The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
"Mom?" Riley called, craning his neck to look out of his bedroom door. She was still in the house, as far as he knew. He hadn't heard the door close and she certainly hadn't announced leaving.
No response came.
He idly moved the pen in his hand while he continued to stare out the door, holding his breath to try to hear any movement from in the house. He could hear his sister breathing from the other room, and thought he heard some clinking noises from downstairs, but quickly ruled those out as false.
Eventually, he heard a sigh from the Livingroom, and he knew well enough it was his mother, and with that he tried to turn his focus back onto the piece of paper.
The second he looked at it, he realized the pen hadn't been as above the paper as he originally assumed, the top half of the page now covered in loopy almost-writing, but Riley could only make out a few letters, never being good at reading cursive, despite it once being the only way he wrote things down.
He shrugged the almost-writing off as just his subconscious thoughts leaking onto the paper, and turned to the next page in the notebook, even more surprised to find more almost-writing there.
He could recognize his own handwriting well enough, but the issue was it was still in cursive, and it was still almost-writing, a sad mimic of English and his subconscious thoughts. It wasn't uncommon for Riley to find things written down in his notebooks like this, sometimes full pages filled out with almost-writing he'd done while half asleep and then immediately forgot about, but it was less common to find it in his Coherent Writing notebooks, keeping several empty notebooks by his bed for this exact reason.
He just sighed, and flipped to the next page, glad to find it empty, and tried to continue writing.
The only problem being he could no longer remember what it was he pulled out the book to write down.
He scowls down at the book, hissing a bit as he shut it.
The exact second the book closed something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he jumped, turning his head towards the door to see his mother standing there, staring at him. This wasn't an uncommon thing, but what was uncommon was for her to get up there without Riley hearing her coming first.
"Mom? Are you okay?" He asked, clicking his pen and dropping it down onto his desk, turning in his chair to look at her better.
"Could you... Could you wake your sister up? I have something to tell you." She said, and Riley frowned at her, confused.
"Sure." He said, and then his mother nodded and left, going back downstairs. He held his breath, listening once again to the almost-silence, broken by his mother's light footsteps and the stairs creaking under her.
After she stops, and he hears the couch creak a bit, indicating she sat down, he stands from his chair and walks out of his room, careful to avoid the floorboards that creak when stepped on.
He could never stand the noises of them, absolute hell on his ears. His sister and mother never seemed to care that much.
He stops right in front of Bailey's door, painted a pale yellow, then opens it, pushing it open but not stepping inside.
From there, Riley could see her sleeping, lying peacefully on her bed, though not under the covers. Bailey never used the covers.
He knew better than to step foot in her room, something about the walls and the floor disliking his general being (Which he knew is because he threw up in there when he was a child, when it was his room instead of Bailey's), so he did the next best plan.
Stare at her.
Count.
One.
Two
Three.
Four.
Blink.
When Riley finished the countdown, Bailey was wide awake, staring blankly at the wall across from her bed. Then she sat up, looked towards Riley, and stared right back at him.
"Mom wanted us in the living room." Riley whispers.
"Okay." Bailey whispers back, and then stands from her bed, walking out of the room. She headbutted Riley's shoulder as she walked past him, and then went on downstairs, not avoiding the stairs that creaked when you walked on them.
When Bailey was out of eyesight, Riley went down, balancing most of his weight on the handrails and sliding himself down, four steps before he had to kick off of another step or else he'd fall. His hands hurt when he let go of the railing.
His mom sat in the center of the couch, her hands gently sat in her lap, tracing the swirling designs of the carpet with her eyes. Bailey sat on the armchair she had decided was hers, the pale blue cat pillow sat in her lap.
Riley sat down in the armchair next to Bailey's, separated by only a small table that the chair's arm would hit if you rocked forwards too far.
After a second, their mother finally looked up at them, not making eye contact with either of either of them, taking a deep, shaking breath.
"Um... So, news." She says, and then claps her hands for lack of things to do with them, both her and Bailey wincing from the noise.
Riley looked over to Bailey, and held out his hand. Bailey hit it down with her cat pillow, knocking it into the side table.
"Kids." Their mom said, and both of their attentions were on her as she looked up at them.
"I know this isn't news either of you want to hear right now... or ever... But uh... We're gonna be moving away soon. I'm sorry." She said, and Bailey's mood switched from mildly indifferent to enraged real quick, and while Riley sure felt the same, he felt as the older sibling, he needed to stay calm.
"WHAT?!" Bailey yelled, jumping up from her chair, cat pillow clutched in her hands like it was a weapon.
"Excuse me?" Riley said at the same moment.
Their mother held her hands up over her ears, then sighed in that way only a mother can.
YOU ARE READING
Fool's Gold
General Fiction"Hey, have you heard the rumors that Dahlia Barclay killed her oldest kid?" Riley asks, looking up from the paper he was reading. Ivan was quiet for too long. ~ Riley Queenleaf's whole world was turned on it's head when his mother moved them to her...
