Chapter 9: The Crooked Step
1052 Words
Eden chuckled a bit, scratching her hair
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relentlessly, as if searching for some unseen object. Gazing into the mirror above his dresser, Vance saw a tall young man who was neither thick nor thin, with a small, yet developing gut.
Nothing special.
He gazed at the clock on his bedroom wall. It was 8 AM - far too early, considering he'd spent most of the night pouring over Caskett's diary. But none of it made much sense. No matter which entry he read, it always seemed like he was missing the vital pieces that tied everything together. Caskett's writing concerned clocks, dimensional portals, alien races, energy auras, and lots of other elements one would expect to find in occultic essays.
If Naomi ever saw it, she'd flip, he thought with a smirk.
Vance walked across his room to the window shades and opened them. Rain again. His room had always been a cluttered mess, but he felt it'd gotten worse in the past few weeks. He was always stubbing his toe or tripping over something.
Finally, Vance's eyes floated over to his desk. Sitting in the center of it was the clock, right where he placed it after he got home the previous night.
The mechanism's hour and minute hands were clearly moving, but not at the same rate as any other normal clock. At this moment, the hour hand had just passed the XII mark, continuing its steady rise toward XIII. Vance glared at the object, trying to tease out its purpose, but he found nothing save for the reflection of his own monochrome eyes.
Frustrated, he grabbed some clothes from a pile on his floor and shambled out into the hallway. His head shot to the left as he heard glass shatter downstairs, reviving memories from the previous night. He heard Naomi let out a curse and snorted. Such a hypocrite.
Quickly dressing himself in a drab white shirt and blue jeans, Vance searched through the mess for his black jacket. The left sleeve was now torn, and he could see dark crimson bloodstains lining it, but he still put it on. It was the last thing his mother had ever given him.
Downstairs, Naomi was cleaning up a broken coffee pot on the floor. As soon as Vance came into sight, her eyes moved up to meet him.
"You know, I think it's about time you got a haircut."
Vance made no sign of recognition as he walked past her, then opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. He made sure to hold the container in perfect sight as he began to drink, tilting it high above his body like a rebel flag.
Naomi went on. "Anyway, I called and made you an appointment this afternoon. You need to get rid of that rag. Just get a buzz or a crew cut, those are so much easier to deal with."
He paused his drink just enough to spit out a cold reply. "I like my hair how it is."
I've lost my temper with her so many times before. It's not worth it. And on top of that, dad never sticks up for me. I won't let that b***h control me.
"Your father agrees with me, so that's the bottom line!" she declared.
Vance returned the carton to the fridge. "I don't really care."
"Hey, don't argue with me." Naomi turned around, her lips furled. "Whether you like it or not, I'm your new guardian now, and young people need to respect their elders. It's in the Bible!"
"No." Vance revealed an evil sneer. "I'm going to get the last word this time."
Naomi rose from the broken coffee mug. "Stop talking."
"I'm going to get the last word."
"Stop talking!" she screeched.
Vance stood his ground with malicious glee, arms folded across his chest. It felt so good. "I'm...going to get the last word."
Naomi walked up to him, raising a finger. "You're such a little shit..." she muttered. "Go away, and don't talk to me ever again!"
"It has to be mutual," Vance replied. He could smell her horrible coffee breath.
"Don't talk!!" She was livid.
"It has to be mutual, you can't talk to me either." The more he felt like he was getting to her, the more his smile widened.
Naomi threw her arms up in frustration. "NO MORE!"
"Naomi, I hate you." The words smoothly rolled off his tongue. He'd been waiting so long for this.
"You made me this way!" she rasped. "You made me this way, do you like me this way? You must, because you're the one who made me this way!"
At that, Vance threw his head back and let out a mad laugh. When he opened his eyes, he saw Edward Darcouver standing in the doorway to the kitchen. A pang of shame shot through Vance's mind, and he stifled himself.
"If you two are done bickering, I have an announcement to make," he spoke, looking disdainfully on the broken coffee pot.
"Hold on, dad," Vance spoke up. "There was something I wanted to ask you. Do you remember the Casketts? Remember how they used to come over when I was a kid?"
Edward gave his son a confused, tired glance. "Not right now, Vance. This is something really important. I've been promoted. Starting next week, I'll be the new director of public affairs at the Zexaron Corporation."
Naomi moved over and embraced him, then stared over at Vance with piercing brown eyes.
Vance made a sour face. "So what?"
Edward continued. "Due to the promotion, we need to move to California right away. Bakersfield, California. Their new headquarters is out by the oil fields there."
"Ca-li-fornia!" Naomi sang the words as she squeezed her husband. "How exciting!"
"That's right," Edward said with a smile. "They're going to cover all the moving expenses, so we can leave immediately."
As Vance listened to the last line, his head and shoulders slouched forward, and time seemed to grind to a halt. The wind had been taken out of his sails, and then a tsunami had come along and obliterated the boat.
"Vance?" Edward asked in an incriminating tone. "Aren't you happy for me?"
"Of course," his son replied through gritted teeth. "Mom would be so proud."
- Writer
