Chapter Four

I started to help clear away the dishes, but Romney just gave me that look again.

“Leave it,” he said curtly. “I have someone to do that.”

I guessed that this would be the same someone as the person who must have prepared the meal, but I was puzzled. I hadn't seen nor heard anyone else in the house since we'd arrived. I gave a mental shrug, deciding I had better things to worry about, and followed Tree Boy into the living room. Romney stalked off towards his office. I looked around. The living room didn't look that inviting. I somehow just knew this was not a place for me to kick off my shoes and sprawl out over the sofa. I decided to go to my room.

Tree Boy immediately followed. What was with this guy? It seemed lately that no matter where I was or where I went, there was Tree Boy. Don't get me wrong. Normally I wouldn't mind a nice piece of eye candy, and he most definitely was hot and all. That doesn't change the fact that he seemed to just pop up all the time like some weird stalker, plus there is the factoid that he'd literally appeared from inside a tree on one occasion. That raised up the creep level to where I felt as if I either needed to salt my doors and put in a call to the Winchesters or wait for Agent Mulder to appear and tell me that I was a victim of aliens and they had taken my dad.

Yeah, I know what the policeman had said after the “I'm sorry.” I also know that there is no way any of this is really happening. Freakishly tall and gorgeous guys who never say a word do not just suddenly appear, nor do they stalk geek boys like me while literally melting in and out of the woodwork. Dark suited rich guys with invisible staff and plastic looking hair also do not usually show up just after you are told your dad has died and whisk you off to his mansion because he is your dad's best buddy ever, even though you have never, ever seen him before or heard so much as a whisper about him. Given everything, it was all too suspicious for me to accept. I mean, c'mon.

I stopped just outside door and Tree Boy ran into the back of me. Man, that hurt. He was pretty solid for an imaginary friend. At least, I hoped he was my friend. Kinda hard to tell when he never says a word and just sort of goes around staring at you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. He'd actually spoken! He had a nice deep baritone that didn't help stop the shivers going down my spine.

“That's okay, “ I squeaked. Oh nice, could I sound any dorkier? I cleared my throat. “Umm, I just sorta stopped suddenly. Anyways, you wanna come in and hang out?”

He looked around slowly, almost as if he were looking for some of the invisible staff to appear out of nowhere, or for that Romney dude to pop up at the end of the hallway and tear him a strip. Of course, there was no one, and he relaxed abit as he replied, “Yeah, that'd be cool.”

Okay. I opened my door, and floppped down onto the bed. He entered, looked around cautiously again, turned around, and then peered out the door up and down the hallway once more. He nodded to himself, then shut the door and turned around.

In a voice barely above a whisper he said, “You know nothing is as it seems right?”

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I'd fallen down the rabbit hole well and good and boy, did I ever know it. I decided to play it cool, however as maybe this guy could clue me in a bit. I could find out what they drugs they'd used on me, and how they'd done it, or whatever it was that was going on.

“Oh yeah?” I asked in reply, trying to make myself sound disinterested.

“He's after your tree, “ he said.

Wait. What? What tree? Our yard did not have a single tree in it, so if they took my dad or even if they really had killed him or whatever, there was no tree for them to have. We did not even have a potted Ficus in the bathroom. Wait...we did have a Christmas tree in the garage. My mind race. Were these guys actually spies or some shit? Had my dad been doing James Bond crap when I thought he was out playing poker? Had he hidden a top secret flash drive inside the hollow metal tube trunk of our ancient Christmas tree? No way, man! I realised they must have dosed this kid too. He was seriously tripping.

I decided that as he was obviously suffering from a drug induced psychosis, a change of topic might be best.

“So, you live here too?”

He nodded.

“Are you his son?”

“No, “ he whispered. “My name is Jason Matthews.”

Right, I kept trying to make conversation. “So, which room is yours?”

He pointed out the window, right at this big assed oak tree just outside my window. Of course, I should've guessed.

“The tree? That tree, right there?”

“Sort of,” he replied. “When I'm here, that's mine. I can also get to my real home through there, but please don't tell Romney.”

