He shook his head and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Yo, relax. You’re making me think you’re not happy to see us.”
Andy waved. “Hello, Daniel.” He had gained even more weight since Chris had last seen him years ago. His glasses were still thick, making his eyes seem like dark beans. His short hair was thinning.
“I’m asking again, what are you doing here?”
“How about you invite us inside so we can talk?”
Chris watched Trevor closely, noticing he didn’t seem all that hot under the entryway light. Though still handsome, dark circles hung beneath his eyes, andhis cheeks appeared sunken.He’s doing drugs again.Or maybe “again” wasn’t the right word, since Trevor had been using different substances ever since Chris first met him.
“You’re not getting into my house.” He crossed his arms and straightened, more composed than a minute ago. “Say what you want and leave.”
Trevor turned to Andy. “You hear that? We took him out of that shithole, and this is how he treats us.”
“It wasn’t a shithole, and nobody asked you to take me in. You...” Chris stopped himself from pointlessly getting into this fight. “Go away, or I’m calling the cops.”
“Don’t push it, Danny boy. We need to talk.”
“The hell we do.”
“Mom and Dad are dead,” Andy said, his voice still sounding like a child’s. “In a car accident. I put pretty flowers on their graves.”
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place as Chris remembered the conversation he had had with the Mitchells’ lawyer, Benji, at Central Park. “Is this about their will?”
Trevor nodded, his smile crooked. “Bingo.”
“I don’t want that money; I told the lawyer that.”
“Yeah, he said that you didn’t bother hearing him out.” Trevor glanced around. “How loaded are you to not care about an inheritance?”
“I don’t want anything from those two assholes, and—”
Trevor slammed him against the door and blocked his mouth with his cold hand. “I understand it’s been a while since we last saw each other, so you must’ve forgotten how to behave. Do you really think I’m going to let you speak about my dead parents like that?”
All he could see were Trevor’s bloodshot iris crypts, then the entryway light turned off, swallowing them in darkness. The street was quiet at this hour, with no neighbors walking by.
Trevor chuckled. “Spooky.”
Chris could barely see him, but he felt the warmth of his breath.
Andy came closer and grabbed Chris’s hand in the dark, pinning it against the door.
For a long time, they stood without speaking, three hidden shadows clustered together. Chris sweated underneath his clothes, barely able to breathe. He had made a mistake by forgetting who he was dealing with—he should have known better.
He tried to bite down on Trevor’s palm but couldn’t open his mouth wide enough.
“How about you let us into your nice house so we can have a family conversation?”
He couldn't bear the thought of Trevor possibly seeing his children. That was worse than any nightmare. He shook his head as much as he could.
“There you go again, being a shitty host. You know, we drove a long way to get here, and it wasn’t just to seeyour pretty eyes again. I’m going to remove my hand, and then I’m going to ask you some questions, okay?”
Chris nodded, debating whether to try and scream. But no, this was just a conversation, albeit against his will. Escalating things could come back to haunt him later.
Trevor moved his hand but kept it firmly on Chris’s chest.
“I’m listening,” Chris said, breathing deeply to compose himself. The most important thing was keeping Trevor and Andy out of his house. “Can you step back?”
