lot of that lately."
"Tracey," Rose said, inviting him to sit on the bed next to her. "I have something important to tell you and you aren't going to like it."
He looked at her. "What is it?"
"Charlie is dead," she said, and she saw his face go pale.
"My...Dad? He's..."
Rose nodded. "I'm sorry, Tracey, but I had no choice. I had to do it. He kidnapped Misty, and he was going to rape her, and he was going to hurt Fiona, and...he had already hurt Holly before. If I hadn't, and he linked the police back to me, I could be in a lot of trouble. You could go back to prison, or that awful hospital they had you in."
Tracey's eyes welled up with tears. "I don't want to go back there."
"That's why I took care of it," Rose said, kissing his hand. "Charlie won't be talking anymore, but I'm sorry I had to kill him. I know you loved your father."
"No, I didn't..." he cried, sucking back air as he stuffed his face into her shoulder. "He used to abuse me. I didn't want children, because I was afraid I was like him, so when Eve got pregnant, I ran and...then I saw Misty out there on that beach in Valencia. And the next day at the Tiki bar, I couldn't stop thinking about her face, or her body, the way she moved, the way she talked."
Rose's eyes locked on with his. "Charlie hurt you...I'm sorry, Tracey. I didn't know that happened to you."
He dried his tears and she handed him a tissue. Then she smiled and brushed the hair back from his face. He was so skinny and pale, from weeks of not having proper food or a decent meal. When Rose had helped him escape from the hospital, she had told him exactly where they could stay and no one would discover him, but she wasn't able to provide him with food and water like she had planned and he had lost a lot of weight because of it.
She went over to his purse and pulled out a styrofoam box. It was filled with steak, bread, mashed potatoes and green beans.
"This is for you," she said, handing him a plastic fork. He immediately started to eat it, almost choking as he did so, and Rose told him to slow down. "Don't eat so fast. No one's going to take it from you."
He swallowed hard. "Brock takes everything from me."
"Well he's not going to take this," Rose reassured him and he slowed down just a tad, but his hunger was making it hard to pace himself.
Once he had eaten everything, Rose discarded the box and Tracey smiled at her, his stomach finally feeling satisfied with a real meal for once. He had only gotten those once every two weeks, and it seemed like an eternity since the last time he had one.
"You're not like Charlie, Tracey," Rose said, as they both laid down in her bed. He looked at her as half of his face sank into the pillow next to hers.
"But I hurt Misty," he said, a tear dripping across his nose and onto the pillow. "I slapped her, and then, I tried to force her to have sex with me because I didn't want Brock to have her...I hurt her..."
"But you didn't, Tracey. You didn't force her to have sex with you," she said, smiling. "No matter if Brock stopped you or not, the point is, you didn't do it. And you haven't hurt those babies in the other room."
"And I have no desire to do that," Tracey said, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to see my daughter, and tell Fiona how much I really love her mom. I thought she could help me."
"But you can't do that anymore, Tracey," Rose said, scooting closer to him. "You've already made far too many mistakes and I'm afraid you are going to get caught if you continue. You can't leave condoms with your DNA on them outside of their shower anymore. You can't wake Misty up in the middle of the night, watching her sleep and fantasizing about her. You can't go into Fiona's room and talk to her, because you scare her. She doesn't understand who or what you are. She just sees you as a strange man who lives in her closet."
Tracey's eyes were red with tears and Rose let her lips brush his own, deepening the kiss into a passionate wrestle of their tongues and discarded clothes.
Rose looked up at him as she lay naked beneath him. "I promised you I'd make you happy, Tracey. I've promised you since day one." She pulled him down and gave him a soft, breif kiss. "Make love to me."
...
May 2005
School would be letting out soon, and then perhaps Tracey could focus on his art. He was at the end of his eleventh grade year, and he wasn't a popular kid at school. He went to his classes like he was supposed to and took his tests, but he didn't much pay attention. He always had a sketch pad with him, and usually would buy a new one just about every week.
