***
I woke up the next morning sprawled out on the living room floor, still grasping the now empty bottle of whiskey. I stretched my bones, letting out a groan. I sat up, waiting to be overcome with a wave of nausea due to the large amount of alcohol I’d consumed, but nothing came. There was just a slight headache, nothing more. I groaned and lay back down. I looked at the clock on the wall, and it was almost seven in the morning. Mr. Atwood would be here soon to see me off. I rubbed my eyes before getting up.
Despite the fact that I didn’t need one, I took a long, hot shower, because I heard that’s what humans do when they’re frustrated. I closed my eyes and felt the steam burn against my skin. I felt the water dripping down my skin. This is nice, this is nice, I thought. I was kidding myself, though. I couldn’t feel a thing. I pressed a hang to my still aching chest and felt my pulse. My heart beat beat beat slow and steadily.
After my shower, it was well past seven, and Mr. Atwood still wasn’t here. I threw on a plain white t-shirt and basketball shorts, and began to gather my things for the trip. A suitcase and a zip-up hoodie, all I would have to my name once I left. I set them by the door along with a pair of sneakers.
Rubbing my hands together, I looked around me, at the house I’d lived in all five years of my life. The spiral staircase, the chandelier, the leather sofa, the imported artwork that hung on the walls, all of it had all been my home my entire life. I walked through the main hallway and ran my fingers along the wall. I noticed things that I’d always been too busy to notice before: the fingerprints along the ceiling (though how they got there was beyond me), the cobwebs in the corners, the nicks in the wooden floor boards.
I blinked, using my built in camera to take snapshots of all of it. If I failed to make it back home in time and Blaine and Everett take the house away from me, I wanted to remember everything. I blinked at every little nook and cranny around the house, taking more snapshots. A couple dozen photos later, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door to greet Mr. Atwood, who was wearing the exact same suit as he had on last night. I shook his hand and let him in, and was about to shut the door when someone stuck their arm through. I opened it again, and there was Blaine with his typical devilish grin, Everett standing just behind him.
“Hey, buddy,” Everett said, a little too sweetly. The two of them let themselves inside.
“Jonah,” I corrected. Everett rolled his eyes.
We all sat down around the coffee table once again, and Mr. Atwood produced a thick stack of papers from his briefcase which he handed to me, along with a pen. He told me where to sign my name on each page, which was pretty much every other line. It took a good ten minutes for me to finish signing. When I was done, Mr. Atwood took the papers and stuffed them back into his briefcase. He stood up, and Blaine, Everett and I followed suit.
“Well, Mr. Lewis,” Mr. Atwood said blandly. “Looks as though you are ready to begin your journey. Will you be needing a ride to the airport?”
“That would be great, thanks.” I smiled emotionlessly, and followed Mr. Atwood towards the door. Someone pulled me back then, and I looked back to see Everett grasping my shoulder. He and his brother smiled at me condescendingly, and he pulled something out of his suit pocket. It was a small, rectangular package wrapped in a brown paper bag. He held it out to me, nodding at me to open it. I raised an eyebrow, and he pushed it against my hand. I sighed and tore at the paper.
Inside of the box was a cell phone. A flip phone, to be exact, and the prepaid kind. I looked up at them questioningly.
“So we can keep in touch with our dear baby cousin,” Blaine chuckled. “Wouldn’t want you getting lost in the middle of the desert or anything like that.”
“Right,” Everett nodded. “If you, I don’t know, decide to quit at any time, you can just call us and we’ll arrange for someone to pick you up. Sound good, buddy?”
“Jonah,” I corrected him again. “But I won’t need it, thanks.”
Blaine clucked his tongue, shook his head, and smiled. “Oh trust us, you’ll need it.”
His voice was thick with implications. I narrowed my eyebrows at him, and was about to ask what he meant when Mr. Atwood cleared his throat. “Time is wasting, gentleman,” he urged.
I picked up my suitcase from the floor and pulled my jacket on, stuffing the cell phone box into the pocket.
“Well, goodbye, then,” I said, tipping an imaginary hat towards them. “See you in ninety days.”
“We doubt it,” they sniggered.
I followed Mr. Atwood to his blacked out Cadillac, where a driver was waiting to open the door for me. Blaine and Everett strolled over to their rental car, and in the moment, I thought about how I could care less if I never saw them again, even if it meant I lost the inheritance. I climbed in to the Cadillac, and when the driver shut the door, I looked out the window at my house, and for all I know it could have been the last time I would ever see it. Mr. Atwood and the driver climbed into their respective seats in the front. The driver turned to Mr. Atwood. “Where to, sir?”
“LAX, Joseph. Mr. Lewis here has a plane to catch.