The Rose Diaries Ch. 13.5

Oscar or his dad had finally fixed the broken shingles on the roof. The garden was still flourishing just like the day he had left which was a shock since neither of them gardened. The cracks and wear on the stone steps had also been repaired as well as the driveway repaved. In fact, the entire house seemed to be in much better shape. He chuckled quietly to himself as he settled back down into the chair. Mrs. Tyson was back to reading her small little book and paying him no mind. As he moved the little lock charm on his collar gave a small jingle.

"Do they know?" Peter said disturbing the settling silence. She glanced up for a moment at him before returning to her book.

"Does who know what?" She asked with barely an ounce of emotion in her voice. There was sharp notes of annoyance in her speech however Peter could not care any less about her annoyance.

"Does my brother know?" He balled up his fists on his lap. Frustration was now something they both shared.

"Does he know what?" She repeated. He slammed down an open palm on the leather interior at her question. The sharp smack echoed through the vehicle as she lowered her book with a scowl.

"DOES HE KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME?" Peter screamed at her. His throat burned as his passionate query spilled out. She clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"Temper, temper." She chided him. Peter nearly lunged at her as anger began to rage through him. "No." She said simply after a small pause. "Oscar Baker does not know anything."

"What about the woman?" She cast her gaze out towards the street at his question.

"Alexis?" She turned away so that her face was no longer facing him. "No."

"So, no one knows?" He growled as she nodded.

"Just Bartholomew and me. But Bartholomew won't tell a soul. He's paid to drive not to be involved in this." She answered. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms against his chest.

"How much do you know about my family?"

"Enough." She nodded. "Just enough." The answer caused a shiver down his spine.

"Are you going to yell at me if I ask you a question?"

"I've yelled at you?" She asked turning back to face him. "I won't yell but I will be mad if you keep up that insulting tone." He sighed as he lightly tapped his head against the window in frustration.

"Is there a Mr. Tyson?" He asked finally.

"Once upon a time, yes. But he's no longer with us." Her face fell as she mentioned her husband.

"Sorry." He offered her despite his anger. Even if he did hate her. Even if he was going to kill her. It still felt wrong to celebrate her husband's death.

"Thank you." She nodded. "He was a not the best, but he was mine. I'm sorry about your mother."

"Thank you." He nearly whispered.

"From what I know she was nearly a saint." For once, there was actual compassion on her face. He nodded sadly.

"She was. She was amazing."

"My lord is that an emotion besides anger or sadness, Doll?"

"You have any kids?"

"Three." She wiggled three fingers in the air. "Zoe, Jane, and Bradley. My ungrateful brats." She laughed.

"Nice. I can't picture you as a mother."

"Motherhood comes in many forms girl." She growled, her face hardening once more back into her statuesque visage.

"So how do you live with it?" Her fists curled up on her lap.

"Tread lightly." She spat through clenched teeth.

"How do you live with the fact that you are a part of every mother's worst nightmare. You profit off of snatching children from their mothers! How can you deal with that!" She unclenched her fists and sighed.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what? Make you realize how-"

"No, idiot." She shook her head as she cut him off mid-sentence. "You start building bridges and then burn them. What do you have to gain from my anger?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "I'm just bored." He lied through his teeth. He was prying for vulnerabilities. Something he could use her to fly off the handle or lose control. If he was going to attack her, he'd need to make an opportunity.

"So, your idea of entertainment is to cause yourself more undue pain?" She scoffed.

"Something like that."

"We will be at your home for no more than thirty minutes. After that, I am leaving with you with or without your cooperation. This is not up for debate." He nodded at her request.

He was only going to need twenty. He took a deep breath as he steadied himself for the night ahead.

His course was set. Now it was time for him to act.

----

They sat the rest of the time in silence. Peter remembered for a moment when he hated silence in a far-off time. He always considered it awkward and ugly. Now, it was nearly orgasmic. He hated Mrs. Tyson and the rest of them. So, the less time he had to spend listening to them prattle on about inane bullshit was music to his ears. Mrs. Tyson was a glacially slow reader. She read less than a page every two minutes. Peter knew that now. He counted the seconds between each page turn. Finally, Oscar arrived back home with the same woman on his arm and beckoned them inside.