He threw himself into art, because he could relate to art. He could relate to the way the lines were on the page. They had a purpose, a reason. In life, he couldn't really relate to others. Guys were usually jerks, and the pretty girls always liked the jerks. Tracey hadn't even so much as talked to a girl...that is until his father met Rose Vaughn.
Rose Vaughn wasn't a girl though. She was a woman. In her mid-thirties, Rose Vaughn was the type of woman that had men falling at her feet. She knew it, too, and his father had definitely fallen at her feet. For that, Tracey was grateful, because it meant maybe his father would finally leave him alone.
Tracey wasn't just a quiet artistic kid. He was hiding a secret from everyone, he rarely made eye contact with anyone because he was afraid they would see the sadness in his eyes, the hurt and torture from all of the abuse his father gave him.
So he walked with his head down all the way home. Some of the other kids that lived on his block threw things at him. Paper. Old food from their lunches a couple hours ago. Pencils. But he finally did make it home, and normally, Tracey would rather be tortured by the kids at school than he would to be at home with his father, but today, Rose was there and she always made things better.
"Hello, Darling," she said, and he looked at the mirror beside her, lines of cocaine set out. She had just snorted one and smiled. "How was school?"
"The usual," he replied. Rose truly was a beautiful woman. Thick red hair, that was teased and permed in tight spirals. Her eyes were ocean blue, her nails were always red and long, perfectly manicured, and her body was the perfect shape. He was mezmerized by her. She had only been dating his father a couple of months, but Tracey often found himself fantasizing about her at night, when he was alone in his room, with the door shut to keep his father out.
His father hadn't allowed locks on the doors when he was little, and it wasn't until Tracey got older that he even knew locks could be on doors. When he was little, his father could come in and out of his room at all hours of the night, touch him, beat him if he didn't cooperate, and sometimes...
Tracey shuddered at the thought of being raped over and over by the sick bastard.
But when he turned 12 years old, he had went over to a friend's house. The only friend he had ever made in school, who ended up moving away two months after they had become friends because his father took another job. That's where he discovered locks could be put on doors, and he went to a hardware store and bought a ton of them with the money he stole out of his dad's wallet when his dad was hyped up on coke, or passed out on heroine with his girlfriend at the time.
Tracey hadn't liked any of his girlfriends, but he liked Rose. She did the drugs, and she drank and she smoked cigarettes, but she was classy and beautiful, and always kept her appearence up, no matter how strung out she might be. He liked that about her.
His father had broken the locks off a few times, and he had gotten heavily beaten for trying to keep him out, but Tracey didn't care. He took his punishment, and then he went back to the next day and bought more locks with more money that he had stolen.
"Where is Charlie?" Tracey asked. He had long ago stopped calling him Dad. He knew that being molested and raped by your father wasn't a normal thing that dads do, so he stopped calling him that. He had thought about running away, but where would he go? He'd end up in the system, and who knows what kind of family they would put him with?
At least that's what his Dad would say. He would always tell Tracey that if he ran away, he'd be put into foster care, and some other guy would rape him and probably do worse, so he'd best just stay at home. At least he knew he'd live after the "special times" as his father had dubbed it since he was little.
"He went off downtown," Rose said, lighting a cigarette."Probably won't be back for a while."
"Good," Tracey said, letting his shoulders slump forward with relief. "Rose, can I talk to you about something?"
"Of course you can," she said, smiling at him. "What is it, Kiddo?" She tapped her cigarette into the ash tray.
'Now is your chance, Tracey' he urged himself. Tell someone. He had never wanted to tell a teacher or a police officer, because his father had threatened him with the same story about being put in the system, but he trusted Rose, she wouldn't put him anywhere he didn't want to be. She'd make sure he could stay at home, with her, but keep him safe from Charlie.
"Sometimes, when I look at girls, I get these urges," he said, clasping his hands together, tightly as his anxiety grew.
"Honey, that's called being a teenager," she said, tapping his knee, and when she did, he had gotten the urge again. It was deep, primal urge, an aching between his legs, one he had never felt before until a couple of years ago.
