DeMain's mother had recommended he pull out of school for a bit, with the administrators suggesting the same. He'd missed his friends and thought it was a horrible decision at first, but he realized he hadn't been thinking straight since his dad had died. They had an especially difficult argument after his father's funeral service. A lot of folks (some he'd never even seen) showed up to give their eulogies in his name. Cynically, DeMain thought they'd just showed for snacks, but a lot of them praised his father as old time colleagues or people who knew him as the friendliest mechanic in the city. It only made the pit in his heart sink deeper to know that someone that even the community valued had been taken away because of a trigger-happy fuckwad.
DeMain had to step out halfway through the service, and nobody stopped him. His mother shot him a brief parental glare, but she ceased her fire when she saw his strained eyes and clenched jaw.
DeMain and his mother arrived at their new home after hours of driving, and he thought he'd died in the car when he stepped out. Bright fairy lights lined grecian pillars on either side of the driveway, with a lawn so spacious it might as well have been a football stadium. The house itself was more splendid than any factory or business office DeMain had seen, with a strange pristineness to its outer surface. The windows weren't cracked, the door was a massive set of two oak slabs with intricate decals melded into the wood, and fancy cars straight out of magazines lined the garage.
DeMain got a strange vibe from this place. It looked magnificent, but the building itself seemed to radiate some kind of smug… apathy? DeMain wasn't really sure. Maybe he was just a tinge jealous that places like this could even exist for one person, instead of for a whole neighborhood of people.
DeMain swiveled to face his mother, who was already hurriedly unpacking her things and trying to muster DeMain inside before the shock and questions set in.
"This is your client's home? You come here every week?!"
"Yes, DeMain. But there are… reasons I don't really talk about it. We'll be living her for a little while until we're back on our feet."
"Back on our feet? This place is as good as it gets—"
"DeMain." His mother shot, glaring at him while she pulled her suitcase up. She'd made herself as presentable as possible too. Dressed nicely, smelling clean, and with her hair curled. He'd never seen her go through half of this effort for her usual clients.
His mother walked forward and ushered for him to ring the doorbell. The resounding bells inside shocked him, he'd never heard one that sounded so crisp and didn't burn out halfway through—if it worked at all.
DeMain looked around as they waited, surely it would take whoever lived inside a long time to get to the door with how large the place was. He could even see a hedge maze garden in the backyard. Crazy. Where were they anyway? It was all forest and countryside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out this far from the inner city. The air smelled… weirdly tolerable. Like he'd been trying to breathe through a filter his whole life before now. It was nice. Better than nice. His head felt clearer, his limbs felt a little lighter. Is this what air was supposed to be like for everyone?
The door to the mansion opened, and DeMain swore he saw a figure in one of the windows of the outreaching walls to the side vanish at the same moment. Spooky, but his attention was taken back to the doors as a tall, balding man with a crooked mustache and black-rim glasses opened the door. DeMain had expected a butler, in all honesty. This guy was wearing a navy blue three-piece suit and looked like he just came off a businessman's yacht.
"Hey! Glad to see you two made it. I cannot express how sorry I am for your loss—but I don't want to drag the mood down. Welcome to your new home!"
DeMain and his mother were given an opening as the man stepped aside, propping the door for both of them. His mother walked in behind him, making a strange yip as she crossed the door. DeMain looked back and saw the man's hands flush in his pockets, his mother's heels shaking a bit on the smooth tile flooring.
"You… okay, mom?" DeMain asked, noticing that even his traction sports shoes felt a little slippery.
"Oh, uh, yes honey. Sorry, I'm not used to such… smooth flooring, haha." She chimed, deciding to remove her heels and carry them rather than trip and break something. The man chimed in, DeMain noticed he also wasn't wearing shoes, and his socks were a funny pattern of blue with brown spots, probably also for traction.
"Yes, sorry, it slipped my mind. I recently had the floors waxed. They are dry, but a little… slick. You know how it is, I hope it doesn't make things too difficult. You can set your shoes in the closet over there—" The man said, pointing to a small door which was so flush with the wall and its wallpaper that DeMain wouldn't have noticed a handle unless it was shown to him. Before he could venture over, a soft but large hand was thrust to him.
