TSS 3: Knight's Son Ch. 04

"What the hell?" I muttered as I rubbed my nose. I know this is California, but my mom lives far enough out that she rarely locks the door. Of course, this is the first time I've stopped by unannounced since--

"Who the hell are you?" an unknown person demanded from the other side of the locked door. The voice was muffled enough that I couldn't make out the gender. "And why are you trying to knock down my door?"

I took a step back and looked at the house. Did I accidentally pull up to the wrong one in my distress? I wondered. But, no, I knew this was the home I grew up in. Over to my right was the mark I'd left in the siding when I crashed my pedal bike into the house. I wasn't an excellent bike rider, if you couldn't tell. But I got really good at taking a fall. Eventually, I managed to ride all over the neighborhood, but--why am I writing this down? No one cares about my childhood bike riding woes.

"I'm here to see my mom," I told the voice on the other side of the door as I continued to rub my nose. My eyes were watering, but I was pretty sure I hadn't broken it. "Who are you?"

"I'm the one paying enough rent to ensure weirdos don't come barging into my home," was the surly response I received.

"I'm not a weirdo," I called back. "I used to live here."

"Your voice is slurred like a weirdo."

Who the hell is this? And where is my mom? I wanted to shout and bang on the door to let me in, but I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves. Whoever this was thought they lived here. My mom hadn't mentioned moving or anything, so I wanted to get to the bottom of this, and losing my temper wouldn't help.

"I sound like this because I hurt my nose trying to walk into my mother's home," I groused and dropped my hand, so it wasn't muffling my voice. "Is she home?"

"Depends," came the quick reply. "Who's your mom?"

Seriously? I balled my fists and took another breath. "Susan Brody."

"If you're her son, why don't you have a key?"

I almost lost it. I came here to collect my thoughts and hopefully find some answers. After the last couple of days, the last thing I wanted was to get interrogated outside of my childhood home.

"Because I've never needed one to see my own mother," I snapped with perhaps a little more heat in my voice than I intended. "She rarely ever locked the door when I was here."

I heard the door unlock and watched it open. "Yeah, I've been telling her that she needs to be more mindful, but Susan has a huge heart."

Based on the muffled voice and the attitude, I expected a grumpy old man or an old woman. Instead, I saw a redhead about half a foot shorter than me with piercing blue eyes. I immediately hated her.

"Who are you?" I demanded, taking a step back from her.

"Curious," she regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "Your mom told me a lot about you. She said you were handsome--which I see now is an enormous understatement. But she also claimed you were polite and friendly. I guess she didn't really know you. And... oh, wow! You reek of sex."

I stopped myself from grinding my teeth at her blunt statements. I realized I hadn't showered since the day before after swearing in to become a damned Knight. She didn't have to wrinkle her nose and back away from me like that, though. I avoided thinking about why I stunk like sex.

"I'm sorry, but it's not often I come to visit my mother and find a stranger in her house," I told her in the calmest tone I could muster. But, from her facial expression, I could tell it wasn't very effective.

"I've been renting the spare room for about three months now," she told me. "I'm not a stranger to Susan. You'd know that if you bothered to visit her a little more often."

Spare room? Mom doesn't have an extra room, unless... "I guess that means you're in my old room."

"I guess it does," she matched my annoyed tone. "Since I'm paying for it, don't think you're going to be getting it back."

"I need to talk to my mom," I stated, trying to steer the conversation to the reason I drove all this way. I looked past the woman but couldn't see my mom in the tiny house. "Is she here?"

The redhead's eyebrows drew together as she regarded me. After a few seconds, she answered, "Something is off about you. I can't place my finger on it. How do I know you're her son and not some doppelganger? I mean, you look like the pictures she has hanging in the hallway, if a little scruffier. You never know these days."

I felt myself starting to shake with rage at the accusation before I could calm myself. She thought I was an imposter? I wasn't one of those freaks! And if she knew what I looked like, why the third degree before opening the door?

She noted my reaction and sniffed with disdain before grimacing.

I didn't think I stunk that bad, but I also knew it was difficult to smell your own body odor. I opened my mouth to tell her that I was the one and only Bobby Brody, but she cut me off.