I looked outside. I did not see how he could get anywhere from that tree except back inside this house or into the yard. He couldn't even Tarzan his way to another tree from there. Whatever, I might as well see where his tree delusion was going.

“Can you get to my tree from there?” I asked.

Jason looked a little freaked out that I'd brought up my tree.

“Not so loud,” he hissed. “he has eyes and ears everywhere and he might hear you.”

He sat down on the bed next to me. 

“I can, but only if I go home to mine first.”

His? So, apparently Jason here has his own tree, and the one outside is his guest room, and he what? Does that melty thing and goes inside it? I was having enough trouble wrapping my head around the idea that he really did become part of the trees somehow like I thought I'd seen, but how did that translate into him going from one tree to another somewhere else. Also, Our Christmas tree is aluminum and plastic. Did that make a difference? My head was starting to ache just trying to keep this crazy train of thought derailing any further. This really, really, wasn't my day.

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

©2013-2014 Lillian McKinnon. All Rights Reserved.

Chapter Three

Mrs. McPherson kept giving me anxious looks and hovering. She asked if I had any aunts and uncles, cousins, anyone like that. I knew then that she was hoping someone was there she could offload me onto so that she didn't have to deal with someone else's tragedy. I supposed that sooner or later it would occur to her that since there wasn't anyone else, she could simply ring Social Services and be done with me, unless she already knew that and for some reason her conscience wouldn't allow her to do that on the off chance that some responsible person that actually knew and cared for me would come crawling out of the woodwork.

She offered to let me stay home from school, and I took her up on it for the first two days. By day three the sight of my house through her windows was driving me around the bend, trapped as I was within her four walls, hemmed in on all sides by lace doilies and frilly curtains and pillow shams, and floral fabric coverlets. I have to admit that school was only marginally better, though. In this new topsy turvy world, no Josh or anyone else jostled me, mocked me, or otherwise made my life hell. I got sympathetic looks instead, though none from the tree guy that I'd imagined just before my life turned inside out. I was called into the principal's office, where they asked about my current living situation, and I left there wondering if my answers to those gentle but probing questions was going to get me placed into a home sooner rather than later. Teachers not asking me for my homework, or taking me aside after class telling me not to worry about things felt even stranger. I wondered if they would sing this same tune when Dad came back and reality went back on course.

I felt a strange detachment to all the goings on, as despite best efforts, it all wasn't quite real. This feeling was replaced by a thrill of excitement however when I made it back to Mrs. McPherson’s.

“Oh good, you're back,” she said. “Mr. Romney is here to take you home with him.”

I looked over to her sofa, where a man of average height was standing up. Next to him was a familiar figure. Tree Boy smiled at me, inclining his head at me silently in greeting.

“I knew your dad,” Mr Romney was saying as he thrust his hand forward for me to shake.

Really? He anted me to swallow that line? If he'd known my dad, then why had I never heard of him, let alone never seen him? He certainly had not been around before Mom had died, nor after. I didn't recall any sympathy cards from this guy, either. And I'm pretty sure I’d have recalled him and Tree Boy here, who I assumed was his son or something.

I decided to play along though. I'd seen Tree Boy at my school just before everything went strange. I'd seen him again, doing that whacked out melt into the tree routine too, spying on me or something while I was at the park. Dad was gone, and I was certain these two were somehow connected and I bet Mr. Romney was probably the brains of the operation, or close to whoever was.

I mean, just look at him. While Tree Boy was not much older than me to look at, probably about 20 or so at most, Mr Romney was a man of early middle age who had on a suit I could tell was expensive, wore some kind of fancy aftershave, and had that whole plastic smile and perfect hair normally only seen on oily politicians out o gouge everyone but their fellow rich buddies TV evangelists looking for converts and donations. Just what Dad had done to warrant these guys disappearing him and trying to make think I’d lost my mind, I did not know. I was definitely going to find out though, and get my Dad back. I'd teach them a lesson about trying to mess around with someone just because they think he's just a kid. In the meantime, I'd just play along and bide my time while getting some answers.

