The knife clattered to the floor of the kitchen.
"Al? What are you doing here? Your dad didn't say you were coming home."
Of course he didn't, I thought, but I didn't say so.
"Want me to ring him?" My father's girlfriend could have been my sister, though I suspected I was older than she was. By the way, how did she know who I was? I was fairly sure my father kept my existence hidden from the rest of the world.
"No, I don't want to bother him. I was just dropping by to collect some of my stuff."
"Oh OK. Will you stay for dinner?"
I shook my head instantly.
"No no. I'll only be here for a few minutes."
In fact, I'd timed it so that I wouldn't have to meet my father. The feeling was mutual. I doubted he'd welcome me with open arms. The homophobic son of a bitch.
"Well. I'll be here if you need me."
She bent to pick the knife and resumed chopping the vegetables. I half pitied her. She must have been strong willed for her to handle my father, or maybe she hadn't seen him for what he really was. The last time I'd been here, there'd been a different girl. This one tall and blonde and definitely older than me. She was a no-nonsense woman, that was probably why she wasn't here anymore.
I left the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time to my room. Or what used to be my room. It was as I had suspected. Untouched.
Dust had settled on my trophies. There were so many, I had a whole cabinet for them, and medals too. There were lots of pictures too. My hair colour had been as volatile as my dad's taste in girls. In some pictures I was a blond and blue eyed and there was Carrie, the short buxom one.
Then there was the goth hairstyle, all black and spiky, and beside me, looking like my twin, was Rachael, with her hair short and black. There was one thing you could always trust my father to have, and that was a girl.
I reached under my bed to where I'd kept my gun, never sure if it was safe to have one, especially since I didn't have a permit. It was there alright, and so was the extra magazine. I pulled it out and checked that the safety was on. I also checked that it was loaded. No use carrying an illegal gun if it wasn't loaded.
I tucked the gun into my jeans and pulled my tshirt over it, stowing the magazine in my jacket pocket.
I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could but as I walked downstairs I knew something was wrong.
"David! Al came by today. He's still in."
Ah. He was home.
