𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 18.

━ 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄, the red bicycle was leaning against the tattered screening of the front porch.

After watching John B run away from me, in his fit of anger, I returned back to Sarah who was equally as discomposed as I was. I had curiously asked her what he meant by losing his job. She explained to me with minimal detail, how he'd snuck onto her father's boat a few days before— borrowing air tanks without permission for something she didn't know of. I didn't push her any further.

Although John B had performed quite the spectacle, and seemed morally fixed on the idea that Sarah had snitched on him, I didn't want to pick sides. Something had clearly happened with the cops. Something was clearly off about his assumption towards Sarah.

I had asked Sarah to drive me home while we were walking off the docks. She did, and when we pulled up to the small white home, Carla, the truck, wasn't on the lawn. Sarah didn't seem to mind that my grandparent's house could fit ten times into her own, which filled me with a warmth, nor did she ask or say anything about it. We had said goodbye, and she offered again to take me on a tour of TannyHill, some time in the week.

Now, I sat on the mattress in my bedroom, biting the inside of my cheek and wondering if I should go and see him. The sun was going down as I stared out the window, the window that he once showed up at, and debated in silence. It wasn't my issue. And really, I didn't know if I would be welcomed at his house out of the blue. But I wanted to ask what happened at the Sheriff station— and that, was sort of my issue.

Just as I was about to stand up from the bed and head outside for the bike, with intentions of driving over to his home, Caroline and Daryl paraded into the house. I left my room, to face them piling boxes of stuff onto the round table, their shoes sliding off their feet. Caroline  looked up to me, her usual happy grin plastering over her face, as she carefully dropped a plastic bag and walked over to where I was standing.

I had changed out of my dirty clothes, and switched out the stained shorts for a fresh pair of jean ones, a dark denim colour. My white tube-top had spots of brown on the back from leaning against the wall of the rooster coop, so I changed into a black one instead, and left the grubby clothes in the hamper Daryl had given me. I left my hair loose, slightly waved. I decided for final that I was going to go back out again, and see what was up with John B.

"Hey, bug," Caroline walked up to me and softly wrapped her small arms around my shoulders, "how was your day?" She asked, as I hugged her back, delicate.

"It was alright," I said, as she pulled away. "I dropped your gift off at Lana Grubbs' house." I said to her, leaving out the grave part with the square groupers, almost dying, and running into John B.

"Thanks, hun," Caroline smiled a motherly smile, her face relaxing. "How was she?" She asked with a sadder look.

"Well, emotional," I tried to say it as kindly as I could. "But she was very nice," my lies were believable.

"Okay," Caroline nodded firmly, "I'm going to go down there tomorrow after work, check up on her."

I felt my stomach tighten, but kept my composure and nodded in agreement. She then shuffled through the plastic bag in front of me.

"What'd you do all day," Daryl asked me casually, while maneuvering one of the heavy boxes and placing it on the coffee table, "You go on a bike ride?"

"Yeah, actually— and," I half-lied, and stopped for a second, looking to both of them, "While I was riding, I ran into Sarah Cameron— you know, that girl who drove me home from the party?" I looked to Caroline.

"Yes," she nodded, her eyebrows only softly narrowing a little bit. "Ward Cameron's daughter."

"Yeah. Well— if it's okay— we were going to go and hang out by the docks in a few minutes from now," I slightly stuttered on my words, not used to asking for such permission, since I wasn't allowed to go anywhere in New York anyways. I came up with the excuse, using Sarah as a way for them to let me see John B.

"Oh," Caroline stopped shuffling, and glanced back at Daryl who stood, out of breath, with his hands on his hips. She looked slightly surprised, but her usual grin resurfaced on her lips soon after. "Of course, bug."

"Really?" I was slightly taken-aback, eyes wide with a small surprise. I didn't think they'd let me go.

"Sure," Daryl nodded comfortably when Caroline glanced back at him to answer this time. "Glad to see you makin' new friends here, bug."

"You don't mind me hanging out with Sarah Cameron?" I asked, my eyebrows now lightly furrowed.

"Course' not," Caroline swatted her hand delicately though the air, "she's a nice girl. Is she coming to pick you up?"

"No, I'm meeting her there," I smiled, "What time to I have to be home by?" I asked, growing excited.

"Eh," Daryl stepped up beside his wife, wrapping his arm around her back. "Just don't be home too too late."