Sex to him was a chore, because his father had treated it like a chore for him to do. While most kids at his school complained about having to do the dishes or vaccum the carpet, his father made him do disgusting unmentionable things to him, and sometimes, allowed other men to come in and have their way with him in exchange for drugs or drug money.
But now, sex was something that he wanted to do. He knew, somehow, sex would be different when it was with someone he cared about. Someone he loved, and someone who loved him. Someone like Rose Vaughn.
"No, like..." he stopped and looked up at her. "When I look at you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you."
She smiled and leaned forward, her lips were painted a bright red, and she had perfect, straight teeth. He looked into her eyes, so beautiful. The color of a cerulean ocean. So clear and so bright, though he knew she hadn't slept in a couple of days, she seemed awake as ever.
"Then kiss me, Tracey," she said softly, and pressed her lips against his. They were soft, gentle, and Tracey almost cried at the sensation. Her breath didn't smell of rotting meat. Her lips were not rough with unshaven hair. Her cigarettes tasted sweet on her tongue, instead of old and rancid like they did on his father's. He hated when he father tried to kiss him. It was wrong and unnatural for a father to kiss their own child and Tracey had known that ever since he was little.
The kiss he shared with Rose now was the best kiss he had ever had in his life.
Rose backed up over to the old couch, which was falling in, but neither of them cared at that moment. He knew the effect of cocaine, and he knew it always made people really horny. Rose was already feeling that effect now and she quickly slid herself down onto his erection.
Tracey had only lasted about a minute, before his body stiffened and a pleasureable sensation rocketed through his body.
His peers had been talking about sex lately. They had been talking about how awesome and amazing it was. Boys seemed to always be chasing girls around for it. Some boys chased around other boys for it, and girls chased other girls, and everyone at school seemed to have just that on their mind. Everyone was falling in love...
But not dreaded sex, until now. Until he was with Rose Vaughn. She smiled down at him, her perfect breasts were in his face and his eyes were glued to them.
"Don't tell your father," Rose winked at him and stood up, putting back on her clothes.
Tracey watched as she went over to the mirror on the table and did another line of cocaine.
"Can I do one?" He asked, and Rose held her nose and snorted.
"No, sir, you may not," she said. "Only adults can do cocaine. But you can definitely do me again sometime." She winked and kissed his mouth once again before breaking apart from him, leaving him stunned and naked in the living room.
...
Tracey laid there in bed next to Rose for a few moments afterwards, sweat clung to his skin and he calmed his breathing. His eyes focused on the spinning fan blade in the room, and he breathed in the air, slowly now. Brock's house had a scent to it. A clean scent, like fresh linen from the laundry. It was such a contrast to what his house had smelled like.
His house had smelled like mold, rotted food that was stuffed underneath the couch cushions. It smelled like body odor, vomit, and feces, and he hadn't realized what other people's houses were supposed to smell like until he had went over to his friend's house and his house had smelled like Valencia Island Mangos and fresh baked turkey.
Last time he had laid with Rose in bed like this was when they were in his father's house, on the dirty, soiled bed of his. His sheets had never been washed, ever, it seemed like, and the room smelled stagnent and stuffy.
Now, the sheets felt cool and clean against his skin, and the air smelled clean and fresh, and he almost wished he could take back everything he did to Misty and to Brock. Maybe they would let him stay there with them. Maybe he wouldn't have to hide away in their closet and steal food out of the cabinets after they went to bed at night.
But even as he lay next to Rose in bed, he knew why he did what he did. He was, and forever will be in love with Misty. He swallowed hard and blinked in the darkness.
"Rose?" He asked.
"Yes?" She asked.
"You do know that I'm still very much in love with Misty right?" He asked, and Rose smiled, and made a low sound from the back of her throat.
"Yes, Dear, I know," she reassured him, and he smiled a bit.
"Do you think-"
"No," Rose cut him off before he finished his question, knowing already what it was going to be. "She's not leaving Brock. Not for you. Not for anyone. I know my girl and I know when she's in love, and she's in love."
