The Choir He Wanted, The LIfe He Had

Saturday, December 13, 1935

A/N: CONTENT WARNING: There's a part of this chapter that could be disturbing to some readers and could be very sad for others. It includes a confrontation between Roger and his father, and though it's not shown what's actually happening it is implied. It starts at the line "'DON'T GO IN THAT ROOM!'" and ends at the line "When Roger left, Maurice walked around the room to calm himself down.", in case you wanted to skip that part. If you're not sensitive to that kind of topic than you can read it, but if you are, feel free to skip it. I know everybody is different.

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I convinced my mother to let me go to Roger's house, but I could tell she was nervous as we got closer. As we pulled up to it, I was beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea to come here.

The house was very run down, as if people hadn't been living there. The outside was dirty, and I didn't think the inside would be much better.

My mother stopped a few feet away from the house. We both stared at it for a few seconds, then my mother said,

"Be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," I said. "I trust him."

"Just be careful," my mother said.

"Alright," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the car door. I told my mother I'd see her later, then climbed out of the car and closed the door.

I walked to his house slowly, my senses heightened with every step. By the time I got to his front door, my heart was beating fast. I knew I shouldn't be scared, but the way the house and the yard looked made me nervous. It was surrounded by trees on all sides except the front, so it was mostly hidden by woods.

I knocked on the door, and when nothing happened, I knocked harder. Still nothing happened and I heard nobody inside, but I decided not to knock again. I stood outside his house for several minutes when suddenly the door opened. The boy I saw standing there was definitely younger than Roger, but I didn't recognize him from the choir either.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Jack," I replied. "Who are you?"

"Peter," he replied.

"You're Roger's brother right?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Where is he?" I asked.

Peter closed the door without saying anything. I was left outside, wondering if either of them was coming back; however, after several seconds, the door opened again and this time it was Roger standing there.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," I said.

"Come on in," Roger said.

I walked into the house, and the first thing that hit me was the smell. It smelled awful. I couldn't even describe what the smell was. I wrinkled my nose, and when Roger saw this he said,

"I know it's bad now, but after a while, you get used to it."

"How do you live here?" I asked.

"Like I said," Roger replied, "You get used to it after a while."

"Is there anything to do here?" I asked.

"There isn't much," Roger said, "But we can just go to my room for now."

Roger walked down a short hallway and I followed him. After a few steps, he turned into a room to his right. It was a rather small room. There was a mattress in the middle of the room with nothing on it except a blanket. In the right-hand part of the room close to the wall was a pile of blankets made into some crude sleeping mat. I pointed to it and asked Roger who slept there.