Knock Knock (Knock Knock Man Book 2)

by Adam Dark

  I joined him on the bed. A wave of exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks. No shower was happening tonight.

  "What plans?" I asked.

  I removed my shoes and socks. Nico shot up.

  "You know we have to go back," he said.

  "Go back where?" I asked.

  "The orphanage. You have no idea what I found inside."

  I retrieved a fresh pair of underwear and shorts from the drawer and changed in my closet. I came back out and tossed Nico a pair. I discarded my soiled shorts in the hamper before exiting the closest. I didn't want Nico to see he had literally scared the pee out of me.

  I pulled a spare blanket from the chest at the end of my bed and curled up in a ball next to my spaceship fort.

  "You can have the bed," I said.

  "Did you hear what I said?" Nico asked.

  "Yeah, and it's not going to happen. I survived this time, I'm not going to play the wheel and hope for a better result next time."

  "Don't you want to know what I saw?" he asked.

  "Not really," I said.

  "You're a party pooper," he said.

  "I'm just tired. We'll talk more in the morning," I said.

  He tried to talk more but I was already heading for the dark tunnel. He gave up and crawled under the sheets and was out within minutes. Normally I would have beat him to it, but tonight, my mind hovered on what I had seen in the window.

  Nico was alive. There was nothing inside the house, but I had seen something. Exhaustion trumped my paranoia and sent me into the shadows of sleep.

  6

  My mother woke us before the sun came up.

  "Time to get up," she said.

  She knocked on the door, flicked my bedroom light on and left the door wide open so the hallway lights could shine through. I pulled the sheets over my head. Nico was still snoring. My mother came in the room a moment later and yanked the sheets from my eyes and gave Nico a firm, but gentle nudge.

  "Time to get up," she repeated and pinched me on the calf.

  "Ouch!" I cried more in annoyance than discomfort.

  "We have a busy day ahead of us. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes," she said before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

  I rolled over on my stomach and flipped the blankets back over my head. It took only a few minutes before the scent of bacon triggered my appetite and sent rumblings from the deep through my abdomen. I shot out of bed like a firecracker and thrust the blankets from the bed.

  I pulled the covers off Nico and rolled him on his back. He groaned and reached for the blankets again. I slapped him on the face not as gently as I probably should have. His eyes shot open with lightning.

  "What's your problem!" he cried.

  He rubbed the side of his face and tried to roll away again. I grabbed him by the shoulder before he could cradle into the side of the wall.

  "Mom's got breakfast going," I said.

  "I'm not hungry..." Nico mumbled.

  By now I could hear the gurgling and popping of the familiar savory peppered deliciousness coming from the kitchen.

  "She's got bacon..." I said.

  That was all it took. He flipped over and stared up at me as though I had dumped a bucket of ice water on his face. He looked like he was assessing whether I were telling the truth, but I watched as his facial expression changed, his nostrils flared, and a dribble of hunger sweat formed at the corner of his lip.

  He flipped his feet over the edge of the bed and raced me through the door. We both clamored down the stairs like a stampede of roaring buffalo. The smell was even more intoxicating downstairs. My stomach growled, and my saliva glands kicked it into high gear.

  I was famished, even more so than last night. Why was I so hungry?

  My mother was busy in the kitchen. She had five bowls laid out along the countertop, along with sandwich condiments. She raced from counter to stove top, flipping the bacon and placing the crispy pieces on paper towels to flipping around to continue prepping the sandwiches.

  I opened the refrigerator.

  "Where's the orange juice?" I asked.

  "We're all out, hun. The milk's on the counter," my mom said.

  I grabbed the milk carton and jugged two mouthfuls.

  "Use a glass!" my mom chastised. "We aren't animals in this household."

  I wiped my lips with my sleeve and stuck out my tongue at her when she wasn't looking.

  "I saw that," she said.

  I grabbed two tumblers from the cabinet and poured a glass for myself and Nico. He was sitting at the dining table, eyes glazed over, chest panting like a rabid dog. I set the glass of milk by his side. He didn't even acknowledge it.