"But you said..." he lifted himself up on his elbow and he could make out her face in the light that was streaming through the curtains of the window. "You said you would make her love me."
"I can't," Rose said, feeling a tear come to her eye. "I thought I could when I first arrived, and I bought you with me because I know how much you want Misty, but I can't make her love you, Sweetheart."
Tracey started to cry and he threw himself into Rose's arms. "I just want to stop loving her, Rose." He sobbed quietly and she tried to muffle his sobs.
"Shhhh," she said, afraid that Misty or Brock would hear him. They were asleep, across the hall, with the door shut, and they slept with a fan on, but sound can travel directly through walls sometimes.
"I don't want to love her anymore, but I can't help it," his face was soaked with tears and Rose gave him a sympathetic look. "It hurts so bad to watch her loving him the way I deserve her to love me. I'm better than him. I deserve to be loved, too."
His voice was barely above a whisper, and his choking sobs peirced through the darkness of the bedroom as Rose held him in her arms, allowing him to cry.
"Of course you deserve to be loved, Tracey," Rose said, closing her eyes and kissing the top of his head. "I love you."
His eyes, which were shut tight as tears poured down his face, suddenly snapped open and he looked at her.
"You do?" He asked.
She nodded slowly. "I always thought you were so handsome. You don't look a thing like your father."
"Why were you with Charlie instead of me, then?" He asked.
"Because he had drugs and he had money, and you were just a highschool kid with a talent for art," she smiled, apologetically. "But I'm a different woman now. I've gotten off drugs, and I only drink now and then and I only smoke when I'm outside, because Brock doesn't allow smoking in the house."
Tracey rolled his eyes. "He's such a snob. Misty only wants him because he's an heir to the Pewter Gym."
"Oh, Sweety, that's not true," Rose said. "She's an heiress as well, to my gym. Though, she's fourth in line, I don't think she'd have a hard time taking over the Cerulean Gym from her sisters if she really wanted to. I know it's hard for you to hear, Tracey, but Misty is truly in love with Brock."
His body tensed.
"I only tell you this because you need to realize this, or it's just going to keep hurting you until you finally accept it," she said, sympathetically, rubbing his shoulders.
"I'm not ready to let her go," He said quietly, sitting up. "She's mine! Rose, she was mine first! I was going to ask her to marry me!"
He raised his voice and Rose sat up, trying to quiet him down, but he rejected it. "No!" He screamed and Rose was sure that at least one of them heard it.
"Brock had no right to steal her!" He screamed and he tore open the door to the bedroom. Just as he stepped out into the hall, he heard Fiona screaming.
"Mommy!" She yelled, and Tracey panicked. He quickly dashed back into the guest bedroom and shut the door just as he saw Misty rushing out, tying her robe around her waist. He could hear her voice in the other room and he looked over at Rose.
Her voice was a whisper. "I don't want you going back to that hospital. Keep a low profile, Tracey. Get back in the closet, and hide. She saw the door to the bedroom open, they will be in here once Fiona is calmed down.
Tracey reluctantly agreed and he sobbed quietly in the darkness of the closet. He had to control his temper. He just had bursts of anger so violent that he had no control over his own body sometimes. That's why he had ended up doing what he did in the first place, from trying to rape Misty, to trying to kill her and Brock both.
He heard Brock enter the room.
"Did you open the door?" Brock asked. Rose had pretended to be asleep. The light was out and she was laying in bed, but was pretending to be a little groggy.
"I heard Fiona screaming," she said, clicking on a light, and pretending that the sudden light bothered her eyes. "I was going to check on her, but I saw you two were already on top of it."
"I thought I saw someone in here," he said, looking around. He sniffed the air. He could smell sex. That potent scent of sweat and arousal in the air was very strong and he looked over at Rose.
"Are you sure my Dad is gone?" He asked.
"Honey, of course he is. You saw him leave," she rubbed lotion on her hands. "Why?"
