Knock Three Times

22. Risen

                THE HOUR APPROACHED QUICKER than either Christine or Miranda had expected. It seemed the busier they became the faster the hands of the clock seemed to tick away, putting together the finishing touches of their Halloween costumes. Laughs and growls of frustration could be heard from the girl's bedrooms, the house alive with commotion and anticipation, which seemed to lock a permanent smile on Josh Davidson's face. Every so often one of the teens would burst out into the kitchen in a huff, searching through hutch drawers for the sewing kit, glue, tape—whatever they needed to piece together their creative ideas as fast as possible. They would call out for help, looking for something that was usually right in front of their eyes, but their minds were too cluttered and rushed to notice.

    Josh was busy preparing last minute decorations and gathering candy in a large salad bowl for the trick-or-treaters that would soon arrive at their doorstep. He had gotten a few early guests, mostly younger children more comfortable roaming about the neighbourhood with their parents in the daylight. The Davidson house was somewhat of a popular spot, as they insisted on giving away full-sized candy bars every year, the only house on the block that didn't purchase the miniature, more traditional chocolate.

    The charming husband and father wore a freshly pressed pin-striped suit and bow tie he'd bought at a local thrift store for thirty bucks, his hair temporarily died black and slicked elegantly. Above his lip was a thin moustache, his chosen costume Gomez Addams, complete with a walking stick that he merrily twirled around occasionally. To top off the costume he had glued a manikin hand to his right shoulder, an item Josh had found at a yard sale months ago to represent Thing, which is what had inspired the idea in the first place.

    Many would come to the door before the girl's dates would arrive to pick them up for the dance, the air thick with anticipation, and the enchanting scent of hot apple cider.

   As Michelle Davidson stirred the cider with a long wooden spoon, she would gleefully sing verses of "Double Double Toil and Trouble" the song stuck in her head since she first fired up the burner. Her Halloween cider was a beloved tradition in the Davidson household, always made from scratch with freshly picked apples from a local orchard just outside the city limits. She wore a gothic, thinning black dress and matching satin evening gloves which stretched elegantly to her elbows, a long black wig and extra pale foundation to match her husband as Morticia Addams.

    Her husband closed the door for the umpteenth time, a delighted smile fading from his face as he set aside the bowl of candy, then reveled in his decorating skills, which weren't nearly as impressive as he believed, but his wife hadn't the heart to tell him.

    'That smells wonderful, Mi Amor.' he approached the kitchen, took her elbow and bowed as he kissed the back of her hand, keeping in character with the famous, romantic gothic Spaniard. He then wrapped his arms around his wife from behind, cradling her stomach as he gently kissed her soft, delicate neck.

    'Hey, cut it out.' she playfully nudged. 'The girls are in the other room.'

    'Just staying in character.' he chuckled. 'Besides, it's good for them to see their parents in love, no?' he nibbled on her ear, but she pushed him away in order to stir the cider again.

    '"Their" parents?' she turned, not entirely sure if it was a slip of the tongue.

    'Something tells me she's not going back to her old life. Miranda deserves better, and given that her mother's whereabouts are currently unknown, I think it's safe to assume we have gained a daughter.' he smiled blissfully with the thought, the sound of hysterical laughter from down the hall only adding to his general bliss.

    'Just be careful, alright?' her tone turned rather stern. 'She might not even want that. You need to tread carefully with her.'

    'I know a teenager in want when I see one, dear. She needs a family—a real family.'