"She went to work this morning and probably won't be back for a couple hours. Which you would know if you'd called her, or she was expecting you."

I wanted to ask if that answer really required the attitude or what her deal was, but she stepped aside to let me in.

I swear, if I live to a thousand, I will never understand women.

Stepping inside my childhood home, I was hit with all the familiar smells. I felt my anger leaching away as everything was pretty much how I'd left it. It actually looked a little cleaner than the last time I was here. I knew my mom worked hard, so I usually tried to keep the house tidy. But it looked like this woman was doing that now.

"Thank you," I said through not-quite-gritted teeth. "I probably should have called, but I left my dorm in a rush. I'll wait for her in here."

"Oh, no, you won't," the woman contradicted me. "I appreciate how civil you're being--it looks like Susan raised a gentleman after all--but you're not sitting on that couch stinking the way you do. I don't want you using my shower, so go get cleaned up in Susan's. Leave your clothes outside the door, and I'll get them washed. I know where your mom put some of your old clothes, and I'll pull some out for you in the meantime. Go on, move! I'm sick of smelling you and whatever trollop you were with."

I've never hit a woman in my life. Never have and never will. I am not my father! But it took a lot of effort not to verbally chew her out.

"They weren't trollops. They..." I trailed off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. What were Shayna and Elly to me? According to Consul Willmont, they were now legally married to me. One of the documents I'd signed while talking to the lawyers--and of course hadn't read--would by now have the two women's signatures on it. "Nevermind. I'll go take a shower."

"They?" her voice carried more curiosity than condemnation. I didn't want to think of them or deal with this woman any more than I had to.

Shoulders slumped, I went back to my mom's room, undressed, and left my clothes outside the attached bathroom. The hot water felt great, though I had to use my mother's fragrant soap and shampoo. I'm willing to admit here that I spent a little extra time standing under the water and wondering where I went wrong in my life.

I know most men would be ecstatic to be married to two such beautiful and sexy women. Consul Willmont let me know just how intelligent and successful both women would be and that they were now wholly devoted to me. Elly was studying psychology and would have her second doctorate soon. Shayna planned on getting a doctorate as well, but as a surgeon. She hadn't decided which type of surgeon yet but had plenty of time to decide.

That's all well and good, but I didn't know them. All I knew were the rumors, and those were rarely trustworthy. Sure, I'd seen Shayna cheering on the sideline of some of my games, but I also knew that every man that ever asked her out was shut down, hard. She was known as an Ice Queen and rarely seen with any friends. No one was certain how she became the head cheerleader.

And Elly was even more secretive! I have vague memories of her in Professor Bin's class, and they aren't flattering. Unless I'm mistaken, she's that weird girl that always sits in the back of the class, wearing unflattering clothes, but also has the answer to every question the teacher asks.

Not exactly the type of women I'm usually interested in. I'm attracted to intelligence, but not cold-hearted women or the shy, introverted type.

And now, they would be a part of my life until the day I died. Willmont assured us that the spell placed on the women's navel piercing was ninety-nine percent successful in ensuring a pregnancy. Of course, there was more to that spell, but I was too numb to listen by that point. I was going to be a father. I was damned determined to be a better father than mine, and regardless of how I felt about their mothers, I would be a part of my children's lives.

I just hoped I didn't get Charlotte pregnant Wednesday night.

And then there was the mission that Consul Willmont sent me on. It went against every moral fiber of my being. Doubly so because I'm a married man and expectant father.

The water started to get cold, and I got out, drying myself with a rough and worn towel. My mom couldn't afford luxurious items like soft towels.

True to her word, the redhead left a set of my old clothes on the bed. I'd grown a bit since leaving home almost four years ago. The shirt was tight across my broad chest, and thankfully she'd grabbed me some loose basketball shorts. I looked at myself in the mirror and shook my head. In high school, I had terrible fashion tastes.

When I walked out, I nearly collided with the blunt woman. She sniffed at me and then grinned before I had a chance to say anything.

"You smell a lot better," she said as her blue eyes sparkled. "Though I don't think lilacs and vanilla suits you."

I'd calmed down from our earlier confrontation, but seeing her red hair and her jovial attitude almost brought it back. Nevertheless, I still managed to be civil.

