Chapter 3

RHETT

I slammed the car door shut, reveling in the sound which seemed to break through the deafening silence in the quiet neighbourhood. There were no sirens wailing as police sped past, no babies crying, no dogs barking at passers-by and no couples screaming at each other – in other words, it wasn't the city.

I hated it.

"Thanks." I muttered to the taxi driver as he handed me my suitcases.

I paid him and watched him drive off into the sunset before I turned around and faced the haunted house where I'd be living for the next few months – or until my mother decided to pull me out from under my father's rule. I glared at the large, spacious building – a literal mansion painted white with green ivy painted onto the east wall. Yeah, my father couldn't even take care of real ivy! I was surprised that the neatly manicured hedges managed to survive my father's "care," although I suppose he had a gardener or five to look after them for him.

"Home, sweet home." I muttered again, swinging my backpack onto my back and grasping my tattered suitcases.

Walking up the drive, a motion caught my eye and I turned my head to see a figure standing at the window of the neighbour's house. It was too far to see clearly who stood there, but I'd bet the shoes on my feet that it was one of those stuck up snob-sons of that doctor.

"Bloody inquisitive, interfering neighbours..."

They made me want to strip off my clothes and give them something to watch – but their sheltered minds would be scarred for life and they'd probably sue. Public disturbance or some such shit. And I couldn't afford to go to jail after what happened last time the cops picked me up. I still wanted to get into a good college after all and no one accepts a jailbird with open arms.

I set my cases down by the door and stared at the huge iron-lion knocker which hung off of the large front door. A friggin knocker! Like it was the dark ages where no one knew what a door-bell was. I lifted the knocker slowly and let it drop back against the wood, sending an echo all through the house. I was about to "knock" again when I heard footsteps heading toward me.

The door opened slowly but smoothly, without a creak.

"Master Rhett, welcome. We've been expecting you. Do come in."

Mrs Porter hadn't changed in the four years since I had last been here. She was still just as round, grey and friendly as she had always been. In fact, apart from the few new wrinkles, she was exactly as I remembered her – white apron and all.

"Thank you Mrs Porter."

I turned my manners on, knowing that the sweet woman could turn into a dragon within a split second. She smoothed her grey hair back into its severe bun before she nodded, gesturing for me to pick up my bags. I did as she bid and followed her upstairs to where my bedroom was situated.

Mrs Porter had once told me that the room had been my nursery as a baby and that my father had updated it each time I had come to visit, ensuring that it always remained my room. After that, I had noticed every little change he had made to the room and took it as a game to see how much he had changed each time I returned. 

This time, nothing seemed to have changed. The walls were the same pale blue, the bedding dark blue and the same pictures of boats hung all over the room. A framed photograph of happier days stood on the nightstand next to the bed.

Clearly he didn't think I was going to return after the last time I was here.

"You get yourself settled and then come down to the kitchen, dear." Mrs Porter smiled at me, closing the bedroom door behind her.

I stalked over the framed photo on the nightstand, picked it up and looked down at the happy faces of my parents and a toddler version of myself before placing it face-down on the nightstand. It may have been a picture of happier times, but it was also a reminder of what I had lost – a family.

I fished my cellphone from my pocket and dialed my mom's number, composing myself for a few seconds before I pressed the green button.

"Hello?" a masculine voice answered the phone.

"Hi Terry, it's Rhett." I replied, wondering why my mother's boyfriend of the month answered her phone. "Is my mother around?"

I heard her giggle in the background.

"Umm... she's not hey Brent." the guy lied, not even bothering to get my name right.

"Well can you tell her I got to my father's place okay? I'll call her tomorrow."

"Sure man. Cheers."

Terry slammed the phone down on me and I knew my mother wouldn't get my message. Not that she really cared. She never cared about me whenever she had a boyfriend about... which was most of the time. When I was little it used to bother me, but now I was just so used to it I couldn't give a damn. Besides, her boyfriends usually left their wallets lying about unattended and didn't dare accuse me of stealing anything since that might put a damper on their relationship with my mother.

Don't get me wrong, I love my mother and living with her was WAY better than living with my father, but her boyfriends always came first.

I grabbed my case and chucked it into the bare closet before I strolled down to the kitchen. It was certainly Mrs Porter's domain and always smelled of freshly baked breads and cakes – utterly delicious.