"It smells like sex in here," Brock looked around and checked behind the door. Rose nervously watched as he approached the closet, opened it, then closed it again.
"With as much sex as you and Misty have, I'm sure you know what sex smells like," she said, with a smile, and Brock blushed. "If you must know, sometimes when a woman gets lonely, she likes to fantasize."
Brock laughed and Rose admired how handsome he was when he smiled. If she really had been fantasizing, it would have been about him, that's for sure.
"Gotcha," he said, winking at her. "Goodnight, Rose."
"Goodnight, Brock," she said, her voice holding a sensual tone. A tone that made Tracey Sketchit's blood boil.
...
It was a good hour before they got Fiona to settle back down, but they eventually did, and they got her to settle back down in her own bed. She seemed to feel safe with Holly there, even though her nightmares and sounds she heard in the house at night frightened her.
Misty and Brock fell back into bed, tiredly. Sleep overtook them quickly, and they awoke Sunday morning to a light tapping on the door. Brock got out of bed, and checked the time. It was fifteen minutes past 11 A.M. and he found Fiona and Holly standing at their door.
"Daddy," Fiona said, running to him and wrapping her arms around him. "We're hungry."
"Alright, alright. I'll make you something to eat," he grinned at them and slipped on a tank top. Misty was still asleep, and Brock tried to be quiet not to wake her up. She needed her rest. The sky was a cloudy gray and Brock turned on the television in the living room. The Sunday morning news was on, and the weather report was calling for a light snow.
Fiona and Holly smiled.
"Can we play in the snow?" Holly asked.
"Depends on if it falls before it gets dark, but I don't think we're going to get much right now. It's barely November,"he said, making them both a turkey sandwhich and making a pitcher of kool-aid. He noticed the turkey he had just bought was just about gone, and it had only been a couple of days.
With Misty being pregnant, he wasn't surprised the food was disappearing. When she had been pregnant with Fiona, she could put more food away than he could. Not that he brought this to her attention...
There was a knock on the front door, and Brock went to answer it. A woman stood there in a pants suit, dark blue. Her hair was long, wavy and brown, and she was a thin, sophisticated looking woman.
"Hello," Brock greeted her and she smiled.
"I'm Jessica Pritchard, I'm with the Social Services Department of Pewter City. I understand that Holly Castillo is staying with you?" She asked, and Brock nodded his head.
"Yes, she's been with us for a few weeks," Brock said, inviting her in from the cold. "I've got a pot of coffee going now. Can I get you a cup of that, or some tea?"
"Coffee would be great," she smiled, taking note that he was very handsome. She could see in the kitchen and saw the two little girls sitting at the table, happily eating, and playing with a deck of cards. Squeals and giggles erupted every few moments, and it was so nice to see that one of her cases she was assigned to was with a happy child in a happy environment.
Brock came back with two cups of coffee on a tray with one of his mother's old sugar bowls that she gave him. Jessica put a couple cubes of sugar in her coffee and stirred. She sipped it and smiled.
"Cerulean brew, is it?" She asked.
"Good taste," Brock said, taking a sip of his own coffee. "How can I help you, miss Pritchard?"
"Well, I normally wouldn't have come over on Sunday, but I know how busy you are during the week with the gym, and talk of the town is that you aren't particularly a religious man, so I thought now was a good safe bed that you would be home," she said, offering him a smile. "It's about Holly."
Brock's heart dropped. "She has to leave us, doesn't she?"
Jessica nodded. "I'm afraid so. Her grandmother is asking for her now, and she checks out. She needs to have a permanent place of residence so that the school will know where to send all of his information off to."
"Fiona is going to be really upset," Brock said, looking back into the kitchen. He heard footsteps on the staircase and he looked up to see Misty. She had gotten dressed in a long sleeve sweater and a pair of jeans. She saw Jessica and then looked over at Brock.
"Misty, hey Sweetheart. Jessica, this is my wife, Misty. Misty, this is Jessica Pritchard, she works for the Department of Social Services," Brock put an arm around Misty, to quell any fear she may have had that Jessica was here for any reason that would involve anything sexual with him. She was a pretty woman, and he knew Misty's suspicions were up that he was flirting with her.
