These Wolves Alone Ch. 02

I woke up when the car stopped. I didn't realize I had fallen asleep, or how far back I had. I looked at the clock on the car stereo and realized we must have been driving for about an hour, so I couldn't have been asleep that long. I didn't get much sleep last night, yes I slept, but I kept waking up to horrible nightmares, filled with scenes from my parent's deaths. I shivered and looked out the window to see the sky had clouded up, and I smelled rain. Maria got out of the car and I followed, getting out while Dorian opened the trunk for my bag.

While Dorian ran through a quick tour of the house, Maria made lunch. After sitting in the kitchen eating up the sandwiches she had made. They told me when the other kids would be home from school and then sent me off to my room to unpack.

After unpacking I laid down on my bed, tucking my hands under my head. I laid there and thought for I don't know how long. About my parents, my Uncle, how on his last day he kept mumbling to himself and calling me by my Dad's name, and telling me things that made no sense.

"When it happens, you'll know. You'll feel that change coming on. Feel it wanting to break free." He had told me that afternoon while we were eating a late lunch, "I wish Dad was still here to tell you all of this, or they should have at least put it in a manual or something." Our housekeeper, Mrs. Flenning, told me it was just the Alzheimer's talking.

"Since your grandparents died, it was Mr. Long who took care of your father as he grew up. He was eighteen so the brothers weren't sent to live in an orphanage. He had us too. The Long family was always a busy family, but I'm thankful they were not too busy to raise them how they should have been raised. My family has been very fortunate to provide our services to every generation of the Long family."

I sighed, bringing myself back to the present. Yes, almost every generation of my family has passed away, most from Alzheimer's, but I was the first only child in a while. Since I had no siblings, none were of legal age to take care of me after our parents died. And now my Uncle passed, I was alone. No blood relatives or friends to speak of.

I heard the front door open and shut and the sound of footsteps cleared all thoughts of the past from my head. I got out of bed and took a deep breath. How long had I been remembering the past? I looked at the clock, three seventeen. At least two hours. I sighed to myself and headed downstairs. I heard voices in the kitchen so I headed that way.

Two kids sat on bar stools with their backpacks plopped carelessly on the floor. One was a young girl, she had dirty blonde hair and looked about eleven years old. The other was a boy, he had darker hair and looked about five or six. But must've been older, just small, I'm guessing he got that from his mother.

Maria looked up from a few papers stacked in front of her.

"Devin! Come here and meet everyone," she pointed to the girl, "this is Maggie and this is Jonathon." She finished, pointing to the little boy. He looked up at me and waved.

"Hi Devin, I'm Jonathon." I couldn't help but smile at the little boys face.

"We figured you were resting and were going to let you meet the others at dinner, but you're up." Maria said smiling at me. Jonathon got up and hugged me.

"I'm sorry about your family, Devin." My smile faded as I held back tears, hugging the little boy back. Maria frowned slightly, got up from her chair, crossed the room and picked up little Jonathon.

"Does spaghetti sound good to everyone?" We all nodded and she handed Jonathon over to Dorian and began pulling pots from the cabinets.

"Devin, do you want to go watch television? Maybe you'd like helping the kids with their homework o—", she was interrupted by Jonathon jumping out of Dorian's lap, grabbing his backpack and dragging me out of the kitchen.

"He can help me." He said to Maria as we walked out of the kitchen.

"Mrs. McIntyre gives our class the hard work to take home and Maggie tells me not to annoy her," said Jonathon as he pulled me into his room and flicked on the light. His room was decorated in cars, his bed was a race car, his walls had cars painted on them, and all around the room on the floor were toy cars. He broke me out of my wide-eyed stare around his room by jumping up and waving his hands in my face.

"Do you like it," he asked, looking around his room, "Mom let me pick how to decorate it when we moved here." He said, his face shining brightly.

"I do like it, Jonathon. I'm guessing you like cars. I do too." He smiled at me as he jumped into a sitting position on his bed.