  "Can I have some bacon, Mrs. Robinson?" Nico asked.

  "In just a second, dear. It's almost done," my mom said.

  Nico's stomach was growling even louder than mine. The cold milk hit the pit of my stomach like a ball of ice. I stood and went to the kitchen.

  "Is there anything I can help with?" I asked.

  I reached for a strip of bacon. I had it to my lips when my mom swatted my hand.

  "Not until it's ready," she said.

  The savory scrap of goodness tumbled from my fingers. I licked the flakes and grease. It only made waiting worse.

  "You can get the toast ready," my mom said.

  I begrudgingly stuffed some bread in the toaster and waited. My mother was a magician in the kitchen. She went back and forth as if she were dancing. She had the bacon finished and wrapped, eggs cooked, potatoes roasted, and sandwiches made, wrapped, and sealed all before I finished buttering eight pieces of toast.

  My mother walked over to the staircase and shouted up for my sister.

  "Abigail, it's time to eat!"

  My mother returned to the kitchen. Nico and I helped her carry the steaming food to the table. I made sure to place the plate of bacon closest to me. Nico and I both eyed it like hungry lions. If we fought for it, there would be blood.

  "Is dad coming?" I asked.

  I looked toward the study. The doors were closed.

  "Your father is preparing for a conference, sweetie. We'll leave him a plate for later," my mother said.

  I stared at the study doors for a moment longer before redirecting my attention to the smorgasbord of food. The aromas were too much to take in at once. I led the way and broke the ice by scraping three fried eggs on my plate, four strips of bacon, and three pieces of toast.

  I used my fork to lift each fried egg onto the toast, then blanketed it with a strip of bacon, before dumping potatoes on top. I squeezed a dribble of ketchup on top before stuffing the first bite into my mouth. Hot, juicy goo squirted from the egg and slid down the crevice of my face. I didn't bother wiping it off. It was just extra dipping while you ate.

  "Slow down and use your napkin," my mother said.

  I swallowed the last bite before reaching for the napkin. I refused to use the fork if I didn't need to. Breakfast always tasted better with your hands. Besides, our prehistoric ancestors never used utensils to eat and they came out alright.

  My mother's argument was always we weren't barbaric animals. They needed to hunt and gather to survive and had to consume as much in as little time as possible because danger lurked around every bend. I argued it still did. Our dog Emma and our long-haired cat Ellie, were vicious.

  I felt the warm, fuzzy body of Emma pressed up against my leg. Her drool was making my thigh wet, warm air rising from her panting mouth. Ellie was probably propped on a windowsill somewhere or out on the backyard patio. She rarely graced us with her presence unless she needed food and water, and even then, seeing her was a rare occurrence.

  My sister came barreling down the stairs six minutes later after my mother’s fourth call. She had a towel wrapped around her head. Nico's eyes shifted from his plate to her as she descended the stairs. He continued to eat.

  I punched him in the arm.

  "Can you be any more obvious?" I said.

  "I can't help it,"
Nico said. "Your sister's hot."

  "That's my sister!"

  "I wish I had a sister like her," he said with a weird expression on his face.

  I rolled my eyes. Mother only smiled until she redirected her attention to Abigail.

  "What have you been doing? I called you ten minutes ago," my mother said.

  "I was taking a shower. What's the big deal if I'm down here or not?" Abigail asked.

  "It's important we eat as a family," my mother said.

  "Then why doesn't Dad join us?" my sister asked.

  My mother's lips went thin.

  "Your father is working hard to provide for this family," my mother said.

  "Why do you always make excuses for him? I know you're both having problems. You don't think we can hear you guys arguing, but we do," Abigail said.

  "That's enough. We're going to enjoy our breakfast with our guest, and then have a fun day as a family on the lake," my mother said.

