The Wright Way

Chapter 31 - The Wright Way

The bedroom has a slanted ceiling, faded flowery wallpapers and the stale air of a place that's been locked for too long. I open the little window and let the evening air roll into the room, disturbing the dust on the windowsill.

I turn around and take in the modest interior—the bed, the desk, the chair. The walls are bare, save for the wallpaper. No pictures. No photos. I would've expected more personality from a place where Joshua grew up—perhaps some rock band posters or a makeup table, like the one he had in the basement of "Golden Leaf". Perhaps his stepfather disapproved of such things.

"Make yourself at home," Joshua says, walking in with a blanket.

I look around again, unsure about our sleeping arrangements. "Are we going to share a room?"

He shrugs. "Sure. I wouldn't want to be alone at night. That's when your crazy family comes alive, no? I'm also going to sneak a rifle in here when Dad goes to bed. We're going to be prepared this time."

His words send chills up my spine. "You think they might find us here?"

He walks over and drops the blanket on the bed.

"Eventually, yes, but not too soon." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "I wasn't talking to anyone about where I came from, and the old man has a different second name, so..." He shrugs. "Anyway, you take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

"Absolutely not. I'll take the floor and you take the bed."

"Fine, if that's your wish." He grins at me, clearly having expected this.

He makes a couple more rounds, arranging blankets and pillows on the floor to make a bed for me. Then he leaves, and I soon hear water running in the bathroom across the hall.

Twenty minutes later, he comes back in new jeans and another long-sleeved T-shirt, a bathroom towel wrapped around his head, and hands me some clothes, apparently belonging to his father. Given their obvious lack of communication, I wouldn't be surprised if he just took them out of the old man's closet without asking—yet I accept the pair of clean pants and a T-shirts, and even an unopened toothbrush pack.

"Martha keeps Daddy stacked," he says as he hands the items to me. "Deodorants, aftershaves, toothbrushes, what not. Yet I don't think he uses anything but soap. The man has never been much into self-grooming, and he's not improved with age."

"Stop badmouthing him. He let us in."

"Yeah, yeah, well." He waves me away. "Go shower."

The water is hot and it feels good to wash off all the sweat and dirt from sleeping in the forest and later hiking through it. I allow myself to soak under the steady stream for a while. It feels like it's washing the thoughts out of my head, and by the time I step out and start drying my hair with a towel, I feel numb and sleepy.

I put on the cotton pants and the T-shirt Joshua brought me. They fit fine, even though the man with the walker seemed smaller than me. Perhaps he's been bigger in the past. The fabric has the now familiar stale smell to it, so it has probably spent quite a while in a closet.

I exit the bathroom and pause in the corridor, wondering if I should go say something to the owner of the house. I haven't seen him since we went upstairs. The low sloped stairwell seems accessible with a walker, but the man apparently prefers to keep to the ground floor. It strikes me that perhaps the living room has been serving him as a bedroom lately—that could explain why all the blinds were down.

Back in our room, I find Joshua tucked in his bed already. The lights are off. The window, still cracked open a little, lets in enough moonlight to allow me to find my way to the makeshift bed on the floor. I sit down with a groan, my muscles still hurting. I consider closing the window but discard the idea as paranoid. Nobody could climb in from the outside. I raise the corner of my blanket and slide underneath it.