Misty shook her hand and smiled. "Hello."
"Mrs. Harrison, as I told your husband, I'm afraid Holly has to leave, to go live with her grandmother," Jessica informed her.
"When?" Misty asked, feeling her heart sink.
"Immediately," she said, and Misty felt tears sting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harrison. It's nothing against you two at all, you two have taken such good care of Holly. School says she's so much happier since she's been staying here, and I can see it for myself. If it were up to me, Holly could stay here until she graduates school, but unfortunately, her grandmother is next of kin, and she has to stay with her, until other arrangements can be made."
"Where does her grandmother live?" Brock asked, and he could tell by Jessica's face that it wasn't in Pewter City.
"Her grandmother lives in Mahogany town," Jessica said.
"That's in a whole other state. That's in Johto," Misty looked over at Brock. "Fiona's going to be heartbroken."
"I know," he placed a hand on her knee. "We'll have to just help her through it."
"Why don't you call the girls in now?" Jessica suggested. "I do have to have her off to Mahogany town by one o'clock and I don't want to rush you..."
"I understand," Brock mentioned, and then turned around. "Hey girls, are you done eating?"
"Yea!" Fiona said.
"Come on in here, both of you," he called out to them, and they both ran into the living room. Holly crawled up in Brock's lap and Fiona sat, curled next to her mother. They both looked at Jessica, then at Brock.
"Who is she?" Fiona asked.
"This is Jessica Pritchard. She works for social services, and she has something that we have to explain to you guys," Brock told them, and Jessica smiled at them both.
"Holly, sweety, your grandmother in Mahogany town has agreed to take you in and let you come live with her," she said, watching as the little girl wrapped her arms around Brock's neck, holding on to him tight.
"I want to live here," Holly argued and Brock felt his own heart breaking. He looked over at Misty who was trying not to cry.
"Holly, I'm afraid that isn't a possibility," Jessica told her, solemnly. "I know you love it here. And I know this would be an excellent home for you, but unfortunately, I have to take you where the law says you belong right now, and that's with your grandmother."
"I don't want Holly to leave," Fiona said, tears sprang to her eyes. Misty comforted her, and Brock pulled Holly back to look at her.
"Hey, listen, it might only for a little bit, OK?" He said, and she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"But I thought you were my daddy, now," Holly said, looking at him, then up at Jessica. "Can't he be my daddy?"
"Sweety, I wish that were true, but he's not. Holly, we don't have much time for you to be at your grandmother's house," Jessica told her. "You have to come with me."
Both girls started to cry and scream as Holly was taken. Misty and Brock both kissed Holly on her head before Jessica carried her out to the car. She reached out for them as the car drove away, and they didn't take their eyes off of it until it was off of their street.
Fiona was crying so hard Misty was afraid she would stop breathing. She was attempting to calm her down, and willing herself not to cry, too.
"I knew this was going to happen sooner or later," Brock said, leaning against the wall by the closet by the front door.
Misty finally got Fiona to quiet down, but the little girl was still considerably upset.
"I know, I just...never thought I'd actually want to adopt that little girl," Misty said, looking at Brock. "We have the money, don't we?" She asked, Fiona was wiggling to get down and go to her room. Which was fine, perhaps she needed to cry more, and sometimes crying alone helped more than crying outloud around other people.
"Of course have the money," Brock told her. "Even with the baby coming, but we don't have the room, or the legal leg to stand on. We're not kinned to her. We're just her best friend's parents."
His shoulder was still leaning against the wall, as he and Misty stood in the hallway in silence. Suddenly, something violent hit the wall, causing Brock to feel the jolt through his body. He immediately retreated from the wall and looked at it, then looked at his wife.
"What the hell was that?" He asked. "It felt like someone punched the wall."
"From the inside?" Misty asked.