"I should introduce myself too, though I'm not sure if I'll be around much. My name's Mr. Olsen, but you can call me Dan if you'd like, alright De—DeMain was it?"
DeMain reached out and gave the man's hand a firm shake, one of the few things he'd been taught to do when offered.
"Yeah, DeMain. You got it. Why won't you be around?"
"Well, your mother has graciously offered to watch my two kids so that's why you're here. I won't be here because a certain business venture will have me overseas for a long few months. I'm not really looking forward to it, but profit is profit." Mr. Olsen said, straightening his suit and heading deeper into the superstructure. "Play nice now, I hope you can get along with Avery and Diane."
"Who are they?" DeMain said, turning to his mother for an answer. She seemed a little worried, but sighed it away quickly.
"They're Mr. Olsen's children. Avery is around your age, I think he might be 17 now. Diane is still an infant, so I take care of her."
"Is Avery the troublemaker you deal with?"
"Uh—no, not him. We can talk about that later. I do want you on your best behavior though, DeMain. It's crucial we don't screw this opportunity up, you know how hard it'd be for us to get another one like it." His mother said, ushering him away from the topic as quickly as she'd ushered him inside.
"I know, mom." DeMain sighed, setting his things down by the entrance.
Her stance relaxed and she hugged DeMain for a good few seconds longer than he was comfortable with.
"Good boy. Now, Mr. Olsen has… generously… offered to house, feed, and otherwise host us here for a long while. Get to know Avery, maybe you'll like him. I don't see him much but I do hear he's a bit…"
"Kooky?"
"Something like that, but not in a bad way. He's a smart boy, just a strange one. I have to go attend to Diane, you feel free to explore the house until I call you for lunch. Just don't break anything or enter any locked rooms."
"Got it, mom."
He was waiting for her to give him another dozen 'one more thing's before she left, but she sped off through the house without any other cautious warnings. DeMain was left alone in a house bigger than his school, and naturally he was immediately curious to see what was around. The place almost resembled an art museum his mom took him to, complete with massive paintings and draped decorative banners and rugs. She'd tried to point out the history and importance of paintings when they'd gone to the museum before, but DeMain had been more interested in the weapons and armor displays. Looking at the paintings now, they were dazzling in the way he couldn't quite decipher what they were referring to. Lots of figures reaching out over seemingly mundane things like apples or golden cups, some holding swords, others dressed up on crosses, and yet more being stabbed or murdered. What did Mr. Olsen do to decorate his house with these? Sell torture devices?
DeMain pushed the questions out of his head for the time being. The closet that had been pointed out opened up into a massive, concealed space. DeMain felt a pang of jealousy, or shame, or… something. The space was the size of his room and it was devoted entirely to storing boots and coats for guests. DeMain slid his own shoes into a corner spot and turned off the inside light, turning away before he lingered too long on that feeling seeping into him.
DeMain found himself down a long, oak-walled hallway that seemed to be suspended above a paved driveway that ran underneath. Windows opened the hall up to lots of natural light, but the end of the hall was almost completely black with the lack of it. It smelled a bit different down here too, almost reminding him of the acrid scents of his city block. While a normal person would find it disgusting or turn them away, DeMain was oddly comforted by the scent of home in this new, strange place.
"Hello?" He called out, his voice echoing more than he wanted down into the dark depths of the hall. Immediately, he heard muffled shuffling from the very end accompanied by a loud crash, but nothing else. Nobody had mentioned a dog or anything—maybe the house was being robbed, and nobody knew! He had to check.
DeMain sprinted to the end of the hall, nearly slamming into a small wooden door before his eyes adjusted. In a panic, his hands flew for the handle and twisted the door open to… another hallway. A figure wrapped in a large, black woolen blanket stared at him quizzically, their face partially obscured by a hood of black from the fabric. DeMain saw their gray eyes peering out from beneath it, situated next to a long, curved nose and a tangled mess of bleach blond hair. For a moment, he thought they were a girl before they shifted the concealing blanket and spoke.