"They're pretty cool aren't they?" He got a bored look on his face as he pulled his school books out of his backpack and threw them on the bed beside him. One bounced off and he groaned as it hit the floor.

"I'll get it." I said and picked it up, laying it on his bed and sitting beside it.

"So what's the hard work you got sent home with?" He put a vocabulary book in my lap.

"I can never remember the definitions, or the syllables or whatever." He said, and continued talking with a frown, "My teacher says I just don't pay attention and that I have ADHD." He continued once more, "Mom said I didn't, that I was just like any other boy my age, and didn't like school, but I like school, I just don't like words, I like numbers." He said sighing.

"Well, I like words. I can help you." He smiled at me and began babbling about his teacher again while grabbing the book back out of my lap and started flipping through it. We sat there going over how to count syllables and making funny ways on how to remember definitions.

When I finished helping Jonathon, Maria called us all down to dinner. As we sat and ate, Jonathon told his parents how I helped him and Maggie mumbled under her breath, something that sounded like "Just glad I don't have to help him now." Dorian and Maria continued listening to Jonathon, ignoring Maggie's comments.

"So how is your first day with the family?" Maria asked me after Jonathon finished talking. Though, as soon as I opened my mouth to answer, he started again.

"I think you're really gonna like it here, Devin. Mom's pretty fun and Dad will always play with you, I will too. Play, I mean. Maggie's the only downer." He smiled at me when he was finished.

"Jonathon, why don't you let Devin talk? You're being rude." Maria said, fixing the young boy with a stern, motherly look.

"He doesn't mind. Right, Devin?" I shook my head.

"You could at least let him answer our questions." Dorian said. The first time I heard him speak since we started eating. I'm guessing that's his parenting voice, it was a lot thicker and deeper than when he spoke while meeting me with Mrs. Dewby at my old house. Wow. You could cut the tension with a knife just about.

"It's fine. I'm enjoying it." I finally answer while everyone was silent. All eyes turned on me and Maria smiled.

"Good, I'm glad you like it." I let out a breath and took a drink from the glass of water sitting in front of me on the table. Well, I guess I should call Mrs. Dewby and get the rest of my stuff, I only have enough clothes if I wash them a few times.

*****

After a week of coming home from school to a house that was still, slightly, unfamiliar to me, and a family as friendly as a prime time sitcom cast pretends to be. It was almost surreal, the way they lived. Maria called Mrs. Dewby to bring the rest of my belongings, which were mostly just enough clothes so I wouldn't have to continue doing laundry three times a week. I already had my laptop and my iPod to keep me busy during out-of-school hours.

I didn't actually own that much stuff, as people like to think just because I'm "so rich" and live in a "mansion". That house has been passed down through many generations of my family, it doesn't mean I'm rich, because I'm not.

Mrs. Dewby dropped off my things; I avoided talking to her because I knew she'd just ask more questions, or get emotional. So instead I headed upstairs, unpacked the rest of my clothes into the small oak dresser by the window and grabbed a clean outfit from the pile on my bed that was fresh out of the dryer. I headed to the bathroom just down the hall from my room, I needed a hot shower.

After I decided the water coming out of the faucet was hot enough to take my mind off everything, I got in. My body instantly relaxed, welcoming the hot water. I only got a few minutes of peace before my mind started working again, twisted memories making me watch my parents being killed, watching them being lowered into the ground in their caskets.

I shivered, shaking the memories from my mind. Why now? Shouldn't I be grieving my uncle's death? He was my father figure longer than my actual father. Not like he had a choice really. Don't get me wrong, I know he loved me, as if I were his own son. The one he never had. He never acted like he regretted taking me in after my parents died. I mean, after all, he is my father's brother.

But why must I be reminded of the tragedies I faced as a kid? That's harsh. I am tough; I can go into a fight and fight it out as if it were my last day on Earth. I'm too stubborn to die. Yet, I shiver at the memory of my parents' deaths. What a stupid way to torture people, Earth.