Trapped In The Rabbit Hole

Chapter 4: Meet My Parents

Seth stares at her in confusion, while I rolled my eyes and tell her what is burning on the stove.

"Bill's flapjacks," Jill sighs.

She turn her gaze away from me and glares at her lazy husband Bill, who is busy putting the charred pan into the dirty sink.

"Hey Bill!" Jill screeched. "Are you taking care of the smoke?"

"Don't nag me, woman!" Bill snapped. "I'm taking care of it!"

Bill is an overweight moron with wispy, gray hair, wears a green shirt that says Don't Piss Me Off, blue boxers, and white socks.

Meanwhile, Seth dodges past the dysfunctional couple and makes his way upstairs.

I don't blame him that the house is an enormous pig sty:

The insides looks like a horror film; white walls reminds me of someone's dried skin, the wooden floors moaned whenever I step, and pretty much the furniture has been caked in dust.

The living room had two moldy green couches, a small television set, a broken clock, and piles of half eaten food sitting on the floor.

"Ugh," I moaned.

"Seriously, guys? I thought I just cleaned this up!"

But the couple is too distracted to even notice me.

Sighing, I maneuver the small kitchen area and take the stairs to my room.

The kitchen has a small, white stove, a black kitchen counter, a humongous refrigerator that hogs the space, and a tiny dining wooden table with three metal chairs.

On my way, I march my feet against the scraped wooden stairs.

Although I can hear the happy lovers quarrel below, I ignored them. As my feet scurry on the hollow wood, I walked up to the door, and enter into my bedroom.

My room is tidy and neat, compared to an average college boy's dorm room. My small bed is made, and books are neatly dusted in my bookshelf. 

The grey carpet is vacuumed clean, my black clothes hovered in the closet, and papers formed stacks on my desktop.

Other than my old homework, it included a laptop, classical music CDs, and a stack of neat old homework papers.

Marveling my bedroom, Seth sat on my black bedsheets and turn to face me.

"Is this your bedroom?" he mused.

I nodded, taking my black t-shirt, light brown capri shorts, and black tennis shoes from my closet.

"It's alot better than your old bedroom." Seth complimented.

"It used to have a dozen Marvel posters."

I looked at him sternly, took off my shirt, and toss it at Seth's face.

On the right side of my back, I have an ink black tattoo of a skull with the words: Rest in Peace, Aaron underneath it.

I had gotten it when I turned sixteen; it was all because of Aaron, a family friend who died in the line of duty.

"Ew!" Seth screamed, peeling it off of his eyes.

My younger brother shudder at the touch of my sweaty shirt and threw it back at me.

"You're gross!" he whined. "I don't want your shirt sweat!"

"Well, I don't want you whining about how stupid my old bedroom is." I argued, stripping down my pants.

"And besides, you use to have Marvel posters of Black Widow all over your bedroom wall."

Seth blushed at this: I knew he had a thing for Black Widow before he saw the first Iron Man movie with his friend Josh.

"I love Spider-Man too!" he cried. 

"And Black Widow," I added.

"Because she's hot, man." he insisted. "Like, Scarlett Johansson hot."

After placing my pajamas inside my closet, I put on my street clothes.

It was then I notice Seth wearing his red Spider-Man

Quietly, I gather a bundle of small clothes and handed them to him.

It is a medium-sized black shirt and a pair of jeans.

"Here," I said, holding them out for Seth.

"Try them on, they're better than those pajamas you're wearing."

He stuck out his bottom lip, but snatch the clothes from my arms.

"They look good on me," Seth said. "You're just jealous."

"You look like a first grader," I smirked, earning him a glare.

"I hate you," he muttered, as he trudges into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Seth comes out of the bathroom with a bored expression on his face.

"Let's do this, Batman."

I gave him a look before walking after him.

"Now you're calling me Batman?" I ask.

"Why not 'Nanny McPhee'?"

"You're both dark, brooding, and good looking."

I smile as I open the door and head downstairs, where my foster parents sat on the couches, drinking beer and watching Oprah television.

I watch as an elderly African-American woman in a fuchsia pink pantsuit joking with the crowd.

What surprise me the most is that, there is still smoke hanging above the sink.

"Where are you kids heading to?" Bill ask, but his eyes are glued to the screen.

"Going to a high school party?"

That's when I gave him a look; I wonder if this moron even knows that Seth doesn't go to school.

"No, we're not." I answered sharply.

"Are you going to that weird sleuth's house?" Jill questioned.

"Cole isn't weird, Jill." I say defensively. "She's a nice person, unlike you and your slob of a husband."

The couple turn their gaze from the screen and glare at me for a moment. Seth swallowed a nervous gulp and tiptoes behind me.

All of a sudden, Bill stopped swallowing his beer, and threw the empty glass bottle at my face.

I immediately ducked my head at the projectile, sending it flying at the door.

The next thing I knew, green pieces of glass appeared on the surface. 

"Attitude, Luke." he warned menacingly. "It will cost you." 

Jill let out a wheezed laugh in reply to her husband's stunt.

Seth stood behind me, shivering at his cold words while I stare back at him.

"Screw you, Bill." I responded, flashing him the middle finger. 

I then flung the door open, allowing Seth to run outside, and slam it behind me.

"Your foster parents are jerks," Seth said as I drive to Miles' house.

I borrowed Bill's rusty black truck in order to get there quickly.

"No wonder you're always such in a bad mood."

Bill and Jill aren't my first foster parents: the others were Tim and Jocelyn, drug addicts, Cammie and Connor, crack addicts, and so on.

Like every foster parent, I didn't trust or care about Sid and Nancy, but their household is the only place I didn't ran away from.

Instead of agreeing with my sarcastic brother, I told him where Miles' house is.

"The sooner we get there," I said. "The sooner we find Miles' killer.