"Yea," he said, still perplexed. He opened up the closet, and as always it was empty. Just some holiday decorations and a vaccum cleaner, along with their winter coats and snow boots.
Misty got goosebumps. "Do you think we have mice?"
"Mice on steroids," Brock jokingly told her, laughing. Then his face turned serious. "No, it sounded like someone punched it. It felt like it, too. Like a person."
"Maybe it's a Raticate practicing it's tackle attack..." Misty suggested nervously.
"I've never seen a Raticate hit that hard before," Brock hit the wall back, not with all of his strength, but enough to illicit a response if anyone was on the otherside. He heard nothing and decided maybe he had imagined it, but for him and Misty to have the exact same experience, them both hearing the hit, and him feeling the hit, he knew he hadn't imagined it.
He took her hands in his and kissed the backs of them. "Are you alright, love?"
"I'm alright," she smiled up at him. "I'm just disappointed...and tired."
"Fiona will be alright. She'll make more friends at school, and we'll make arrangements so Fiona and Holly can talk on the phone sometimes. It will all work out." He promised, kissing her briefly.
"Are you hungry?" He asked.
"I'm pregnant. What do you think?" She asked, grinning.
"Right," he laughed and headed into the kitchen to make her something to eat.
...
They took Holly! They took her!
Tracey had punched the wall so hard that he splintered the wall and cut his knuckles. He knew Brock was on the otherside, he could hear his voice, but he hadn't meant to punch the wall so hard that he would notice something. God damn it!
Rose told him no more mess-ups. Brock and Misty were both getting suspicious. But that anger that was always buried so deep inside him came bubbling up again, and he had nothing else around him to take his aggression out on, so he had hit the wall.
He cried for what seemed like hours inside the wall, surrounded by darkness. It was cold, the only warmth he felt was when he got to sit inside the closet in Rose's room at night after everyone else had went to bed. He didn't need to hide as much now that Brock's father was gone. Flint hadn't known Tracey was in the house, hiding. He hadn't known about Rose's crush on Tracey either.
Rose had given him a book light and he used it to sketch pictures. Pictures of Misty. When he had last laid eyes on her, she was making the bed. So he drew that image of her, slightly bent down to smooth out the sheets. The sheets she and Brock laid on every night. The bed that they made love on all the time. The plain white sheets were so clean and crisp and Tracey pictured them splattered with Brock's blood after bing brutally stabbed with every ounce of fury Tracey could muster.
...
Fiona had to return to school. She had liked her new teacher, Georgio, but she missed Holly. She hadn't been too fond of Miss. Castillo since that night she had spent the night with Holly, and she wondered why she wasn't coming back, but as they weeks had worn on, she hadn't thought much about Miss Castillo. Georgio let them call him by his first name and he gave her extra ice cream at snack time because he said he was an old friend of her Mom's.
She sat alone at lunch, and recess time, which was spent in doors now, due to the cold and rainy weather, was spent building things with legos, by herself. The other children would get up and walk away if Fiona tried to play with them. Half way through her first day back without Holly, Fiona found herself in tears.
Georgio sat at his desk, keeping an eye on the children as they milled about the playroom, getting into different things and exploring. He noticed Fiona had busied herself coloring a picture of a pony at a table by herself with only a few crayons. She wasn't able to share the big box of crayons with the other kids, because they hadn't really made room for her at the table.
That's when he noticed the tears in her eyes and stood up and walked over to her.
"Fiona?" He asked, and she turned to look at him, her blue-green eyes were filled with tears. "Fiona, what's the matter?"
"I want my mommy," she said, quietly. She knew she was supposed to be grown up, she had been trying so hard because she knew she would be a big sister in just a few months, but right now, with as lonely as she felt, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her mother's lap and cry.
Georgio smiled. "She will be here to pick you up, soon. Fiona. It's already 12:30. How many hours is that until 3 o clock?"
Fiona looked up athe clock. "Two."
"Two and a half," Georgio corrected, smiling. "Very good, Fiona. You are learning how to tell time. You are a very bright young lady, just like your mother."