The entryway was exactly as he remembered. The same photos of his full family still on display on the small table next to the upstairs staircase. The same off-white carpet that covered the foyer all the way to the kitchen at the end of a long hall. The living room was still the same after all these years down to the same uncomfortable lumpy couch. Mrs. Tyson and Oscar exchanged pleasantries, but he didn't care to listen. He just felt his heels dig into the carpet and stood motionless and still.

"How about a tour? Alexis, would you mind getting our guests some drinks?" Oscar clapped his hands together.

"Of course! Why don't you take them upstairs first and then I'll prepare some little finger foods." Alexis smiled as she skipped off to the kitchen.

"No thank you! We're only going to be here for a moment!" Mrs. Tyson called after her and then sighed. "Or she can just walk away." She laughed.

"Alexis has a very productive sort of way." Oscar chuckled. "It's why I love her."

"Well, I love seeing young lovers. Reminds me of my old days with my husband."

"You're still young, Mrs. Tyson!"

"Please call me Cecilia." She smiled. "And don't lie right to my face, Mr. Baker."

"Alright, alright!" He laughed. "Is your mother always such fun, Sarina?"

"Nope." Peter rolled his eyes. "She certainly is not."

"Oh." Oscar chuckled awkwardly. "Well, how about that tour!" He clapped his hands together as he motioned them to follow him up the stairs. Peter clenched his teeth as he followed his older brother and his captor upstairs.

Oscar was several years older than him and thus Peter was graced with the knowledge that only an older brother could provide. In his adolescence, he could always ask Oscar for any help with the various problems that arose. One of which was parental supervision.

There were often times that he wanted nothing to do with his parents. Times when he'd be locked in his own room doing things he'd rather not be seen doing. But whilst he did those things alone, Oscar often brought home a girl to help him out when he was older. It was a brotherly code that they established. A warning system to help them out in those trying times.

A knock on the railing upstairs. The wrought-iron railing would send out a loud song when struck correctly. Even when their doors were shut. You could still hear it echo through the home.

As the three of them reached the top of the stairs. Peter utilized that time to strike his first blow against Mrs. Tyson. He knocked twice to signal "danger" as he had always done before. Oscar's body went rigid and stiff. He turned quickly to assess the source of the noise while panic appeared to set in behind his eyes. Even after all these years, his brother remembered.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Tyson enquired softly. Peter watched the panic drain from his face as he donned the mask of a charming host once again. They took a step away from the stairs as Oscar motioned to the small hallway with three doors. Peter's breath grew shallow as his brother thrust open the door closest to the stairs.

Inside was a small yet tastefully decorated boy's bedroom. A computer desk tucked neatly beside an empty closet, a full-sized bed that hadn't been slept in for years, and a small empty media cabinet all contained within four off-white walls. He had never seen Oscar's room so vacant before. Gone were the framed tickets of the concerts he went to that hung above his bed. Gone was the flat-screen television that he had purchased with his first summer job cleaning up trash in the park. The same that Peter snuck in to watch TV and play video games whenever he could. His desk, once cluttered with papers and books, now looked as if it was never used. This was not Oscar's room. This was barely even a memory of it.

"Ta-da!" He laughed. "This was my childhood room. It's currently being cleaned out so I can repurpose it as a general office space. So, there's not much to see."

"It's a lovely room. Very cozy." Mrs. Tyson nodded.

"That's a word." Oscar laughed again. "It's a bit cold in the winter, the window facing the street doesn't close properly, but it was perfect for growing up in. Don't tell anyone but I used to climb out of my window and sneak out at night."

"Mr. Baker!" Mrs. Tyson chuckled. "What a troublemaker!"

"We all have our rebellious phases. Honestly, I was a bit of a handful when I was younger. I'm sure Sarina can relate. You ever sneak out at home? Get into a little mischief?" Oscar elbowed him lightly.

"I've tried." Peter narrowed his eyes at Mrs. Tyson.

"Oh yes, you have." Mrs. Tyson laughed.

"Speaking of trouble," Oscar turned quickly and strut to the door opposite this one. "Here was my little brother's room."