"Are you… going to kill me or something?" They said, their voice low and uninterested. DeMain didn't really know how to respond to that, usually it was him asking that to anyone following him for too long.
"N—no? Why would I kill you???"
The figure looked him up and down, then to the door with no other movement. "You called out, said nothing else, then burst in after I got up to answer the door. It was just kinda… unexpected, I guess."
As DeMain processed that they were not, in fact being robbed, his eyes started to adjust further and highlight the darker insides of this section of the house. As they did, his eyes widened. Hanging from the ceiling were bone chimes made of ribs and animal skulls, censers filled with various herbs and candles, and strange symbols painted over every square inch of the walls and ceilings in various, bright colors. All at once, he was reminded of his home. The graffiti, the churches, the 'dirty' feel to it all. All it was missing were some distant sounds of sirens and the babble of people who had it even worse than he did. DeMain was stunned for a good few seconds, taking it all in.
"I… uh… this place…"
"Is weird? Smells bad? Yeah, sorry. Wasn't expecting any house inspectors today." The other person finished for him, a bit of bite to their tone.
"No, no. I like it, it's just… something I don't think I've seen quite like this before. It's interesting, at least." DeMain said, tentatively running his fingers through some of the chimes and listening to their hollow noises. "Why the bone chimes though?"
"It's… a spiritual thing. I'm Avery, by the way." They said, rubbing one of their eyes tiredly and wrapping the blanket around themselves a bit more tightly.
So this was Avery. Strange might have been an understatement, but he definitely didn't seem how DeMain had initially pictured Mr. Olsen's kid to look. He could have seen it if Avery were different in any one way. Shorter hair, different nose shape, different attitude—hell, even being taller than he was. But Avery didn't look at all like Mr. Olsen did, save for his peachy skin.
"Yeah, I'm uh, DeMain. Sorry for bargin' in. I didn't mean anything by it." He said, scratching the back of his head.
"Why did you barge in? I'm gonna punch you next time, if you do."
"You're gonna punch me?! Man, I was worried your house was being robbed. I heard a crash and it sounded like a window breaking!"
"Oh thanks, you've saved me." Avery said dryly, rolling his eyes and reaching a hand out from underneath his covers for a nearby door rather than addressing anything DeMain had said. Something about that pissed him off, but he knew better than to barge into a man's personal space. That didn't really mean much though seeing as he just had, in a way. Avery threatening to punch him almost made him laugh anyhow, the guy didn't look threatening at all, unless he was packing heat under the covers.
Avery stepped out of his room after closing it briefly, his head poking out of a completely black room with even less light than the dark hallway.
"Just knock next time, okay?"
The door slammed shut before DeMain could make any promises.
Looking around the house after leaving the dark hall, DeMain realized he'd forgotten his things at the door. He found out one of the housemaids had already moved his things to a guest room for him. He guessed it was his now, but he didn't really have complaints. The room had a nice mahogany dresser, a window with blinds, a clock, a thermostat, a bathroom (which he found insane, considering that most houses where he came from had one bathroom for three people), and more crammed into one very spacious room. Looking at the size, it was almost the exact coverage of space their old house had. DeMain wondered if his mother had even bothered to sell the place, or if she'd just marked it off as no longer under ownership. He definitely couldn't think of anyone who'd willingly move into such a shithole place.
That being said, he'd gotten an uneasy feeling from Mr. Olsen, and he was pretty sure from mentions of his mom's 'problematic client' that he was the guy. If he hated her so much, why did he invite them both to stay?
DeMain didn't really get to ask the businessman, he was gone and out the door by the time he woke up the next morning. Looking around at a few clocks, he'd realized he'd slept longer and better than he probably ever had before, at least since he was a baby. The food they'd had was so large and so diverse with its platters that DeMain was fairly certain he'd keel over from trying to process so many new things. He didn't though, and he woke up after a whopping twelve hours to a new breakfast being served by the in-house cooks. Another, stronger pang of jealousy hit him right in the stomach--why did Avery get to live this lavish life while DeMain's parents worked themselves dead? It didn't sit well with him, but the pancakes and fruit served with it settled a little more easily.