  Nico and I exchanged excited looks. His eyes were glassy as they flashed from me to my sister. I kicked him in the leg. He flinched but kept staring. My sister was wearing a T-shirt tied off in a knot above her belly button and shorts rolled up to the point her butt was showing.

  She sat down at the table before my mother could chastise her again for looking like a slut. I didn't know what a slut was, but mom seemed to think it was a bad thing. Maybe a slut was someone who didn't listen to their mother and was always late. Nico didn't seem the least bit concerned with what Abigail wore. In fact, I think he loved sleepovers more so for the morning following than actually hanging with me.

  The times Abigail had stayed over at a friend's house the night before or didn't come down for breakfast because she was passed out in bed from staying up all night, Nico almost looked depressed like a water-boarded felon. Not this morning. His eyes were beaming. He finished his breakfast even before me, and that was saying something.

  Abigail rolled her eyes when she saw him smiling. She pretended she didn't like the attention of a twelve-year-old boy, but she did. Any sixteen-year old loved any kind of attention they could get. Why else would she wear her shorts so short and roll up her top? It was a year later when I learned the true meaning of the word slut. And it wasn't a good thing. Other girls seemed to toss it around like it was candy—about other girls at school. I knew the girls they were talking about, but I wouldn't have classified them as such.

  It seemed there was more than one meaning for the word. I'd never quite understand why girls were so mean to each other. Us boys, sure we called each other names, but it was always out of playful dominance or frustration during a quest or something. We'd fight it out, then be best friends minutes later.

  Girls—they'd hold onto it for years. What a waste of time and brainpower. It's no wonder they never had any friends and were always stressed out. If we boys did that, I'd have lost all of my friends a long time ago. I pitied my sister, but she brought it on herself.

  Abigail scraped one egg on her plate and added five cubes of potatoes and one strip of bacon. She didn't do bread. I was surprised to see her put the potatoes on her plate. She must be on her period. That would explain her extra moodiness this morning.

  She may hate eating together as a family, but I knew she loved bacon just as much as we did. Her annoyed stupor subsided slightly as she took her first bite. I don’t think it so much that she hated eating with us as that she just loved her sleep. She was always nicer if she slept in. Any time before eleven, and she was a nightmare to be around. Those tornado drills we did at school, yeah, those came in handy at the Robinson house.

  There was only one strip of bacon left. Nico and I looked at each other. I was about to reach for it and gobble it down before he had a chance to snag it first when he said,

  "I'll split it with you."

  A pang of guilt crept in, but only for a moment, before I snapped the strip in half. I'm not the most altruistic of the bunch. I made sure I got the larger of the two pieces. Nico didn't seem to mind. Abigail on the other hand gave me a stare that could kill.

  You snooze you lose, I thought to myself. That's what you get for coming down late and not putting what you wanted on your plate the first go around. Of course I would never tell this to her face. She wouldn't lash out in public, but when my father was traveling, and my mother would go out with some of her friends, my sister would babysit me. Those could either be the best of times or the worst. It all depended on what I did.

  I learned early on not to get on her bad side and to never tattletale. I think this earned her respect as I had bags full of garbage and blackmail I could rain down on her if the time ever came. Things she didn't even know that I knew. Like that time her ex-boyfriend, Rick, came over at two in the morning and snuck out the window the next morning while my sister pretended to be showering.

  Some might say I'm a quick study, but I just say I'm a survivor. It's better to not let others know how much you know so you remain a mystery and always have the upper hand. Call it a trump card of sorts. I stuck my tongue out at my sister, which only incited a snarl. She'd get over it. I hoped.

  Nico and I sat at the table while my sister and mother finished their breakfast. The growling in our stomachs had shifted from hunger pangs to contentment. Nico and I grabbed the plates from the table and placed them in the sink when my mother placed her fork on her plate.

  Abigail sat with her legs to her chest as she twisted her finger in her hair. Nico’s eyes flashed to her legs as he scooped up her plate.

  “I’ll take this for you,” he said.

  Abigail swung her legs around and stood to run back up the stairs.