Peter sucked in a mouthful of cold air between his clenched teeth. If his brother's room was spotless then his was the exact opposite. It was larger in size with a large queen-sized bed still draped with the dark red comforter from the time he had left. His carpet was still stained from the years of mysterious spills around his small desk. His desk was covered with little unsealed enveloped stacked like towers whilst the other side held greeting cards. The latest was still lying open with his father's cursive for all to see.

Happy 21^st birthday, kiddo. Wherever you are, I'm proud of you and I will always love you. Always in my heart, Dad.

Peter felt his legs go out from underneath him as tears welled up in his eyes. His father never sent him a card on his twenty-first. He had wondered what had happened. His father sent him greeting cards on every holiday, every birthday, and every occasion he could. He could never work up the courage to respond to any of them but he still kept each and every one of them. He'd cry when he'd read them. Sob till he passed out with a damp piece of a paper clutched in his arms. Peter swore every time he'd pick up the phone and call home. But every time, he never would. He clutched handfuls of the plush carpet in his fingers as he tried his hardest not to break down in front of the two of them.

"Sarina?" Oscar bent down quickly. "Are you alright?"

"Y-Yes." Peter answered quietly. His voice trembled with each word. As he looked further around the remnants of his old room. He realized something terrible.

Nothing had changed. The clothes that he had thrown on his floor had stayed in that exact spot all those years. His messily arranged piles of school books remained cast away into the corner where he had tossed them. Everything was exactly the same.

This room was untouched.

"She'll be fine." Mrs. Tyson's cold voice echoed from on high. "She's a bit clumsy in those shoes. I keep telling her to start on smaller heels but she just won't listen."

"I can't say that I can relate." He laughed. "Did you hurt yourself, Sarina?"

"No, I'm fine." Peter shook his head. "Is there a bathroom I can use? I feel faint."

"Yes, of course." Oscar gave him a small pat on the back. "It's the other door just a tiny bit down the hall." Peter nodded as he rose to his feet.

"Thanks." As soon as he muttered those words, he was already out of his room. He barely pushed open the door before he slid into the bathroom and shut the door behind him smacking the light switch in the process. His stomach growled in anger as he quickly fell to his knees in front of the toilet before unleashing the hellfire that had fermented within him into it. The taste of sick and stomach bile was nothing compared to the sour taste of agony that he had felt at being unable to do anything. The fury that he had expelled was so quick to build back up in his heart.

"Fuck her." He panted as he wiped his mouth on his arms before collapsing against the wall.

"Fuck them." He spat into the air. He stared down at the white tile into the distorted image that blinked back at him.

"But fuck you the most." He slammed a hand down on his own reflection. "What was so fucking bad that you needed to leave? You had people who loved you. People who cared about you. But no! You decided to be a brat and now we're in this fucking nightmare together!" He hissed at his reflection. He pressed his back against the wall with a heavy sigh. His own thoughts of anger turning quickly to reason as his wave of emotional distress finally broke against his own will. This was not the time for anger. This was not the time for sorrow.

He needed to act.

"Sarina?" His brother's voice called through the closed door. "Are you okay?" He clenched his teeth at the addition of another fake name he'd have to adopt.

"Fine!" He called back in the sweetest voice he could. "I just need a minute."

"Okay, do you want us to wait or-"

"No!" He shouted back. "Please go on without me."

"Alright." His brother answered back.

"Oscar, I think I'll wait here for Sarina just in case of anything."

"Okay then," His brother chuckled nervously. "I'll go check on Alexis. Feel better, Sarina!" He heard step of footsteps recede before a sharp knock echoed from the door.

"Open up." Mrs. Tyson growled. "Now." She didn't bother to wait for his response. He heard her try the door handle.

"I'm not feeling good, Mrs. Tyson." He muttered weakly

"Do you think I care?" She hissed. "Open the door."

"Give me a minute."

"You will get thirty seconds and no more." She growled back. He let out a heavy strained groan as he rose back to his feet, ankles shaking as he struggled to find purchase in his high heels on the cold tile floor. He stumbled forward barely grabbing hold of the door handle before collapsing back against the sink. Mrs. Tyson pushed the door open almost immediately glaring at his disheveled states as she scowled in disgust. "Good lord, you're a mess."

"Thanks." He groaned again. She pulled a fresh white towel from next to her and tossing it down.

"Clean yourself up, whore." She shook her head with another sigh.