Romney's house was a glass and metal one story box that squatted on a flat landscape as if someone had dropped off a parcel and forgotten it. The inside was just as inspiring, with lots of wide open space and a bare minimum of furniture. There wasn't any art to be seen anywhere, or houseplants. No books either. It was like a stage set for an ego of one, with no room for anything else. Where their wasn't glass for windows, there was glass of another sort- mirrors. Romney must really love to see himself.

I was shown to the room that was to be mine and realized that my bags had not been taken from the car. I turned to go get them, but felt a hand on my arm.

“Everything you need is right here,” Romney said.

“My clothes-”

“ALL you need is here,” he said with more emphasis.

Oooookayyyyy... so in this scenario, my old clothes are unusable and have been replaced by what?

I put on a false bright smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Romney!” I walked over to the dresser and opened a drawer. “gee, you even bought me some cool clothes!”

Actually, they looked like my old clothes, only with fancier brand names, at least from what I could see from what was on top.

“You're very welcome! I want you to feel at home here. You're not an obligation, rather you are like the son I never had, though I regret the circumstances.”

I bet you do, you snake.

Romney stood there, watching me intently while I checked out everything in my new room. I would have sat down on the bed and thought about things, but with him staring at me like that, I had to distrct myself. Talk about being creepy. He didn't even say anything. He just stood there, and let his eyes follow me. His face kept the same bland expression, not smiling, not frowning, not anything. It weirded me out big time. I couldn't tell if he was happy I seemed to like everything, or if he was thinking about doing some weird twisted shit to me later or what. I'd seen dummies at a department store with more emotion.

Finally, he actually said something.

“Let's go. It's dinner time, and the food will get cold.”

I womndered how he knew this, as he hadn't even looked at his watch, and the alarm clock in my new room was not facing his way. Still, I wasn't going toa rgue with the man. Better to make him think I was buying this whole charade. That way, he'd think he had me fooled and sooner or later let something slip because he wouldn't be having to to try to convince a doubting me.

Dinner was a strange, awkward affair. The table was round and seated six, but only myself, Romney, anf Tree boy were there. The food was homecooked stuff, but not in serving dishes on the table like my Mom used to serve it. We also didn't have the same food, so it oddly felt as if we'd sent an order for a set meal back to the kitchen like you'd do at a restaurant.

Romney's plate held mostly meat. And by mostly, I mean nearly the whole plate was covered with some kind of meat. It almost resembled a sampler platter, though the portions were too big for that. Chicken, steak, bacon, and apork chop all vied for plate space, with a huge mound of mashed potatoes alongside. Gravy ran over everything. My plate just had anormal serving of mashed potatoes, with a single porkchop and a side of peas for company. A small amount of gravy sat in a well in my potaties. Tree Boy's plae cut up fruit, salad leaves, what looked to me to be raw garden peas. I didn't see how aguy, especially one his size, could live eating like that. I'd starve, that's for sure.

There was no conversation during the meal either. Romney simply stared at each of us int urn as he tore into his food. He might have had the outer appearance of a perfect conservative politician but man, when he ate...I half way expected him to snort like a pig or something. Tree Boy seemed unfazed by it all. He simply kept his eyes down on his palte, and ate quietly, taking delicate bites and chewing thoroughly. He seemed to be in his own little world there, unaware of anything but himself and his plate. Me, I kept waiting for Romeny to say something. Or to think my looking at him was me about to make a play for his food, so that he'd lose his cool completely and hit me over the head with a drumstick or something.

That didn't happen though. He gnawed his meat greedily and cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow, then seemed to recall his almost priggish manners as he picked up his napkin and carefully wiped his fingers clean, then dabbed at his mouth. I wasn't quite finsihed eating by then, but Tree Boy pushed his plate away at about the same moment as romeny's napkin made it back t the table's top. Romeny pushed his chair away from the table and it seemed as if that was some sort of signal because Tree Boy quickly followed suit. Romeny stared at me hard, one eyebrow arched up like Mr Spock, as if waiting for me to get a clue. I put my fork down and stood up. No sense getting the man pissed at me over something stupid. I'd mostly finished anyway.

Chapter Two

Chapter Four

©2013-2014 Lillian McKinnon. All Rights Reserved.