Lego House

xiii. Anger

{ unedited }

“The screams –”

“Irisa, don’t concern yourself with that,” Jarrett’s voice is still small. He’s regained some more strength. Blood is caked to him, crusty and gross. He can only hope that Autumn can see past it all. He can’t see Ris but Autumn mimics her angry and sad facial expression for Jarrett to see.

“Jarret Maust. Was my sister in there being tortured with you?” Jarrett clicks his tongue. He’s lying on the floor, curled up into a ball, too afraid to move. He hopes nothing is broken. Nothing feels broken. His ribs maybe. “Jarrett!” Ris shrieks.

“It was just me.” He pauses. “For that moment.” He pauses again. Gulps. “Autumn, Michael was next. I saw him.” Autumn shakes her head, not wanting to know. Not wanting to care about it. Greater things were happening, things they needed to sort out. Jarrett hadn’t broken anything, why would they torture Michael to that point?

“Why’d they do it?”

“Do what?” he asks. He doesn’t want to tell her the truth. She hasn’t worked it out yet, hasn’t asked thus far. She raises an eyebrow at him. She’s about to snap at him when they hear keys rattling against each other. Jarrett doesn’t move but Autumn crawls to the bars. Food, maybe?

“Hey, friends.” His voice is familiar, but cruel. Different. The way he says friends sends shivers up Jarrett’s spine. He shoots upright.

“Pedro?” he mouths at Autumn, and she offers him the faintest nod. His body begins to ache and he remembers why he didn’t move. He lets out a quiet groan. He did this to himself. His own thoughts did this to him. His own personal fears.

“I knew not to trust you,” Irisa snarls. Jarrett imagines one of her cruel smirks set on her lips. Beautiful but daring. You should never, ever cross a Daylee. And you should never, ever, ever, ever cross Irisa Daylee. She’s passionate and fierce. And she won’t let anybody hurt anyone she loves. She hates Pyllagement for everything they did, but now she hates Pedro more. Jarrett can hear the loathing in her voice.

Pedro steps into Jarrett’s line of view. “You’re not fifteen,” he says immediately.

“And Pedro’s my last name. You lot really are idiots. It was a mask.” He rolls his eyes, pausing for effect. “I was quite surprised how well it turned out.” He’s still the same size, obviously. Jarrett curses himself for not noticing his incredible height earlier. “Jaylen Pedro. 23. Nice to meet you.” His lips curve into a sadistic smile.

He has dark brown sideburns and dark brown hair and dark brown eyes and he is dark. He is scary. He is unsafe. He just gives off that kind of aura. Like death awaits anyone who dares step out of line. “I’m in the army. They sent me as a spy thinking you wouldn’t shoot down a fifteen year old boy.” He seems to think for a moment. “And a fifteen year old orphan at that.” He laughs somewhat, walks a bit further.

He crouches down in front of Autumn, who audibly holds her breath after a short gasp. His eyes, she seems to scream at Jarrett, simply with her facial expression. “You sure can act,” she says, her breath not shaky, her words firm and angry and determined. Her eyes stare into his.

“What do you mean? I play a good fifteen year old?” He makes a face at Autumn.

“Your eyes. They were kind, lost, scared. Now they’re just – eyes. Lifeless.” Jarrett supposes she has nothing else to say, because she just spits. Jarrett bites back a smile. There’s the Autumn from their childhood. Pedro – he supposes he can still be called Pedro – scoffs, stands. His hands are behind his back, folded neatly.