In the Shadows

Part Twenty-One: the Slaters

"Shut the fuck up." Anthony groaned in response to his brother's teasing. It didn't need to be said, we all knew the trouble ahead of us.

Tristan's car zipped through the town while the three of us sat in silence. Outside looked gray as we drove through it, a blue haze from the early evening sun painted the town. The small charcoal colored car crept to a stop as the traffic light clicked red. Slumping to the side of my seat, I rested my head on the window. The old motor shook the frame of the car, vibrating the glass and feeding my headache. I was too tired to move.

I thought I couldn't move at all until a matte black push bar came into my peripheral. The police car was parallel to us at the stop light. His tattooed arm hung out the window causally as the officer looked at me. He waved with his fingers, I smiled politely.

Anthony had turned his body the opposite way, pretending to be busy and not hiding the blood that still covered his shirt. Tristan sat unmoved, focused on the road ahead and begging for a green light. The minute felt like an hour as the seconds passed slowly. Finally the light did change and with that the officer turned down the other road.

The three of us simultaneously exhaled.

"I'm going to need a strong drink when we get home." Tristan laughed. Anthony and I were a bit too drained for any humor at the moment. We hurried cautiously to the boys' neighborhood and drove to the top of a hill at the end of the road. The very last house was theirs; a modern two story home tucked into the side of a tall hill that was otherwise fenced off for a distant cattle farm. A few large black cows wandered along the wire fence, trying to eat at the green grass of Anthony's front lawn.

Pruning a pink flowering bush by the larger window facing the street, stood his mom. Her long platinum blonde hair was neatly swept back under a bright pink baseball cap. She didn't seem to notice Tristan's car pulling up or parking in front of the house, until we stepped out and the doors slammed shut. His mom did a double take over her shoulder as Anthony led the way towards the front door.

Her arms went up in annoyance, "Anthony. Now what did you do?"

"It's nothing, mom." He said, trying to avoid her.

She pulled off her gardening gloves, pointing to his stained shirt, "This is not nothing. What did you do, Anthony?"

"It's fine, mom. We handled it." Tristan hugged her from the side.

Sucking her teeth, she sighed. "Oh, I know you did, honey."

Anthony tried to move past her once more. She blocked the door and locked eyes with me. "Who's that?"

"Hi, I'm Stephanie. Nice to meet you." I said nervously. I reached my hand out to shake hers, but she didn't accept my greeting. Instead, she looked back up at Anthony with a disappointed scowl.

"Your father is not going to be happy-"

"Yes. I'm well aware." He snapped back with a deeply irritated tone. She finally moved, the three of us making our way into the dark and quiet house.

Everything inside was expertly curated. The walls were all painted a deep wine purple, large gold frames wrapped around prints of painting and family portraits, besides two leather recliners all of the furniture matched the color scheme closely. I could tell Anthony's mom had made all the choices with heavy consideration, from the decorative pillows all the way down to dozens of fake plants. It was clear she tried to achieve a very sophisticated aesthetic; it felt to me like an Italian restaurant.

    Walking out of the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee, Anthony's dad was startled by us. Tristan continued walking past him, and straight out the back door.