"Uh-huh." He nodded, his words muffled by the towel.

"You need to pull yourself together for fifteen more minutes. That's enough time to share one subpar cocktail and then go back on our merry way. Can you do it?" He shrugged at her question.

"Look, I'm gonna puke again so.." He muttered as he crawled back over to the toilet and retched once again.

"Disgusting, absolutely vile, and completely inappropriate."

"Are you really," He retched again mid-sentence. "Really lecturing me right now?"

"Ha! I'm not teaching you anything. I can see you aren't faking. It'd be awfully rude to keep our host waiting. Finish up whatever this is and meet me downstairs." He retched once more spitting the harsh taste of bile into the toilet.

"Deal. Can you shut the door?"

"Of course." She nodded. "Sarina." She added with a smirk as she shut the door once again. He waited until he heard her walk off.

"Fucking cunt." He muttered. "No more fucking names." He stood back up and wiped his mouth. He grimaced as he stared at the smudged makeup sticking to the fibers. A reminder of Amanda's cruelty. He cracked the door as he looked for any sign of Mrs. Tyson lurking about before he slowly emerged from the bathroom.

The coast was clear. He skulked slowly towards his room making sure each step was slowly planted firmly on the plush carpet before moving forward again. His eyes darted down the stairs fixating on any moving shadow for a hint of anyone approaching.

There was none and so finally he was able to act.

He dashed into his old room. If everything was exactly the same, then his brother and father never found it. He reached under his bed and groped the darkness until his fingers found the cold tin case of his old stash. He had adhered to the top of the frame. He pulled it free, a small silver case covered with discarded stickers and notes. He didn't lock it. Never needed to. He probably never needed to even hide it.

"Gotcha." He barely whispered. He flicked the latch and threw it open. Inside he was greeted by a roll of discarded cash, a small stash of expired condoms, and finally an old switchblade knife. He cackled as he grabbed hold of the knife and flicked it open. It wasn't in the best shape, or really in any sort of shape, as six years of neglect would do to a blade, but it would have to do. He wrapped his hand around the handle and held it in an iron grip until his knuckles went white. He closed the knife and cradled it gently in his hands. It was his salvation and the instrument of his long-awaited fury. He carefully slid it into the elastic band of his thigh-highs.

He inhaled deeply until the stale air of his old room filled his lungs and the smell of nostalgia swam in his head. He drank deep of his old memories of his old life. His room never had sunlight and he always had his computer on so much that it would be several degrees higher than the rest of the house. It smelled with a strange musk that was now covered up with a faux wild berry scent from some artificial air freshener. He never ever thought the disgusting stench of his old room. But he did. He deeply and totally did.

"Thought I'd find you in here." Peter spun quickly as he saw the figure of his older brother darkening the doorway.

"Oh, sorry." Peter muttered rising to his feet. "Oscar, there's been something I've been meaning to say."

"Sarina, it's fine." Oscar sighed. "This room..." He trailed off as he took a seat on the bed.

"Oscar." He whispered.

"I wish I had time to go back, y'know? Your mother might be filling your head with ideas of me being this great man, but I made mistakes along the way."

"Oscar." He repeated but this time just a bit louder.

"This room haunts me. It's my biggest mistake. It's my family's biggest mistake. This was my baby brother's room, but he's gone now. I couldn't protect him when he needed me most and now, he's gone. Are you superstitious or religious Sarina?" He sighed deeply.

"No." Peter quickly answered. "Oscar, it's m-"

"I think God is testing me. I think that's why he took my little brother and my mother." Peter's eyes widened as the realization set in.

"No." He gasped.

"You know my Dad... He's still mourning Peter. That's why this room is such a disaster. It's just like he left it."

"He died?" Peter asked in shock. Was this why he stopped receiving letters.

"Maybe." Oscar shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't heard or seen from him in almost a decade."

"Oscar," Peter gazed up at his brother as he placed a hand on his knee. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes." Oscar nodded sadly. "I do." Peter felt tears began to flow from his eyes as he gasped.

"Please." He begged his older brother. He could only think to say that word again. The word that tasted like despair upon his lips. His mind faltered upon the crushing weight of his emotional turmoil. Things that he lacked the ability to describe took root in his mind.