Who's to Say What's Strange?

Strangers in the Night

I open the door. I step inside. I close the door. I know something was wrong. I couldn't tell you how I know, instinct maybe, but I can already tell something is horribly wrong, so I don't call an 'I'm home' or 'hey honey' into the house. It's too dark in my usually crisp and chipper home. Instead, I check the kitchen for my wife. That's when I lost all doubt.

The lights in the room were off and the shade of the trees around let in no direct sunlight. There was no sign that my Rosemary had ever been in this kitchen. There was nothing on the counter or sink. "Rosemary?" I called. No reply. I ran as fast as I could up the stairs and into the boy's rooms.

Now let me tell you one thing about my boys is that they aren't neat. Getting them to clean thier rooms is usually worse than having to bathe one of those little purse dogs. They make it where you'd almost rather just hold their heads under the water and wait. Luke is the worst, but here I stood in his room. Let me rephrase that – his spotless, museum standard room. This scared me more than the kitchen did.

Next was David's room, equally clean, even Ivan's. My room looked the exact same as it always does.

"Rosemary! Luke! David! Where are you?" I called, my heart pounding in my ears. I turned and looked down the hall. Standing against the wall farthest from me was Ivan, a seemingly blank look on his face. "Oh, buddy, there you are. Where is…" I trailed when I walked up closer and saw him. "Ivan, what happened?" Blood soaked the side of his pant leg and splatter littered his pale face and dark hair. "So you wont' tell me?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You'll get angry." Ivan looked up at me and I immediately felt the déjà vu. Ivan was doing me no good. I pushed him out of the way and ran, checking every room.

"What did you do to them? Rosemary! Where are you?" I yelled. Ivan was following me, but I could've cared less. "Luke! David!"

"Those aren’t their names!" I looked at Ivan in surprise. He looked different. Endless tears ran down his cheeks, the blood flowing in two winding rivers down his face. He was leaning against the wall, one hand clutching his stomach as if in pain, the other on the wall.

"You shut up! Where are they?" I yelled.

"Right where you left them! Daddy, please just stop it!" Ivan cried. I pulled him up against the wall in anger.

"I haven't seen them! You hurt them. Where are they?" I yelled, my face not an inch from the ten year old’s.

"Daddy, please don't touch them. I like them a lot…"

"Stop it! Just stop it! I am NOT your father! What have you done to them? Where are they?" Ivan wouldn't answer me, only began choking on his sobs. No help there. Once again, like I'd known something was wrong, I knew where to go. I let Ivan drop to the floor and ran for the stairs and down to the garage. The sight that met me was unruly, messy, disgusting, painful.

Blood was everywhere. Fresh, shimmering, still flowing blood sat in puddles and splatters. "David…" I knelt in the blood of my baby boy and held his head. His eyes were open and bruised. "David, Sweetheart, it's okay, I'm here. Daddy's here."

"Daddy, please just stop it," Ivan cried from the doorway. I ignored him and crawled away to Rosemary, my own children's blood staining my hands, knees, and clothes.

"Rosemary, baby, what's wrong? Tell me what happened," I cried. She didn't answer and tears leaked from my own eyes and dropped on her cheek. Last, the furthest away, laid Luke, who was lying against the cabinet. I sat next to him and held his hand.

"Son, please, wake up. I need you to be okay."

"He isn't your son! Daddy, I-I-I called the police… they're going to come and get them, so you and me can run away together again…." He kept getting closer until he even tried to touch my knee. I stood up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

"You did this! Why would you do something like this! We took you in and this is what you did?" I screamed. My anger filled my arms and legs so much that it leaked out my mouth and eyes.

"I didn't Daddy! I didn't do it, I promise!" Ivan screamed through more tears.

"Stop calling me that! I'm not your father!" I screamed and threw him hard and as far as I could. He sat right up and looked at me with his tearful and bloody face.

"I am! I am your son, Daddy! It's these people who aren't! Please believe me, Daddy!" Ivan began crying hysterically.

"You are no son of mine!" I growled.

"Daddy, please, remember! The-the-the paper! Yeah, that newspaper, about the missing woman and two children, that's them! You took them, remember! Please, Daddy, remember!" He cried. I grabbed my forehead and leaned hearvily on the counter. His words became scrambled and scattered as memories covered my glazed eyes.

"Hello my beautiful Rosemary," I sighed and leaned down to kiss her.

"That isn't my name! Let me see my children you crazy sonofabit-" I brought my hand down hard on her cheek.

"A polite, absolutely perfect woman would never curse, Dear."

"No! You're lying!" I yelled and slid down the counter until I was sitting next to Luke again. Ivan was still slung out across the floor several feet from me.

"No, I'm not! You remember. I know it." Ivan was cut off by the distant sound of sirens. "Daddy, I'm your son."

"Boys, what happened? Won't you tell me?" I asked.

"I can't." Ivan said and crawled into the corner.

"Why not?"

"You'll get angry again," Ivan whispered. This boy who'd played the part of Luke wasn't so quiet.

"It was you! You tried to drown my little brother in the bathtub! Let us go!"

"No…" I turned my head to look at the dead boy beside me. I hadn't yet closed his eyes, so he just looked back with one eyebrow raised.

"Daddy…" Ivan muttered. Just then, several cops turned the corner into the garage, guns drawn. I didn't hear a thing after that besides my own screaming.

"You're not my son! I'm not your father! You are not my child!"

Second to last chapter. I'm pretty hyped to write the ending. It's going to be beautiful. Comment for a sneek peek! It's your last chance. :) Oh, and vote, too.