"And don't get into trouble," Caroline pointed her finger at me jokingly.

I laughed in return, hiding the feeling of guilt from getting into trouble the whole day. They didn't have to know that, though.

"How about you eat somethin' quick before you leave," Daryl stepped away from Caroline and newly towards the kitchen behind me, "It's nearly eight o'clock."

"Okay," I nodded with a smile, as I slid myself down into a dining chair.

___

The sun was just starting to set when I made it to his house.

I couldn't figure out how I remembered the route to the Chateau, but I made it there eventually. It was completely silent, no rooster croaking and no voices talking, as I leant the red bicycle against the exterior paint-chipping wall. My breathing was sort of uneven, mostly from the bike ride, but also because I was afraid. When we ran into one another, he didn't seem okay, and I wondered if he was still the same now. I'd also never shown up at a boy's door before.

With a long and nervous breath escaping my mouth, I stepped up the small steps and stopped in front of the door. My hand rose up beside my head, and I knocked three times, with a firmly closed fist. The glass window on the front door was stained dirty, fogged-up, but I could still see most of the inside, and the damage that was done. The dining chairs lay everywhere, along with drawers pulled out and broken on the floor, cups shattered, glass on the ground, and a long table turned over on its side.

"Get lost Jj, I'm not in the mood," I heard John B shout from somewhere inside the house, sounding angry and tired. He wasn't in sight through the window, and that's when I heard water running.

I knocked again. More firm.

"Go away, Jj," he shouted, this time louder.

"It's um—" my voice slightly cracked as I strained it to become louder, so he'd hear me through the house. "It's Charlotte, actually, or— Charlie," I spoke, stuttering a little bit.

The water stopped.

"I'm just here to talk," I said casually, leaning closer to the window so my voice would slip through the cracks in the door.

Loud footsteps were heard throughout the silent home, and then soon after, he made it around the corner. He locked eyes with me through the window, and I smiled lightly, only for it to be returned with a glare. He turned his body away, walking towards the kitchen. Sighing, I gripped my hand around the shiny doorknob, twisting it, and pushing open the door.

"I'm really not in the mood for this right now," John B groaned, as he picked up beer bottles lying on the floor.

"I just wanna know what happened with the cops," I crossed my arms over my chest, standing beside the open door. "And hello to you too."

"That's none of your business," he spat, his back still turned to me. He leaned down to pick up another bottle, but grunted loudly in pain.

"Jeez, are you okay?" I asked, concerned, but still kept my place at the door. "What happened to you. You're, like, filthy." I looked down at his clothes, which were stained and completely covered in dirt.

"Look—" he turned around, and marched towards me with powerful strides. "I don't have time to talk, so please, just leave." He aggressively pointed his finger at the door, behind my head.

I looked at his face. His hair was messed up, and his black eye remained the same, but now his skin was cascaded with dark stains, and small open cuts were gashed on his forehead and cheeks.

"Jesus, John B!" I exclaimed, looking up at his face with sharply narrowed eyebrows. "What the hell'd you do? What happened to your face," I said, sort of harshly.

"Oh my god," he breathed out heavily, his eyes rolling as he turned away. "You're not my fuckin' mom."

"What happened," I said sternly, taking a few small steps to follow him.

"Why do you even care," he said lowly, while grabbing papers off the ground, "You made it clear today that you didn't want to see me anymore. I don't get why you're here," he spoke with a rude tone.

"Well, I don't see your other friends here to help you," I crossed my arms harder. "And I was mad earlier, about the whole square grouper invasion thing. That reminds me— you really should clean this place up, I mean look at everyth-"

"Go home, Charlie," John B seethed impatiently, his eyes closed in a hard blink before pinning a gaze on me from across the room.

"Those cuts are going to get infected if you don't clean them up," I ignored, and pointed to the gashes on his face.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" He, sarcastically, widened his eyes.

"No," I put my finger up, "what are you gonna do about it."

"I don't have time for this," he put his hands out, exclaiming loudly. "Just lea—"

"Yes, you do." I claimed, while walking right up to him. He watched me, looking down at my body as I marched towards him, my hand clasping tightly around his wrist. "You clean your face, and I'll clean the kitchen." I said, while dragging him towards the bathroom, which wasn't hard to find. I shoved him inside.