DeMain recalled a particularly strange dream overnight, though he couldn't quite recall every detail. So much happening probably set his subconscious into overdrive. He could only really remember a few key things; lots of doors, memories of his dad, and 'remembering to knock', as Avery had chided him for. He knew he'd been reliving the night of his dad's death--murder, actually--over and over in his dreams, but never this clearly. Maybe getting good food and better sleep was just allowing his brain to finally wake up for once, he definitely felt more 'attached' to the world than he ever had. It was a really unnerving sensation, to realize you've always been living at half-capacity. At least, it felt like DeMain had been. He'd never been considered a dumb kid, but now he wished that he could've gone through school like this. His grades would be so much better than they were, he probably would've gotten at least As and Bs across the board instead of C's and Bs if he was lucky.
Every day DeMain felt like it was the universe telling him how much better he could have done if things were just a little different, what could have been and all that shit. He'd felt like a weight had been lifted off his ankles and at the same time put on his shoulders.
…But a pity party didn't really suit him right now. His mom would be furious if she knew he was just making himself sadder, and his dad would probably tell him to suck it up anyway. That, and the smell of a fresh-cooked breakfast was lulling him out of the covers anyhow.
DeMain hadn't really noticed it before, but the house was echoing faintly with some muffled, discordant music. He knew immediately it was coming from Avery's room, and he still wasn't sure what the protocol was for the guy. In their first interaction, Avery had threatened DeMain, but DeMain had also barged in after a misunderstanding. It didn't really make sense for them to get robbed all the way out here, he imagined their house actually had working locks to prevent that. Still, he should probably at least apologize, his mom had specifically asked him not to mess up like that, and he'd gone and done it day one. Breakfast first though, no apology was better on an empty stomach.
The ups and downs of the halls were still a maze to DeMain, but he eventually found his way by the sweet smells of maple sausage, eggs, and bacon strips frying on an open stove. His mother wasn't there, but neither was baby Diane. Two empty spots for plates were left, so he imagined they'd probably snagged some and gone in the garden or to take a nap. His mother had (apparently) been doing this for a while, so he trusted that she wasn't going to do anything too rash without telling anyone first.
DeMain didn't get his second bite of food before he felt a weird presence behind him. He turned his head and was greeted by an uncomfortably close Avery, who he somehow hadn't heard or seen enter the dining room despite all the creaky floorboards and reflective windows around. More than that, he was wearing clothes so torn and old that DeMain thought he'd been attacked by a bear on the way here. DeMain's heart skipped a beat, but Avery cut him off before he could let his shock fully set in.
"Aver—"
"Yeah. Listen, I wanted to apologize for yesterday—"
"Man I don't give a fuck about yesterday, don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Oh, sorry. I walk pretty silently, sorry."
"Stop sayin' sorry so much."
"Sor—well, I don't know you. Maybe you'd get angry if I didn't?" Avery says, putting his hands up in a halfway-shrug.
DeMain took another bite of sausages coated in syrup and pointed his fork at Avery.
"Look man, I should be apologizing to you, I barged in without askin', and this ain't even my house."
Avery took a seat opposite of him. Just the two of them and the housemaids, who were busy cleaning dishes and departing to do other things. Probably dusting.
"Well it is now. As far as I know this living situation is like, sorta permanent." Avery said, piercing his oversized pile of sausages and pancakes.
"Sorta permanent?"
"Yeah, like—" Avery chewed and swallowed, stopping the conversation uncomfortably for a good minute while staring off into space. DeMain put his head in his hands for a moment until Avery was done. This guy was something else. Were people supposed to be like this normally?
"—Like.." Avery continued, setting his fork in a syrup puddle. "It's sorta permanent until you say it's temporary. Like a rent agreement. I dunno what your mom and my—uh, Mr. Olsen agreed to."
"I 'unno either. I mean my mom is a really nice lady and a good babysitter, so—"
"And she's hot." Avery interrupted rather crudely, folding a pancake in two and eating it like a taco.