"Ah, there you are child. I thought you had got lost in this old house since you haven't been here in so long." she attempted to joke as she led me to a chair and shoved a slice of chocolate cake in my hands.

"I still remember my way around." I plastered a smile on my face and took a bite of the cake, even though I wasn't hungry. "Delicious as always, Mrs P."

She blushed at the compliment and bustled around the kitchen getting a cup of tea ready for me.

"I told you father that you would be no trouble this time, you're a good boy despite being brought up in the city. You just got in with the wrong crowd and could have landed up in hot water if your father wasn't as influential as he is..." she chattered while I half listened, not really interested in hearing the details of the event which almost cost me all I had worked for.

Mrs Porter looked me up and down as she handed me my tea, her keen eyes taking in every inch of my appearance from my short, spiked up black hair to my almost threadbare jeans and well-worn shoes.

"Into the car with you, we're going shopping." she ordered, waiting for me to protest.

"But Mrs Porter, I don't need anything from my father." I argued, knowing where she was heading.

She sighed, slightly irritated with me.

"I don't care if you don't need anything from Mr. Douglas, you need something from me. I will not have a child in my household dressed like a pauper. The other housekeepers will start rumours about my inability to look after you and it will be the end of my spotless reputation."

I relented, knowing that she would win no matter how much I argued. Kissing her softly on her cheek, I hooked my arm in hers and guided her to the car as I used to when I was younger – grabbing her handbag as we exited through the entrance hall. Mrs Porter handed me the car keys and prompted me to open the passenger door for her - I think she's the only person on the planet who's ever forced me to remember my manners.

"Okay, dear boy. Let's be off like a herd of turtles." she exclaimed as I started the car, rolling my eyes at her absurd phrase.

The drive to the nearest mall look longer than it would have done if we were in the city but then again everything took longer in the suburbs. When we finally arrived we struggled to find a parking spot before she dragged me into a shop I knew would be beyond my budget as the son of a single mother.

"This place is beyond my price range, Mrs Porter." I protested, looking in horror at the price tag of the nearest item of clothing.

She sighed again but didn't bother to reply as she handed me different items from the racks. Soon, my arms were piled high with clothing – which would have been awesome if I was a girl... but I'm not.

"Okay child, see what fits you." she commanded.

I dragged my feet into the change-rooms and tried the mass of fabric on. They all fitted but they were all far beyond my budget. Hell! A single shirt could pay the rent of my mother's place for a month! I pulled out the cheapest shirt from the bundle and pushed aside the curtains of the dressing room.

"Only one fits." I handed her the shirt, hoping that it would placate her.

She looked at me skeptically before she ordered the sales lady to fetch all of the items I had left behind in the dressing room and put them on my father's account. Protesting was pointless – she didn't listen to a word I said.

"Enough child. You need a good outfit for dinner tonight. The Summers have invited you and your father over for dinner and there's no way you can back out of it."

"The Summers?" I gasped in horror, remembering the stuck up snobs I had been forced to deal with growing up. "Can't I just pretend to be sick or something?"

Mrs Porter glanced at me with a stern expression on her face.

"Apparently not." I muttered under my breath.

She insisted on driving us back to my father's house – I couldn't bring myself to call it home, because it wasn't. I think she drove because she was afraid I would drive us to the nearest police station and insist that I was being kidnapped, or something to that effect. It was a good plan... but I know that the cops don't exactly like me here.

"Your father will see you in his study now, Master Rhett." Mrs Porter said in a stern voice which almost dared me to oppose her.

I wanted to – I truly did – but I didn't. I didn't want to give the woman any reason to dislike me just yet since she held the keys to getting me out of the dinner with the Summers family. Instead, I turned on the charm I knew I possessed, kissed the old lady on the cheek and sauntered off to my father's study.

I didn't bother knocking on the door – he usually never even heard it anyway. The room had changed slightly, a new painting hung above the fireplace and the lamp on his desk had originated from somewhere else in the house. The wall opposite the fireplace was covered from floor to ceiling with books shelved according to their topic. I knew from when I was a child that all of my favourite children's stories were on the lowest shelf to the left. I used to spend hours reading while my father worked... back then I didn't mind it all that much.

"Hello Father." I announced myself, breaking through the silence.