  “You need to get your laundry and bring it upstairs to your room,” my mother said before Abigail managed to make one step toward the stairs. Abigail’s shoulders slouched like a deflated couch cushion. I heard her groaning even before she opened her mouth.

  “I don’t want to hear it. Your clothes have been sitting in the laundry room for a week. Take them upstairs and put them away. I don’t want to come up there to find you’ve stacked them on the ground again,” my mother said.

  Abigail’s eyes swerved in my direction. I averted my eyes to the sink where I was placing the plates I had carried.

  “What about Ben? You never make him do his laundry,” Abigail said.

  “Ben’s doing the dishes. He’ll bring his clothes up after he finishes,” my mother said.

  It was my turn for my shoulders to slouch and a sigh to escape my lips.

  “I always do the dishes, why can’t she?” I asked.

  My mother’s arms shot to the ceiling.

  “I don’t want to hear it from you two today. You’re going to do as you’re told or you’re both grounded,” my mother said.

  She never raised her voice. Her hands were shaking as she rubbed them along her apron. She caressed her blonde hair behind her ears and away from her eyes.

  “We’re going to have a nice, family day today. I don’t want any more complaining from either of you. Understood?” my mother asked.

  My sister rolled her eyes.

  “Roll your eyes again and you’ll be grounded for a week,” my mother said.

  “That’s not fair! Ben comes home late and he doesn’t get in trouble,” Abigail said.

  “Don’t worry about Ben. He’ll make up for it,” my mother said.

  I didn’t like how that sounded. This was news to me. I thought I had scraped by unscathed the night before, but it turns out it was too good to be true. I wondered what idea of punishment my mother had for me. I could only imagine how intolerable it probably would be like pulling the weeds from the garden or cleaning the toilets or cleaning out the garage.

  I had done each one more times than I would like to count and I had no desire to do these again, especially not in this heat. This whole time, Nico loitered in the kitchen mum as a ghost. A few seconds passed. No one spoke. My mother was the first to break the silence.

  “When you finish putting your clothe
s away, get dressed. We’re going to the lake,” my mother said.

  My sister opened her mouth to argue her point but stopped at my mother’s raised hand. Abigail stomped off and came barreling out of the laundry room a moment later carrying a giant basket of folded clothes. She stormed up the stairs as though my mother had just told her she could never see her friends again.

  I’d be the first to admit I hated laundry too. It was so boring and took forever. But I could think of far worse punishments. Mowing the lawn in the summer was one of them. At least Abigail got to be in the AC and didn’t have to fold her clothes. She just had to put them away.

  And for my sister, even this was asking too much. Why any of her boyfriends came around was beyond me. Her room was a disaster. She always had clothes lying on the floor in piles. You never knew which were clean or dirty. After a week, they might as well all be soiled. She’d try out no less than ten outfits before finally deciding on the winner for the day. Sometimes she’d change out of that one a few minutes later too. It would find its place in the growing pile of clothes on the floor, the chair, the desk, and just about anywhere there was an open place.

  Abigail slammed her door. My mother sighed and rung her hands through her hair. She faced me and Nico.

  “I’m sorry about that, Nico,” my mother said.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Robinson. I understand. My mother has me do chores too,” Nico said. He dropped the plates in his hand into the sink.

  “I’ll help Ben if that’s okay,” Nico said.

  My mother’s face looked worn. I had never seen so many lines on her face. She didn’t look like she had slept for a week. My mother looked at the two of us and managed a tentative smile.

  “Thank you, Nico. When you boys finish, get your trunks on and pack up the car,” my mother said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nico said.

  I already had the hot water on and was working yellow yolk from the plates. I scraped other food remnants into the garbage disposal. My mother went to her room and closed the door. I let out the breath I was holding when she was gone.

  Nico stood beside me and rinsed and dried while I washed. We didn’t have a dishwasher, so we washed the dishes by hand. Well, we had one but it broke last summer and mom and dad had yet to fix it.