"Don't talk about my mom like that man, you'd never have a chance in a million years, and I'd smack the shit out of you if you tried."
"That's fine, I'm sure she would too. And I'd be so lucky to be touched by such a lady." Avery mocked, throwing his hands together in a feigned swoon while he scrunched up his face. He immediately broke into cackling laughter, as if it was the funniest thing in the world to see DeMain mad. DeMain hadn't been allowed to work so he could focus on education, but this was essentially how he imagined Customer Service to be. Wanting to strangle someone and your livelihood depending on not doing exactly that.
Swallowing his pride for the sake of making a good impression, DeMain decided to throw a curveball to knock this fucker out of the park.
"So, what's your religion? It seems very interesting." DeMain asked calmly, coolly as he sipped from a mug, imitating the 'fancy' way of drinking he'd seen once in an old magazine. Avery got out a few extra chuckles but cleared himself, leaning forward a bit closer.
"It's uh… paganism."
"Really? I think I've heard talk of that at my university. Is it some sort of… orthodox cult?" DeMain replied, feigning an intellectual accent and using the most advanced words his brain could throw together in the moment. Maybe Avery was all show like some of the guys from his school. Most of them were dumbasses who used big words, but there were a few who had a genuine spark to their eyes. Avery was somewhere between that. His spark was bright, but not all the time.
"Nah. Well, maybe. I dunno. What is paganism again…?" Avery said, pulling a phone with a trippy case up to the table to type a few things in. He read for a few moments, his eyes scanning over the text before he put the device back into the pocket of his pants. "…yeah. A religion that predates Christianity. Paganism. It's not really a defined thing but like, it fits. So yeah."
DeMain could not win with this guy. But older than Christianity? What?
"Isn't Christianity like the oldest religion ever?"
"Every religion is the oldest to those who follow it."
"What."
"I… okay. So if I asked you, you'd say Christianity is the oldest, right?" Avery gestured to DeMain.
"…Yeah?"
"But if I ask someone from say, Iran, they might say it's Islam. If I ask someone from Greece, they might claim that Greek Mythology is the oldest--actually, I don't really know what the people in Greece follow. My point still stands though."
"So… paganism is the oldest to you? That's not what my pastors say."
"I'm sure there are older ones. I'm just saying most religions already derive their roots from one another, so claiming anything like an 'oldest religion' is already sort of flawed." Avery said,
"Are you like an atheist or something?"
"No, I think life would be pretty fucking boring if everything was an accident and we existed by chance with nothing to strive for."
For once, DeMain could find a solid point to agree on with Avery. Going through all he had with the idea of nothing greater waiting after would drive anyone insane. He'd never been an avid churchgoer, but he could see why people would want to be if they had to be faced with that thought every day. DeMain could say more on the topic, but he'd rather shift away before they get in waters too turbulent to continue tolerating one another. They still needed to get along for him to stay.
"Yeah, that would suck. I think I'd probably do something stupid if I knew there was no point to anything… What about you?" DeMain says, sliding his plate of maple sausages away. They were so rich he'd already been filled after a few links.
"If I knew definitively that nothing really mattered or if I just thought that?"
"Definitively, absolutely. Like, the universe goes on loudspeaker and tells us all 'Nothing matters. You will all die alone and empty.' or something."
"Huh. I don't know. I guess I'd try to be someone people want to stick around for, you know? Like yeah, I could be an awful fuckwad and do whatever I want to whoever, but then what's the point? Congrats me, I've been awful and I'd probably be killed within the first year. I dunno, I've gone through too much war to want anything but peace. Although if the universe directly told everyone that, wouldn't that also prove a higher power?"
Avery finished his talk and kept eating in silence like he hadn't just spouted something profound, but DeMain was beginning to understand what his mom meant by a 'good' weird.
"You're uh… something, Avery."
"I'd rather be that than nothing."
"…I guess so?"
"Strawberries?" Avery said, sliding a bowl of fresh-cut fruit over to DeMain.