Difference between revisions of "Homeward Path (Theo Morrison)"

Latest revision as of 21:04, 24 June 2014

The house was empty when he got home, and empty still when he awoke. It was never this empty.

He couldn't remember the last time there wasn't some kind of life here. It all looked the same, sure: pictures on the wall, hanging plants, the little fountain in the corner, dad's chair positioned just so in the living room. There was always something else, though. A presence. A person, at all hours, bringing the whole place together.

Theo supposed it was just him, now. He wasn't sure he liked that.

His footsteps were muffled on the carpet. It added to the hushed atmosphere. He just wanted to scream, or stomp -- so when he got to the kitchen, he did, stomping booted feet on the linoleum. He took a deep breath, and... stopped. He couldn't just --

Track dry mud all over the kitchen. Great. He sighed, getting a dust-pan and brush and kneeling down to take care of it. It's the little things that really get you. He reached out, sweeping it across the ground and frowning at the specks as if they'd wronged him. Little brown specks, with bits of red...

Red. Blood. Screaming in the forest. Men dying, right in front of him.

He made it to the sink before he got sick this time.

Running water must have kept it quiet. He didn't hear the door close, or footsteps into the kitchen with him. He turned, and there he was. The man was pale and gaunt, like too much person stretched over too tall a frame. His suit fit better than his skin. Theo would have called him skeletal if he was being disingenerous, and maybe told him where Mom kept the cookie dough if he wasn't.

"Mald-" the man began. Theo stopped him immediately.

"Theo," he interjects. "Mister Morrison if you want to go there." His impatience had leaked into his voice. He didn't feel fear. After last night, he was too drained to feel fear. "Who are you and why are you in my house?"

The man looked at him oddly. Theo felt like a cow being measured up for particular cuts of meat. He held back the shudder, but felt the icy shiver trickle down his spine.

"I," he began again, with a voice like an iced-over oil slick, "am Mister Suva. I am here to inform you that until your current... situation... has been resolved, your family will continue to remain unawares. You are currently participating in an internship within a nationally-recognized corporate interest, who, should they find your talents acceptable, will fully fund your college education and make an offer of employment upon completion of the same."

His eyes were as compassionate as a lizard's. Theo clenched his jaw tight, feeling it creak. "Your mother and father, I am told," he continued, enunciating clearing and precisely, "are quite... proud."

"And they're... where, exactly," Theo asked. He didn't take his eyes off the tall man. He couldn't.

"London," Mister Suva replied. "They have taken a holiday during your absence. A fortunate occurrance financed it. They are... regretful... that you cannot attend."

"They're going to want to talk to me," Theo insists. Mister Suva simply looks at him, head canted very slightly in that curious way.

"This is all you will need to know about your... internship, Mister Morrison." A long-fingered hand rises above the countertop, sliding a manilla folder onto the surface. "Take all the time you require to become acclimated to your new... situation." His facial muscles twitched. Theo could swear it was the distant relative of a smile. "We will be in touch."

He looked down at the folder. Blank-faced; no markings. "What do you mean my --" He looked up.

Mister Suva was gone, as if he had never been.

Mere moments later, Theo had decided that it was time to leave. The mud would wait until another day.