Knocking On Death's Door

Chapter 15

Once the school day ends, I practically run home. I shove the door open and the smell of alcohol fills my nostrils, I recoil in disgust and a white hot light flashes behind my eyes. I fall to the ground, the same spot Karen hit me was burning with pain again, but this pain was much, much worse.

"What we're you thinking!" Dad yells, I flinch. He grabs my shirt and pulls me to my feet, I fight against him, knowing what'll happen if I obey him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I snap, removing his hand from my shirt and backing away. Swinging my bag to the ground, I prepare myself for a fight, Dad doesn't smell to badly of alcohol today, just a small whiff lingers on him.

"Telling the press about your brother! I thought that was something we needed to keep quiet!" I'm appalled, flabbergasted, horrified, I point at myself.

"You think I'm the one who told the press about that!" I say, a slight stutter in my voice. Dad plants his hands on his hips in aggravation, I can see the impulse to hit me again burning in his eyes. I almost want him to hit me, see if he can beat an answer out of me that I don't have.

"Well. . ." Dad starts, Mom walks in the room before he can continue. Her face is bright with fury, tears and mascara stain her cheeks, she's dabbing at both with a tissue.

"Will you two stop!" she yells, wiping her hands on her pants. She glances out the window and puts her head in her hands, she collapses onto the ground in a ball and tears start again. Dad begins to sit beside her, revealing the type of man he used to be before the alcoholism took over. Mom just shoves him away immediately, a frown creases Dad's face, but instead he looks out the window and curses. I go over to Mom and bend down beside her, I hesitantly reach out to rub her shoulder.

"I promise Mom, it wasn't me" I say, the sincerity in my voice is obvious and I think she knows that too. She wipes at her eyes again and looks at me, a thin yet sad smile on her face.

"I know honey, I know you would never out our family like that, but I still would like to know who did" her body shudders with a fresh wave of sobs. I nod in agreement, I help her to the couch so she can sit comfortably and cry, my sadness is replaced by anger, but I'm sure the sadness will come eventually. Once Mom is comfy on the couch, I hear loud talking and someone shouting at our front door. I tilt my head in confusion and walk to the front door, I peek through the little window at the top and find Dad yelling at a camera crew and a lady with a microphone. I throw the door open so fast Dad nearly falls backwards, but he resumes his conversation fairly quickly.

"Who the hell told you about my son!" he demands, his fists are balled up and I can tell he's just about ready to throw a punch. The dark-haired woman with the mic shrugs.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Spier, someone fed me the information and I then wrote a story about it" she says, I shudder, she's Helen Peterson, the writer who wrote the article about my brother. Suddenly, I understand why Dad is so pissed.

"Well, then who the hell gave you that goddamn information!" Dad shouts, making the woman jump back and almost fall down the stairs leading up to our doorstep. Helen gave a stuttering response, she wasn't able to form words. She turns to me and begins ignoring my Dad, she sticks the microphone in my face and starts asking questions.

"Tell me, your his brother, right? How did you feel when you saw him there?" she questions, obviously waiting for a direct answer. One of the cameramen gets closer to me and I can tell he's zooming in on my face, Dad, in his rage, shoves the camera away.

"No, that's enough!" he roars, scaring the crew into listening, even I jump. Dad points an accusing finger at every single member of the crew, I can see the tipsiness in his eyes, the effect of the alcohol he's ingested today kicking in. I decide now's the time to bring him inside.

"Okay Dad, lets go, Mom's waiting for us" I lie, taking his arm and opening the door. He whirls around to glare at me, but even in his tipsy state, he knows not to hit me in front of people, especially if they have cameras. Begrudgingly, Dad nudges me out of the way and walks into the house, nearly slamming the door on my face. I follow him inside and close the door on Helen and her posse, they mumble irritably and I hear their footsteps leave. I breathe in, feeling relief wash over me again, it doesn't last long.

"I still don't understand why you'd say that?" Dad hisses, his speech is becoming slurred.

"Dad, I didn't."

"Well then who the hell did!" he grabs my shirt collar and pulls me closer to him, I want to shrink back in terror. I raise my hands innocently, feeling rage and sadness pulse through me.

"How am I supposed to know?" I snap, that's the last straw. He winds his arm back and I screw my eyes shut, awaiting the punch. I open my eyes again and see Mom grabbing Dad's arm and tries leading him to the coach.

"Get off me" he says, trying to shake Mom off without success. She keeps trying, urging him to let me go and sit with her on the couch, finally, he obliges. He releases my shirt collar and backs away, a sneer spread across his face.

"Meghan, keep your son in line" Dad says, the sneer still on his face. My body is rigid and look from Dad to Mom, Mom says nothing and, instead of caring for her son who was beaten by her husband minutes ago, she coaxes him to the couch. When I try and say something, she waves me off and sends me upstairs. I exhale angrily and without a second glance at my broken family, I storm upstairs and slam my door behind me. I hold my head and fall back onto my bed, my arms flop beside me as I stare blankly at my ceiling. I roll onto my stomach and make my way to my pillow, I lift up my pillow and bury my face underneath it, I scream into my mattress. I scream and scream and scream until the wave of anger has left me, but only a wave of sadness replaces it. I keep my face underneath the pillow and I let the tears flow, I keep my sobs quiet so my parents can't hear them. Why him? Why did the world need to choose him? Lachlan was never a bad kid, at least from my view, he never did anything remotely horrible to this family or any of friends, but somehow Lachlan ended up on someone's hit list. I shove my face further into the mattress, wishing that this entire situation was a joke.

After God knows how long of lying face down in my bed, I work up the strength to hurry downstairs, grab my backpack and rush back upstairs. I pull my homework out of the bag and decide to start with English, I put my earbuds in and coincidentally, 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' plays. I sigh and listen to Kurt Cobain's voice as I do my English homework, I work late into the night and eventually fall asleep at my desk.