Brendan only had two pairs of jeans. He grabbed one and a clean blue t-shirt and he put them on, then he left his room. Samantha had promised to bring the money back in that afternoon so he went to check in the attic.
The money was there, arranged in neat one hundred gem piles but he never heard anyone knock though. Ignoring this, he took one two hundred gem note from one of the piles and left the house.
He passed by a flower shop and bought a bouquet of flowers. So many drawback thoughts were telling him that going to Samantha's house was a very bad idea. Regardless of these thoughts, he rang the bell gate anyway. A few seconds after he had rung the bell, two big pit-bulldogs rushed towards the gate, barking mad at him. Both were the same size but one was brown and the other was black. He did not remember seeing them the last time he was there.
Soon enough, the front door of the mansion opened. Samantha came out jogging. 'Killer! Lieutenant! Back to your kennels, now!' she rebuked them.
The dogs bowed their heads and slowly walked away.
Brendan had the bouquet behind him.
'You made it! Right on time too.' She had a grin on her face.
She opened the gate and Brendan stepped in. She was wearing a pink blouse and blue jean shorts and her feet were bare.
He handed her the bouquet of flowers.
'These are for me?!' She placed her hands on her cheeks in surprise.
'Yeah…I thought you might…you know…' he shrugged.
'Thanks, Brendan. I never thought that you were a flowers kind of guy.'
'I didn't want to come empty-handed, if you know what I mean.'
'It was charming of you anyway.'
They walked to the house, talking. It turned out that Samantha's parents had brought the dogs the previous day when they arrived from their business trip.
Samantha's father was watching TV but her mother was nowhere in sight.
'Mom, he's here,' Samantha called into a room which appeared to be the kitchen.
Her father stood up. 'This must be your boyfriend…Brendan, right?'
'Dad!' She blushed. 'He's not even my friend.'
'So why did you invite him?' Her mother asked her as she walked in from the kitchen.
'Pleasure meeting you Mr. and Mrs. Patricks,' Brendan greeted them.
Mr. Patricks looked more like Fred and Mrs. Patricks more like Samantha. Mr. Patricks' frame was so frail, like a skeleton draped in skin but his movements were quite energetic and his handshake was firm like a vice. Dark eyes that searched through a man like he could see through him, but the bony face of a starving man. He was wearing black three-quarter shorts and a white vest. He had short black hair, dark blue eyes and was dressed, Brendan thought, in a way which was inappropriate for a multimillionaire. But he was still almost the spitting image of his son.
Mrs. Patricks, on the other hand, was a little bit taller than her husband. She had long, black glimmering hair just like Samantha's and she had a similar smile to hers, fairer skin that almost made her small-rounded face look like that of a porcelain doll. But she was still beautiful. She was wearing a blue top, a white waist-tight dress and as if it were a theme she and her daughter had decided on, her feet were also bare.
'Samantha's told us more than everything about you,' Mr. Patricks told him when he released his hand.
'Dad!' She was getting even more embarrassed.
'But she forgot to tell us how handsome you are,' Mrs. Patricks added to this statement, pinching his cheek in a friendly manner.
As they walked into the dining room, which was beside the kitchen, Brendan saw just how classy this family was. Hanging on the ceiling was a giant chandelier, lighting up the scene like a ballroom. Leaning against the walls were displays of countless cutleries, numerous like terrorist artillery, most of it silver (there was no way a family this rich would use stainless steel). There was a big square glass table in the center of the room and on top of the table were four plates and four glass cups. There were also several dishes on the table filled with mouthwatering delicacies. One dish had meatballs, another had a potato salad and another had spaghetti. The dish with the potato salad was made of crystal-clear glass but the rest were made of enamel. There were two bottles at the center of the table. One was a bottle of wine and the other was a bottle of orange juice. There were napkins, forks and knives readily displayed for use on the table. This wasn't dinner. This was a banquet, a feast. The king's table.
As they talked, ate and laughed, Brendan was surprised at how they did not mention Fred at all, but he decided to stay out of Samantha's family's business.
'So, Brendan…you're a millionaire now; how does it feel?' Mr. Patricks asked him.
'I can't say I'm happy about it, but I don't feel any different apart from the shock that it happened so suddenly,' he answered.
'Come on, Brendan! You can buy everything you want and still have change left over to buy the whole world!' Mr. Patricks said grinning wittily at him. They all laughed for a brief moment then became quiet. The only sound came from forks and knives scratching on the plates.
'Did you watch the fight between the Anonymous and Anvil?' Mr. Patricks asked him after the appropriate amount of the meal had been consumed.
'The monster has a name too?' Brendan asked, looking surprised.
'Of course. We have the Finch, Anvil and the Anonymous. All these pathetic freaks deserve names, don't they?' Mr. Patricks replied shrugging.
Although he did not expose his feelings concerning what Mr. Patricks had called him, Brendan was greatly offended but tried hard not to show it.
'But who comes up with these names anyway?' Mrs. Patricks asked them.
'Us…the normal non-lawbreakers,' Mr. Patricks replied, 'and anyway, calling them "It", "him" and "Her" can become really confusing,' he added.
Brendan looked over at Samantha who was sitting across him. He shrugged at her meaning to say, "You see? Fred isn't the source of fun for your family."
She shook her head slowly.
Brendan did not know what this sign meant.
These movements went unnoticed by Mr. and Mrs. Patricks who had now moved on to a topic about bills and getting a new maid and a gardener.
'Well..,' Mr. Patricks began, standing up after a while. 'I'm full to the brim,' he said patting his belly in a self-satisfied manner. 'I'm gonna hit the sack,' he added, yawning at the same time.
'What about dessert?' Mrs. Patricks persuaded him beginning to gather the dishes.
'No, no,' he refused waving both his hands, 'my stomach can't take much more.'
'Mine neither,' Brendan said standing up too. 'Thank you very much for dinner though.'
'Anytime, Brendan,' Mrs. Patricks said. She yawned too. 'Sam, help me with the dishes.'
'Okay, mom,' she responded getting up and taking some of the dishes and following her mother into the kitchen.
Brendan was left with Mr. Patricks, both standing up.
'You know something, Brendan..?' Mr. Patricks said, quickly sitting down.
He sat down too.
'When you're desperate to get something, you make the most stupid of decisions,' he sounded troubled. He rested his chin on his right palm and his eyes looked like they had drifted into a chasm.
'What…what kind of decisions, sir?' Brendan asked him looking confused. His guts clenched and churned. He had never seen anyone look as sorrowful as this; not even Principal Johnston when he had told him of the ludicrous offence that Thomas had committed.
'Promise me that you will never make stupid decisions in order to get what you want,' Mr. Patricks said, ignoring Brendan's question.
'I…I promise,' he stuttered. Brendan was still confused. He was still too shocked to ask him what he was taking about.
Samantha suddenly walked in. 'You can wait for me in the living room and we can watch a movie,' she told Brendan.
'Well…I was about to leave, thanks anyway,' he refused politely.
'But just one movie?' she implored him.