Rain and Brisket
An hour after arriving, Remus finally found himself alone in his room. It was a small room, the walls were painted navy blue and was peeling in most places. He was surprised to see that most of pictures he had drawn when he was very little were still strung up.
On one end of the room was a desk and bookshelf, with only the top shelf half filled with classics. Oddly, all of his other picture books had gone. He supposed his father had gotten rid of them, but why would he keep them? Remus himself wasn’t a nostalgic person by any means, but his mother was. It pained her to see him carelessly place old souvenirs in the attic. To placate her, he kept only a snowglobe of the Grand Canyon, with tiny tourists made of little wooden balls. He shook it once and watched placidly as the red and gold pieces of paper fluttered around.
Remus sighed as he sank into his new bed. The springs groaned under his weight. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable bed, but he was already so exhausted he could sleep on a brick wall. There was only one thing on this earth that could keep him from sleep was food, and he was fairly sure Charlie was downstairs cooking something that smelled like barbecue. His stomach rumbled in reply.
Remus groaned and got up, he had been sitting for too long (fifteen minutes) and had nothing to do at the moment (he still had a luggage of clothes to unpack). He could go downstairs to check up on Charlie, but something stopped him as he put his hand on the doorknob. Maybe Charlie was more like Remus than he thought. Maybe they both needed some time apart.
But then again, they’ve had ten years apart.
Remus drifted over to his bookshelf and scanned what little books he had. He’d have to find a bookstore, or at least a library. His finger traced each spine—The Odyssey, Tale of Two Cities, Frankenstein, and The Great Gatsby sat on the dust-filled shelf. The last time Remus had read a classic was when his school forced him to read How to Kill a Mockingbird—by the end of that Remus was ready to tear that book in two.
Remus plucked The Picture of Dorian Gray off the shelf and laid on the bed, a feat that was much harder than it was two years ago. Remus had grown substantially over the last few years, his legs finally catching up to his lanky arms. He was, however, still all bones and no muscle.
He flipped to the first page, doing his best to understand every sentence despite all the filler words. He had succeeded in reading three pages when Charlie opened the door, an empty pan in one hand and an oven mitt in the other.
“I er, figured you’d like to eat.” He said with a hint of awkwardness, “I made brisket.”
Remus nodded and slid off the bed, placing his book gently on the mattress. The dining room was like everything else in the house, small and old. Remus didn’t mind, as his brain was currently fixated on the steaming pile of meat on a plate. He sat down and happily forked food into his mouth. Charlie sat down right next to him, very slowly as if it hurt him. Surely, he had to know it was awkward for Remus too, and yet he wasn’t making such an obvious fuss about it.
“How is it?” Charlie asked, still not taking a bite of his own portion. Remus nodded, sauce dripping slowly down his chin.
“It’s really good!” He said, smiling for the first time since his arrival. After that, a hint of the strangeness had gone, and they happily talked about anything that came to mind—which was mostly football. It was all Remus felt comfortable talking about…it wasn’t all too personal but enough to keep a conversation going.
“So, are you ready for school? I spoke with your mother yesterday…if you want to wait until next year and take some night classes—“
”No, no I want to go.” Remus said eagerly. Even though it was March, he still wanted to finish his senior year off. Even if he wasn’t at his home school, he still hoped it would at least take his mind off of family matters. After all, he had all summer to worry about that.
Charlie smiled while chewing a mouthful. “Good. I’m really glad, honestly. You deserve to finish high school and to graduate.” And to Remus’ delight, he sounded genuine.
***
The alarm clock on his side table read 10:57 pm. He was still very much awake, but too tired to stare at his books pages for much longer. The Picture of Dorian Gray was much better than he expected, once he got the language down he could fully appreciate the story.
Groaning slightly, he rose from bed. He was fairly sure Charlie had fallen asleep an hour ago, having to work in the morning. He was the towns Sheriff, and was stressed enough without Remus. Currently, people have been going missing under unknown circumstances. During dinner, he told Remus in hushed tones that only one body had been found, a fisherman. His body was found completely drained of blood and tossed like a piece of trash on the shoreline.
A shiver ran through Remus’ spine as he found himself by the window, looking down at the dark street. Some ways down there was a street lamp down the street casting a faint yellow glow up and down the pavement. The ground was wet, it must’ve rained.
Remus was about to crawl back under the covers to escape the cold, but something caught his eye. A hooded figure was stalking up the street, hands stuffed deep into a trenchcoat. It could’ve been that he was going for a walk…but this late at night? Something didn’t seem right about the way he walked aimlessly. And the fear solidified when he stopped in front of Charlie’s house.
Remus wasn’t a very imaginative person, but it really did look like the figure was looking at him. Remus scratched the back of his neck, half tempted to stare right back.
The person took a step toward the house, and Remus quickly clamped the curtain shut. He bounded back to bed, uncaring if Charlie heard him or not. It would be good thing actually, Remus had never had to defend himself against anyone…and he knew how snobby that sounded but his flight instinct overpowered his fight one by a whole mile.
Remus listened, half-expecting to hear the crash of a door or window. But no sound was heard. Curiosity killed the cat, and Remus was seemingly just as susceptible. He pulled the curtain back once again, tightening his face.
But the figure was gone