Thaddeus

Chapter One

Brooklyn sat in her truck pulled up by an old looking home, maybe it was victorian? She had never known for sure. What she did know was that it was run down. The house was a lighter tan color, but the paint was chipping off. The rusted metal fence surrounding what would've been a delightful front yard was bent in its place. Sadly enough, it was the house she grew up in. Brooklyn wearily sighed as she peered out of her car window, staring with dread upon the porch. It was dark, the stairs leading up to it looked crooked, fairly easy to fall through. Brooklyn grumbled as she pushed open the car door, it opening with a creak. Just like the house, her truck was also in need of a good fix. Slamming the door behind her, Brooklyn didn't keep her gaze off the house, wondering why her father hadn't done anything to repair it in over twenty years. Her father, Zagen, was the reason she was here. That and to see if her nephew, Alastor, had dropped by. Brooklyn groaned lightly as she remembered that little detail. Her cowardly older brother had called her saying he couldn't find Alastor and wanted her to check if he was here. Why would he be? Brooklyn was sure her brother wouldn't let his son anywhere near Zagen. That also meant she hadn't seen Alastor, or the boy's younger brother Truman, either.  Brooklyn could hear the soundtrack of the city, sirens and the occasional laughter of the local drunks rambling over some stupid little thing, in the nearby distance. It always made Brooklyn feel unsettled, she hated the fact her father's home just happened to be on the outskirts of town, where every shady person imaginable was. Drawing in a deep breath, Brooklyn made her way towards the porch, taking the steps up lightly. Once she made it, she was greeted by a large classic wooden door, one that was mostly accompanied by basically any horror movie with haunted houses ever. She brought a hand up, knocking it against the door rather loudly. She wasn't sure if her father's hearing had grown any worse or not. She waited a few minutes, nothing. Waited a few more, still nothing. Scoffing barely, she practically banged a fist against the door. Now it took only a minute before it creaked open, revealing a tall, slender older man behind it. Zagen was a man well into his fifties, by now his short hair had begun graying. But there were still small impressions of red here and there. He had a wrinkled face which kept a cold and calculating expression. She knew that look, and it would haunt her for the rest of time. "Hello, Dad." Brooklyn hesitantly greeted, trying to keep herself as still as possible. Zagen, on the otherhand, didn't bother to reply. He simply stared his daughter up and down, and from the slight scowl forming on his face, Brooklyn could tell he was judging her outfit. It made sense, Zagen was wearing a black blazer with a red undershirt while she was wearing a white cardigan along with a light brown trench and, shamefully, blue jeans.  Zagen stepped aside and motioned her to come inside, so Brooklyn did, taking a long look around as she did so. The layout hadn't changed much, though everything looked aged and worn. A straight staircase resided next to the wall, leading up to a second floor. On her right there was opening that kept a simply dining room, to her left was a living room. The walls themselves were dully colored, dusty. The floorboards creaked with every step Brooklyn took. "Even Bernard would have enough sense to clean this place up." Brooklyn finally decided to blurt out as she made her way into the surprisingly small living room, making herself comfortable on a leather sofa. Zagen grumbled at the mention of his oldest child as he followed Brooklyn, but unlike her, he chose to stand in the entrance. "I'm an older man who lives alone, I don't have the time needed to do that sort of thing. And besides, if you hate how it looks, why don't you ever come by more to do it yourself?" Zagen had a slight hatred in his voice, he always seemed to, but now it was as if it was louder. "I have a daughter who can be hectic, trust me, I'm busy." Brooklyn sighed out. Zagen scoffed loudly, he wasn't afraid to make his annoyance known. "I raised you and your brother alone and found time to do projects when you were growing up. You did not have it anywhere near as..hectic as I did." He finally made his way over to a wool chair across from where Brooklyn was seated. Speaking of Brooklyn, she tensed at Zagen's words, she hated it when he made things all about himself. He tended to do that whenever he was trying to guilt trip someone to do something. "I just need to know if Alastor is here." Brooklyn exhaustedly inquried, she was tired from talking with her own father for five minutes. "No, my grandson isn't here, though it'd be nice if he ever made an appearence once in awhile." Zagen repiled with a mild scoff. Maybe if you weren't such an asshole, Bernard would let you see him?  Broolyn wanted to say this, but bit her tounge. That would be verbal suicide, she'd never hear the end of it. "Why do you ask?" Zagen snapped Brooklyn out of it. She looked up at her father, wondering what to reply with. "No reason."  That was horrible and she immediatly regretted it. Zagen raised a brow, propping his leg over the other as he leaned back into his seat, a small smirk growing from the edge of his lip. "The boy's run away, hasn't he?" He lifted his head in victory that he'd found out the truth so easily, he knew Brooklyn stood no chance against him when it came to lying. He owned a casino for crying out loud, he knew when people were lying through their teeth. Brooklyn sat up, clenching her fists a bit. "Bernard is just worried about him, okay? It's not a big deal." She glared anxiously at Zagen, her foot beginning to subconsiously tap against the floor. "Well, of course it's a big deal!" Zagen bellowed, clapping his hands together. "My grandson might just be coming! I finally get to meet him," he chuckled then slowly stood up. Brooklyn did the same in a flash, she didn't want Zagen meeting Alastor, it would be a nightmare. She knew Bernard didn't either. So, in the heat of the moment, she suggusted the first thing that came to mind. "Maybe I should stay a few nights, hm? Just in case he does show. I'd love to see him." Zagen's face lit up hearing her words, though it wasn't really a happy look, kinda creepy actually. "Oh, why, of course you can! That is a splendid idea! Just imagine, my youngest daughter and my grandson. Wonderful." Zagen smiled a little, though he enjoyed the thought of having Alastor take over his casino more than the fact that the boy could be coming over. "Reclaim your old room, why don't you? In the meantime, I will be making a few calls." Zagen didn't give Brooklyn a chance to respond to him before he walked away, the loud floorboards indicating he was going for the kitchen. which was connected to the dining room. Shit, why'd I have to say that? Brooklyn thought as she made her way up the stairs and into a quaint bedroom on the left. She knew "A few nights" to her father meant at least a week, depending on how much guilt tripping a man could do. Brooklyn scanned over the room, everything looked almost the same as when she'd left it all those years ago. Of course Zagen hadn't been bothered to clean it out or turn it into something else. To anyone, the room being the same would have been a good thing, but to Brooklyn, it just proved even more how little Zagen cared for her. It meant he most likely hadn't even thought about her. There was a twin sized mattress in the middle of the room, empty closet next to a closed window, a cleaned out dresser across from a desk. Brooklyn had moved out the minute she turned 18, hence the reason not everything was all picked up and neat. She let herself plop down onto the mattress while she thought about her nephew. Would he actually even show up? How much had Bernard told him about Zagen anyway? While she hated staying with her father longer than she had to, it'd be worth it to see Alastor. Even if his arrival was based off a fairly low chance.

(Kinda wish I could've been a little more descriptive, but I guess that's not really the kind of a writer I am. OH WELL)