Phoenix Rising

2. The Last Homely Townhouse

8 1/2 months later.

"Hey, bud. Can I come in?"

Walt Keller was his fourth foster parent. The man's parents were Catholic but he's not very involved in church himself. He grew up in California until he was 19 and moved to Texas to be closer to his girlfriend, who he married shortly after. Phoenix knew for the same reason he knew everyone's secrets and the postman's dog's name: he imagined it. Sometimes it came in the form of images, or a feeling if the event was emotional. After some time and questioning, he learned what he imagined was the truth. It was a dark and unnatural gift that he couldn't imagine his world without.

There wasn't really anything negative to say against either of his fosters. Walt and Margaret left Phoenix alone when he felt the itch - which had now just become the term he'd dubbed his temper. Saying "anger" over and over in conversation had become redundant after months of counseling. The counselor did most of the talking, anyway. Not like before, where he swore he could tune out the fury. He'd live in apprehension of an episode, however.

By some divine fortune, he'd started to feel at home in Walt and his wife Margaret's townhouse. He felt safe within its walls. Coming from Phoenix, that was a feat in itself. After his parents died, he stopped throwing around the word "home". So when Walt knocked - never more than three times - on the open study door and used his "real talk" tone, Phoenix didn't read into it.

"You don't really need to ask to come in if it's your house." He said, rubbing the back of his neck to sooth the crick and shutting off the desktop. "I was just finishing, anyway. So, was there something you wanted?"

Walt took a seat in one of the cracking arm chairs under an equally antique lamp. It was another thing that made him feel comfortable: they furnished their house as if they lived during the twentieth century, although they were barely past thirty-five. It was unlikely either of the Kellers had ever stepped foot into an IKEA.

"First, you should know how happy we are to have you here. Mar and I would never - We couldn't ever -" He sighed, running a hand down his face. "Margaret is better at this sort of thing."

"...Everything okay, Walt?" Phoenix asked.

Not even forty yet, the man already had deep lines etched into his forehead. How many of those wrinkles do I cause? He nodded after a moment. "What I'm trying to say is, we'd never make you leave, Phoenix. We like having you around. And under any other circumstances, we wouldn't."

"Circumstances?"

Another sigh and a heavy hand rested on his knee. "I guess there's no beating around the bush, kiddo. They've found your parent's Will. Once you've turned eighteen, you have every right to leave them and come straight back here but since your birthday isn't until August... Well, there's nothing we can do."

As it turns out, the Will was a real thing. And according to his dead parent's last testament, he was to live with some quacks named Marco and Lucinda Rouillard until he was legally an adult. The Will was among two of the things they left.

"A what?" He asked, following Walt back into the den. When his parent's left on a business trip five years ago and never came back, Phoenix figured they'd just split. For an entire month, he lived alone on their rural estate. On Christmas morning, he didn't leave his bed, believing his parents hated him so much they ditched him.

In many ways, it definitely looked like they did, according to the detective on their case. For starters, they never told him why they went on a "business trip" every second Tuesday of each month in the first place. Or why the coroner couldn't find a cause of death.