All Your Fates (Currently editing/updating)

Chapter 26: Welcome Home ~ Tom Liljheholm

Part One of Three written by Tom Liljeholm

David's POV

When the ringing in my ears finally toned down I could feel the cold rain whipping my face. It was dark and I was at the foot of a flight of stairs looking up on what looked to be the entrance of some sort of mansion. I had been thrown around from reality to reality like a glove, and I knew by now that on the other side of the mansion door there was going to be a new life to get into.

I felt sick just thinking about it.

I’d have liked nothing better than to just turn around on the spot and leave. Camp out at some hotel and just wait for the next jigger. But it was just too fucking cold. The rain had made its way right through my woolen coat and it felt like my skin was soaking the ice cold water right up. There was just no way I was heading anywhere but straight into the nearest weather protection - I had to get inside.

I made my way up the steps, one soaked shoe after the other.

“Here goes nothing. Give me your best,” I mumbled to myself before I raised the fin of the mermaid-shaped knocker, and knocking three times, loud and quick. 

I heard heavy footsteps inside heading towards the door with no apparent rush. The door shrieked as it opened, and a familiar smell came over me before I could make out a man through the crack of the door. I choked.

“Dad?” 

Standing in the now open door was the man that I remembered only from the one picture that my mum had kept sealed away in the attic. He was older, torn, but it was definitely him.

Back in my world, my dad had run off when I was a kid, leaving me and my mother behind without any way of supporting ourselves. I didn’t exactly come out of it unscathed, but I honestly think my mum had been worse off. For months she’d been sitting at the window, crying as she peered down the road. 

I swore to myself then and there, 5 years of age, that if I ever saw my father again I would punch him in the face. But as I was standing here face to face with the man, all I could feel was shock. I hadn’t expected to ever see him again and hitting him felt far from my mind. And this was not the man who had left me. Maybe.

“How dare you show your face here again?” he snapped with cold bloodshot eyes. 

Not on the best of terms with the old man here either. I figured I better play it cool if I were to have any chance of escaping the rain.

“Are you going to let me in? It’s freezing,” I said, my teeth chattering. 

The old man opened the door not more than five inches and stepped aside, barely leaving me enough room to come in.

The hallway was amazing. A large staircase led up to a second floor, the rails were dragons carved out of solid wood. Along the walls, portraits of family members and stuffed heads of various animals alternated in a full circle around the room. Under each portrait was a brass plaque screwed to the wall. There was my grandpa Albert; the antlers of what looked like a deer; grandma Elizabeth, the stuffed head of a wild boar... I skipped to the end. Paintings of dad and mum side by side in cordial union. And it appeared I had siblings: Martin, much younger than me and Alina, a little older. In between Martin and Alina was me. Well, at least my plaque was. The actual canvas of my portrait had been demonstratively torn out.

In the middle of the room was the biggest chandelier I’d ever seen outside of the TV. This thing was huge; a perfect crown jewel of the Victorian theme that was going on. On second thought, I wasn’t sure it was Victorian, it might have been Baroque or Gregorian - in any case I was sure it was older than vintage. 

I turned to my father with a smarmy smile, “So dad, what’s for dinner?”

He scrounged is face into an expression that looked like I had just told him he was dying. It was clear that he didn’t fancy the idea of sharing a meal with me, recollecting old memories. Just as he made an effort to break out of the shock and say something, the familiar voice of my mother rang out from the room to the right: “Is that David? Is David here?” 

I heard a chair being pulled back and then fast paced steps as my mother ran out into the hallway. She bolted through the door opening and embraced me.

“Oh David, I thought... I was afraid I’d never see you again!” she said, her cheeks wet against mine. 

“I would never leave you behind mum, you know that” I comforted her.

As soon as she got over the euphoria of seeing me she turned into the mother I had always known: “Look at you! You’re so skinny. Come in and eat before you fall apart!” 

She led me by the hand into the dining room where Martin, in the flesh, was waiting with his hands in his lap. His face shone up as he saw me. “Hi David!” he said with boyish enthusiasm.

“Shut up and eat your food, Martin!” dad commanded. My father had made his way past us and grunted at Martin in a late and misdirected abreaction to the frustration over my presence. Martin was quickly drained of any sign of happiness and looked down into his plate. 

My mother led me around the table and seated me next to her before she ran off into the kitchen and got me a plate and some cutlery.

With all that had been going on lately I hadn’t much thought about it, but as I sat down at a table set with turkey and various meats and vegetables I couldn’t help but to realize that indeed I was pretty hungry. My mind made a quick flashback to when Atticus had taken me out to the lunch that set this whole thing in motion, and my mother barely had time to put things on my plate before I swallowed them whole. 

“I see you have the same impeccable table manners as when you left.” my father said in a disgusted tone.

I kept eating for a while, chit chatting with my mum as I chewed on the heavenly food. And when I found myself in the whole situation and no longer felt my stomach desperately sending my brain signals to eat or die, I realized that my sister Alina from the paintings wasn’t eating with us. 

“So where is Alina? How is she doing?”

My father’s eyes turned black. He slammed his fists into the table and stood up as he roared, “Is that supposed to be funny? Do you have any idea...” 

My mother said to me in a forcefully calm but loud voice, as to interrupt my father and change the subject, “Have some more potatoes, dear. You still look like you could eat.”

My father found himself and sat down. 

“We’re not allowed to talk about Alina,” Martin explained to me. This seemed to get dad fired up again and without taking his eyes off me he talked to Martin as calmly as he could master, but with clear resentment, “Go up to your room Martin!”

“But--” Martin protested. 

“Go up to your room NOW. I will be up when I have finished eating,” dad warned.

Martin’s eyes teared up as he picked up a napkin from his lap, folded it, put it on his plate and got up and skulked out of the dining room. 

“Just who do you think you are David? Coming here and rubbing salt in wounds that this family has worked so hard to mend?” dad seethed as he got up and marched out of the room.

Mum was quick to comfort me, “Oh he is just upset honey. He has been working so hard lately and it is making him stressed. We’re delighted to have you back home. Go upstairs and have some sleep. We’ve left your old room exactly the way you left it. Well, almost -- I’ve made the bed for you,” she said with a twinkle in the eye. At least someone in this house seemed to care about me.

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No A/N note this week...uber busy