"Seriously?" he looked at me dumbly, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, seriously," I looked at him dumbly, mocking his facial expression with an exaggeration. "Then, in return of my favour, you tell me what happened. Okay? Okay."

I turned around swiftly, my hair flowing out behind me. I didn't hear steps following, and rather heard a small groan, and then the sound of the sink water running. I don't really know why I decided to help clean his house. I felt bad that the two men had invaded his home and left it terribly disorganized, and that no one was there to help him put everything back into place.

After a while of picking up start papers, putting the table back into place, picking up the broken cups and plates, and replacing all of the drawers, I checked on John B. He was in the bathroom, the door still open, standing in front of the mirror with the water running. He wasn't doing anything.

"John B," I called, causing him to look over at me, "what are you doing?" I put my arms out to my sides, angry that he was ignoring the whole compromise.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," he shrugged with an air of frustration.

"You don't know how to clean up cuts?" I narrowed my eyebrows.

He looked at me dumbly again, "Duh, everyone does."

"Then why aren't you doing it?" I leaned forward, not comprehending.

"I don't want to do it," he snapped back, looking at me wide-eyed. "They're just not worth cleaning, and you'd get mad at me if I left the bathro—

"God," I let out a groan, eyes rolling as I let the broom I had been using, fall to the ground carefully. I quickly stormed over to the bathroom, pushing strands of hair behind my ears.

"Sit," I demanded, trying best to be nice.

"On what," he looked at me.

"The toilet, idiot." I pointed to it beside the sink.

He moved past me in the small bathroom, sitting down on the closed toilet. I shuffled through the cupboard underneath the sink, grabbing the nearest cloth. I turned on the water, put the cloth underneath the tap, and turned it off.

"Don't move too much," I told him, my voice calmer as I stepped to where he sat.

I placed my hand, hesitantly, on the top of his head to keep it in place, my thumb falling over his bruised forehead.

"Move your legs," I said.

"You just told me not to move," he bickered back.

"Just move them apart, please," I sighed defeatedly, rolling my eyes.

He separated his legs, which gave me room to stand between them, right in front of his body. I brought the cloth up to his head, and carefully dabbed the space around each cut, then running it under the water to clean it and start again. He winced every so often when I'd touch a gash, his eyes closed tightly.

"Where'd you learn how to do this stuff, Charlie," He asked after a few long moments of silence. "You get in scraps back on the streets of New York?" He laughed.

The mood in the air had shifted, to a calmer feeling.

"Yeah, used to get in dust ups with all the kids on the block," I played along, laughing as I wiped his forehead. Our tension had somehow slipped away.

"Did you win?" He asked, opening his eyes.

"Duh, all the time," I looked down at him jokingly, "Close your eyes. Who do you think I am,"

His eyelashes fluttered shut. "I don't believe that," he shook his head slightly, while popping out his bottom lip.

"Well if you cross me one more time you just might start believing." I said, humorously sounding stern.

There was a long silence after we both laughed.

"I don't really know how," I said quietly, referring to his question asked. "Watched a lot of movies I guess," my shoulders shrugged.

I wiped over a particularly large gash, and he winced, scrunching his lips. I apologized in a whisper, adjusting the grip on his head. He sighed.

"The cops didn't do anything." John B said suddenly, after another long moment. "They let me go. I didn't have the compass, anyways."

"So then, what was that whole Sarah thing about?" I pulled the cloth away from his face, my eyebrows softly narrowed.

"A few days ago, after the hurricane, my friends and I went out on the marsh," he began to explain, looking up at me, "We found a boat— Scooter's boat. We found this key inside, it was broken, and it only had your grandfather's motel name on it, with a room number."

"So... you came to my window and asked for the keys," I nodded, connecting the dots.

"And then we went to the motel. After the party on the beach—"

"Where you got into a fight," I added, looking specifically at his bruised eye.

"I borrowed some diving gear from Cameron's yacht— you know, since I work there. My friends and I went back to the sunken boat, and I dove down, and found my dad's compass inside. Before we knew it, we were being shot at and chased through the marsh,"

"By those guys?" I asked, letting my arm with the cloth rest at my side.

"Yeah, those square groupers. So, Jj and I went to ms. Lana's house to ask her, and well— you know the rest."

I half-nodded, looking down at my hands.

"They chased me through town after I ran from you." he said, quietly.