"I want to go home," Fiona said, her voice barely audible, but Georgio had heard it. He sighed and frowned, placing his small frame in one of the tiny chairs.
"Don't you want to play with the other kids?" He asked. He knew Holly had left, and he knew it was hard on Fiona, but calling home was defeating the purpose of a child going to preschool. They came here to socialize, be ready for kindergarten, and be used to being separated from their parents for long periods of time.
Fiona shook her head.
He stood up. "Let me call your parents and see what I can do. Alright? In the mean time, try to play with the other kids, alright?"
She nodded, but made no move to get up. She hadn't liked the other kids in her class. She had tried, but they had shunned her. She saw Georgio sit down at his desk and pick up the phone on the desk, dialing a number and waiting.
...
Brock shrugged off his jacket as he came in the door. "Hey, Misty, is your mother out of the house? Her car is gone."
"She went shopping," Misty replied from the kitchen and Brock smiled slyly to himself, and then rounded the corner in the kitchen. He was still wearing his sly grin when Misty looked at him, and she knew immediately what was on his mind.
She was on the computer, shopping online for some things for the baby. Receiving blankets, bottles, cute little onsies. Brock rested his head on her shoulder and smiled.
"We have plenty of time to get all of that stuff at your baby shower," he reminded her, his breath tickling her ear.
"I know, but I'm just looking," she smiled and shrugged. "I'm excited."
"I am too," he whispered sensually and his voice sent a spark through her.
"How long do you have?" She asked. She had been wanting sex all weekend, and with everything that had went on, they really hadn't had the chance.
"An hour," he kissed her neck and she shut the laptop, twisting around on the stool to face him. His lips met hers in a hurried passion, and she felt herself being lifted onto the counter. He tugged off her jeans, and he wondered how long she would wear the sexy tight jeans before she gave up and only wore yoga pants before the baby is born. He decided not to ask and just enjoy the way her body felt in the tight denim.
She wrapped her now bare legs around his waist and he moaned softly into her mouth as he struggled with his own jeans, frantically pulling at the belt buckle. Misty's cell phone vibrated roughly on the counter, making a loud sound and they both stopped, momentarily.
"Call 'em back later," Brock said, kissing her, but Misty pushed him away.
"Brock, it could be Fiona," she said, and he shook his head.
"It's not. She's been going to school now for almost three months and has been fine. Don't worry so much," he assured her, but the look in her eyes told him she would not be in the mood for sex until she answered the phone and confirmed it wasn't for Fiona.
"Brock..." she said.
"Alright," he agreed reluctantly and picked up her cell phone. Sure enough, it was Fiona's school. He answered it, trying not to trip over his jeans that were around his ankles.
"Hello?" He answered.
"Uh-y-yes," a nervous man's voice answered the phone. "Is this Misty Harrison's phone?"
"Yes, sir. I'm her husband. Fiona's father. Do you need to speak to my wife?" Misty looked at him desparately, and pulled up her pants, realizing that her baby weight gain was making it a challenge to even put her pants on.
"Well, to either of you," he said. "This Georgio, Fiona's teacher. She seems to be having a hard time adjusting. She's very sad about Holly leaving, and I've tried to help her, but all she has done is cry all day long and says she wants to come home."
Brock looked at the clock. It was a little after twelve-thirty. He then looked over at Misty.
"Is she OK, Brock?"
"She's fine. She's just having a hard time adjusting to Holly being gone," he said, then spoke into the phone. "Maybe it's best if we take Fiona home for the day and have a talk with her. This whole thing has been very hard on her."
"I understand," Georgio said. "Thank you, Mr. Harrison."
They hung up and Brock sighed, buttoning his jeans back up. They left immediately, leaving their house empty, and Tracey couldn't ignore his growling stomach anymore. He had to get something to eat. He raided the cabinets, taking spoonfuls of peanut butter and biting into a block of cheese in the fridge, pouring himself a nice, tall glass of kool-aid. They wouldn't notice these things missing, or at least, he hoped they wouldn't.