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.
“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.
©2013-2014 Lillian McKinnon. All Rights Reserved.
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