"It's incredible what a little soap and water can do," I told her, wondering what she was doing right outside the door.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to be in there all day," she said as though to answer my thoughts. "Anyway, I'm heading out to meet with some friends and then off to work. Please don't let me find you in my bed when I get home later tonight. I know it used to be your room, but I'm the one paying rent for it."

"I can sleep on the couch," I told her, annoyed that she kept reminding me that she was paying rent for my old room.

She glanced into the family room and the old couch, then back to me with a raised eyebrow. "If you say so." She turned to leave. Despite myself, I couldn't help but notice the way her jeans clung to her slender hips and legs.

"Wait," I called out just as she reached the front door. "What's your name?"

She stopped and turned her torso, giving me a coy smile. "Me? I'm nobody."

Before I got the chance to respond to her weird statement, she walked out the door.

Shaking my head, I walked into the family room and plopped onto the couch. With a yelp, I jumped back up, rubbing my ass. Looking back at the cushion, I saw a spring poking out. I knew the couch was old, but I didn't realize how old until that moment. Ms. Nobody was right. I wasn't going to be sleeping on this couch.

I pulled off the cushion and determined it couldn't be fixed. Then I took a closer look at the couch and figured it was a lost cause. Between the torn and patched spots, the exposed springs, and missing legs, it all needed to be replaced.

I decided the safest place to sit was the floor. The ancient LED TV turned on with a slight hum. My mother couldn't afford one of the holographic displays that came out a decade ago. I was surprised to find that she had cable. Growing up, all we had was what came over the air or on a few occasions when someone brought over a movie to watch.

Stomach rumbling, I realized I hadn't eaten lunch yet. I spent a couple minutes raiding a fridge that had a little more food than I remembered. Whatever I felt about Ms. Nobody, it seemed that her living here and paying rent allowed my mom a couple more comforts.

With a ham sandwich in hand, I lost myself in some mindless television for a few hours.

The garage door opening brought me back to reality, and I stood to greet my mom.

"Honey, why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she asked as she pulled me into a hug. "I would have taken the day off."

I pulled back, surprised. My mom never took a day off. She couldn't afford it. Before I could ask her about that, though, every reason for me coming here flooded into my mind.

"Mom," I said, looking into her blue eyes, the same as mine. "We need to talk."

She regarded me for a moment before heaving a sigh. "That's never a good way to start a conversation, but I suppose you're right. Let me set my purse down, and we can talk at the kitchen table."

I waited as she went to her room and returned a few moments later without her purse or shoes. "Do you want anything to drink? I actually have sodas in the fridge now."

Part of me wanted to get drunk before this conversation, but I knew I needed to be sober. Not that she was likely to have alcohol unless Ms. Nobody did.

"Sure," I told her and waited. I'd noticed the sodas earlier but assumed they were Ms. Nobody's and hadn't touched them. She brought over a cup with ice and a can. I set the cup aside, preferring to drink from the can. It was cold anyway.

My mom drank from her can but regarded me over it as she did. Then, after swallowing, she broke eye contact and looked out the window. "I suppose they told you. The lawyers, that is?"

"You knew?" I asked, only a little surprised. If what I'd pieced together were confirmed, then I knew less about my parents than I ever suspected.

"That your father was a Paladonic Knight? Of course, I knew," she confirmed my worst fears. If she knew and was married to him, then... "And the fact that you know means that your father's wish for you failed."

"My father's...?" I asked, trying to figure out what that bastard could have wished for me. "What do you mean his wish failed? I'd thought he would be ecstatic that I'm following in the asshole's footsteps." Oh, how those words tasted like bile in my mouth.

"Your father never wanted you to be a Paladonic Knight," she told me with a sad shake of her head. "That's why we never told you. And also why he was rarely around. He didn't want you to find out. And didn't want you to live that life."

"He never cared about me," I snapped. I felt my irritation rising. She always defended him. Always took his side. No matter how poorly he treated her or me, she always spoke lovingly of her husband. Well, now he was dead, and I wasn't going to put up with it. "He beat and abused you. Damn it, Mom. Quit shaking your head! I saw the bruises! And he never had a kind thing to say to me. You don't want to know the things he called me growing up. Things no kid should ever hear, much less be called by their own father."