"Oh my god," I realized, my face softening.

I wiped away some of the dirt on his check. He was looking at me.

"And Sarah Cameron— Mr. Cameron fired you?" I asked.

"What'd she tell you," he glanced to my cloth.

"Just that she didn't snitch on you," I said innocently.

He looked away, turning his head to the side with a clenched jaw.

"John B, I swear, she didn't tell her dad," my voice was quiet. "And I'm not done," I placed two fingers on his jawline, but he sort of wiggled from my grasp.

"I don't care anymore, I'm over it," He looked down at his hands.

"You don't seem over it," I looked closely at his face.

"Yeah well, there's nothing much I can do about it now." He shifted his eyes up to my face, his lips in a tight line.

"What about my grandparents— I, I could ask them if they'd be willing to give you a job at the motel," I said, as he stood up from the toilet. "Where are you going, I'm not done with your cuts, John B!" I called after him as he stepped past me and walked out the bathroom.

I placed the cloth on the sink and followed after him. He swiftly turned into his dad's office, parading through the broken-down door.

"Do you think I'm going crazy," he turned to me when I entered the room.

I sharply narrowed my eyebrows, unaware of how the question came up. "What?" I looked at him, then around the room. I was standing in the doorway.

"Do you think I'm, like, insane," he persisted, leaning on the other side of the messy table.

"You want me to answer that?" My eyes squinted slightly, giving him an are-you-dumb type of look.

"Just be honest with me, Charlie." He kept a hard eye contact, leaning both arms on the table.

"We already talked about this," I said with a careful tone, while taking a few small steps into the room. I slowly walked around the table towards him. "And do you have bandaids—"

"So, you do think I'm crazy." He nodded, running a hand through his hair quickly.

"I think this scavenger hunt that you're on is weird, but I can't tell you what to do," I said casually, shrugging nonchalantly as I stopped beside him.

The room went quiet.

He bit down on his bottom lip, "Why'd you come here, Charlotte?" he broke the silence and turned his head to me, looking serious.

"To ask what happened with the cops, of course," I laughed lightly, while trailing my finger along the rim of a book placed amongst all the other junk.

"No, seriously," he said.

I looked over at him, our eyes meeting. "I needed to get out of the house," I shrugged again, lying.

"Bullshit, you've been out all day," he laughed lightly, but then pinned his eyes back on me with a more meaningful look.

I didn't know how to feel with the gaze he was giving me— it was like he thought that I was important. "I just... wanted to see if you were okay, after that whole storming off thing you pulled on the docks." I looked at him.

"So, you care about me?" A smile broke out onto his face, "You work fast, Cherry Cola. Almost got me head over heels with that one."

"Not in that way," a small laugh fell from my lips, as I felt a heat rise to my cheeks. I looked down at my hands.

"Yeah, I thought I was just an annoying galavanting, stubborn teenager who has a thing for abducting you," he nudged his shoulder into mine lightly.

"That's weird that you have a thing for abducting me," I couldn't help but laugh, "Fuckin' psychopath," giggles fell from my mouth as I crunched my chin into my chest from laughing.

"I'm pretty persuasive, you have to admit," he shrugged his shoulders, as if he were proud of himself.

I turned away and looked at the pin board of his ancestors still lying on the table. "Yeah, if throwing me into the van is your idea of persuasive, then sure."

He watched me looking at all the pictures as our laughter calmed down.

"Who's this," I pointed my finger at a picture of a lady, at the very corner. He stepped up behind me, grabbing one side of the pin board to tilt it up. "Hey, that's funny," I pointed to her last name written, "her maiden name was RedField. Coincidence."

As I laughed quietly to myself, I realized he wasn't laughing along. I looked up and behind me to see him staring down at the picture with a look of realization, and before I knew it, he was running out the door.

"Where are you going?" I called after him, confused at the sudden burst. "John B, you need bandaids for those cuts!"

I followed where I heard his footsteps leading to, ending up a bedroom I assumed was his. He was in a closet, searching though violently.

"John B," I said with furrowed brows, as I stepped into the room cautiously. "What are you do-"

He cut me off by shoving a black sweater into my chest. "Put this on."

"What? Why," I said quickly, grabbing the sweatshirt. He didn't reply as he closed the closet door.

He looked at me, the tiniest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I hope you're not afraid of ghosts."

༄

𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 !!