I watched as her hand reached across the table to me but pulled back before she could connect. I saw the tears forming in her eyes, but I wasn't going to let her speak highly of the man I despised more than anything else in this world.

"You don't understand," she told me, her voice thick with growing emotion. "Berny hated the Knights. Hated what they did and what he had to do. He wanted to make sure that if you ever found out he was a Knight, you wouldn't be willing to join them. So he made you hate him so that you would hate them. You don't know how much that hurt him. You didn't see the tears he cried at night, knowing how you felt about him."

I didn't believe her. I couldn't believe her. It was too much. So many years of abuse and neglect, so I wouldn't become a Knight? Well, a lot of good that did! "That doesn't explain how he treated you," I shot back. "Or are you going to claim that he beat and abused you to make me hate him also? Is all that abuse my fault, also?"

She let out a sobbing hiccup, making me feel like shit, but I had to get her to see how awful my father was. I hoped the spell was broken, and her eyes would be opened. She shook her head, still not seeing it, though. "It wasn't abuse," she told me after a few seconds. I let out a disbelieving grunt, wondering how she could say that after all the bruises and the nasty things he called her. Her voice grew a little firmer as she continued, though her eyes still watered. "It wasn't abuse. I don't expect you to understand, but I... I liked it. This is more than you probably ever wanted to know about your mother, but you need to see the man your father was, not the one you thought you saw. I'm a masochist. I loved the pain he was willing to give me. I got off on the things he called me. Yes, it was humiliating, and I loved every bit of it."

"I..." I trailed off, feeling my stomach rise. The soda churned in my gut, making me want to vomit. She couldn't really mean that, could she? Before I could put my thoughts back in order, she continued.

"The night your father and I met, I told him how much I liked to be dominated. He'd stumbled into the room I was in, pretty drunk. I convinced him to take me to a room and do whatever he wanted with me. It didn't take much convincing."

"Mom," I protested. "I don't want to hear this."

"Well, tough shit," she snapped at me, anger replacing the sorrow from moments ago. "You think I want to reveal this to you? I need you to understand the man your father was. That night, I taught him how to dominate me. How to take control and be the man I needed him to be. I got pregnant, of course. And he told me that his father forced him to join the Paladonic Knights. He didn't hate the creatures from that other world. He didn't want to kill. Despite what you thought of him, he wasn't a violent man.

"We talked about it, and he wanted to keep what he did a secret from you." My mother's voice lost some of its heat, but compassion soon filled it. "He wanted you to live your own life. He knew other Knights who grew up knowing the truth and looked forward to the day they could take the oaths. He was afraid you might be the same. Terrified of it, in fact. He figured the best way to ensure you wouldn't become a Knight would be to make you hate him. He knew you would find out eventually. He hoped that if you despised him, you would forge your own path. That's also why I raised you with compassion. You don't know how much it hurt both of us to do that to you."

"I don't know?" I demanded, feeling my own eyes watering up even as rage twisted my stomach into knots. "So all that childhood trauma was for my own good? That's bullshit, Mom. Most kids that are abused grow up to be abusers as well. But something in your story doesn't add up. I've seen how much money the Knights have. What was his excuse for leaving us dirt poor? I watched you work nearly every day, rain or shine, and barely make ends meet. How are you going to spin that so that it's in my best interest?"

I expected her to shout or cry. I didn't expect her to crack a smile. "We're not poor, son. The Knights paid for everything. They paid for the house, all the bills, everything. I could have stayed home every day. We could have had a place twice this size, with a swimming pool and fancy cars."

"Then why didn't we?" I asked, shocked to hear this.

"A few reasons," she said and sat back in her chair. "First of all, your father tried hard not to rise in the ranks. And just as he hoped you'd never join them, he failed at that. He didn't make it to the top, but he did his best to keep his head down. His superiors saw how frugal he was, and I think that helped him get promoted. Second, every penny I made was for you. We'd planned on giving it to you when you got your degree. We were going to tell you about the Knights, and hope that you wouldn't join them. That's traditionally when new recruits join."