"Christopher Michael Pressler, I now name you Christopher Michael O'Brien." And from that moment, I started a new life.
Please review!
Chapter Two
Crossing the small park with Sapphira, I walked away from school, already groaning as I thought of all the homework I had. I mean, would it kill middle school teachers to organize big projects and tests so they weren't all due on the same day?
Or maybe, I thought blackly, they did organize it this way, to drive us insane. Even worse, it was mid-January and it hadn't snowed yet. Sapphira laughed at the look on my face, and she reached over to pull some hair out of my eyes.
“Come on Chris, homework’s not that bad.” I had to smile back at her. Growing up together made it so that we could practically read each other’s minds.
“Not so hard for you, because you’re practically a walking encyclopedia! What about us normal people?” She laughed again, in the carefree way that never changed.
“You’ll manage. Hey, ask Eric if you can come over to my place. We can ‘work on homework’ there!” she made little air quotations around the words, and I felt a grin tug at my lips. I was always smiling around Sapphira.
“Okay. I’ll ask him, but it might take a while. He’s annoyed with me for not asking last time. I’ll meet you there, 'kay?” She nodded and veered off towards her house. “See you there!” I nodded and kept on walking.
When I crossed to the other edge of Flint Park, I went around the kind of pathetic wooden fence. I was lucky, because I lived right next to the park, which was the main meeting place for people my age.
I opened the cheery white picket fence and slouched up the brick pathway to the entrance of my home. When I got in, however, the first thing I noticed was that dad's shoes were in the entrance. But his car wasn't in the driveway, so what was he doing home?
I frowned and stepped inside and called up the stairs, "Dad? You home?" Maybe it was one of those days where his insomnia got so bad that he needed to sleep in.
But that couldn't be it, because he had seemed fine this morning, other then the perpetual purple stains under his eyes. He told me he had been insomniac for thirteen years, starting when I was nine months old. I opened my mouth to call again, but stopped as I heard footsteps.
A man came down the stairs, but it wasn't my dad. "Are you Chris O'Brien?" he asked, obviously taking in my angular face, chestnut skin and shoulder length black hair and comparing it to dad's light beige skin and blond hair.
I nodded, finally recognizing Mr. Morrison, the town doctor. "What’s wrong?" I asked, worried. I headed up the stairs, and Mr. Morrison followed me up to the room that was Eric's.
"Well, your father had a stroke. Luckily, he'll be fine, but he needs to stay in bed for the next week. It was very minor, and he is young. I don't know what caused it though?"
He said this like it was a question, looking quizzically at my horrified face. "He had a stroke? He's only forty!" The doctor nodded gravely.
"Well, he's awake, but he won't tell me what brought on the stroke. It was probably a big shock. He wants to see you." I walked quickly to the room, but turned at the doctor’s words.
"Do you have any relatives who can come take care of both of you? Eric, your father, absolutely refuses a hospital." I shook my head, slightly bothered by the fact that the doctor was speaking like I was dim or something.
I know my fathers name, thank you. I thought sarcastically I elaborated for the doctor. "We never had relatives over. I've vaguely heard about my grandmother, but she died. My mother is a mystery."
My voice was flat and frank, betraying none of the burning curiosity I held for my mother.
Seeming abashed, the doctor didn't push further, and I went into the room. "Dad?" I whispered quietly. The room was darkened by shades hanging over the windows, even though it was midday. I saw my dad jolt upright, and I hurried over.
"Michael? Is that you?" He whispered. I shook my head, ignoring the annoyance that came up whenever he called me Michael. That was my middle name, and no one else I had ever heard my dad talk about was named Michael.
I sighed and said softly. "No dad, its me, Chris." He seemed to relax infinitesimally. "Sorry." he said sheepishly, and I shook my head, letting my long black hair fall in front of my eyes. "What happened?"
Dad shivered, and the look in his eyes was hauntingly sad for a second before becoming guarded. I suddenly felt a thrill of fear course through me. My dad had never looked like this. "Um... Nothing really. I... can't remember."
Dad had always been a horrible liar. "Please tell me." I looked intently at him. Dad surprised me by smiling warmly, even though the hauntingly sad look never quite disappeared from his eyes. "You know Chris, I love you, right?" I nodded. "I love you too." The smile became more pronounced.
"You never entered that sullen teenager stage, you know that? You've always been great. You're the center of my life." His words were sincere, and I felt a surge of love.
"That's probably because you never once yelled at me, or hit me. And you always were there for me." However, I didn't forget why I was here, and dad's pale face and still form on the bed reminded me more. "But you never told me what happened."
Dad grimaced. "Chris--" the doorbell cut him off. I groaned, but got up slowly from where I had come to kneel by his bed. "Dad, this isn't over. I'll be right back."
He nodded, and I shot down the stairs to open the door. "Yes?" I demanded, wondering if Sapphira had decided to come get me.
In the doorway was a lady of about sixty. Her long white blond hair was hanging loose, making her look younger. Her face had slight crinkles, but her eyes were wary.
"Hello. My name is Isabella. Is Eric O'Brien home?" I nodded.
"However, he is indisposed at the moment." I said, trying to sound mature.
Isabella stood firm. “I'm afraid that this is very urgent. I need to see him at once." I shrugged.
"Fine." I conceded ungraciously. "If you'll wait here, I'll ask him if he's feeling up to it." I shifted to let her in, and she swept past me into the entrance, which was a small landing with stairs going up and down.
Going up the short flight of stairs, I gave her one last glance before moving up to the next flight of stairs. Once I got to Dad's room, I knocked and then entered. "Dad?" He nodded. "Who was it?"
"This random lady. She says that she needs to see you, and that her name is Isabella." Dad frowned, and I assumed that he had not heard of her before.
"Isabella what?"
I shrugged. "She hasn't given a name dad, but she's waiting. Should I ask her to come up?" He nodded, and I grudgingly went out of the room. Leaning over the stair rail, I called down to her, to stressed to bother about manners.
"Come up." She smiled up at me, and began to climb the stairs, moving with grace. I noticed that her walk reminded me of something, but I couldn't place it, so I didn't say anything.
"Please be quiet, he's just had a stroke." She nodded solemnly, flicking her long blond white hair back impatiently. I opened the door. "Dad, here she is. Isabella, Dad, Dad, Isabella."
The light was dim, so neither of them could see clearly, but the sudden tension in the air was thick enough to stop a truck. "Chris?" Dad asked, his voice shaky.
I hurried over to him, worried. "Can you open the shades please?" I nodded and silently opened them. Then I turned around anxiously. Dad was upright in his bed, staring in shock, horror, and sadness, at Isabella. Another emotion was there, but I couldn't place it.
"Mom?" He whispered, in a child's voice, scared and wanting assurance. My jaw dropped, and I whipped my head around to face the woman still standing in the doorway. Her expression was tortured, and suddenly she didn't seem sixty.
She seemed centuries old, and I saw the pain in her eyes as clear as day. "I...don't know." She whispered, her voice cracking. Then suddenly, dad fell back onto his pillows, breaking the eerie stillness of the moment.
I rushed to him, and saw that his face was dead white, his chest heaving with shallow and erratic breaths. I panicked, and raced into the hall, grabbing a phone and dialing 911.
"Hello?" came a bored voice on the other end of the line. I had to swallow convulsively before speaking.
"Please! I think my dad had a heart attack!" Suddenly, the voice on the other end was alert and calm, ringing with authority.
"Location?" I answered quickly, eager to pass the situation to adults who knew what they were doing.
"82 shore drive, Larchmont, New York." I felt stupid. Of course it was Larchmont New York.
But I said it anyway. "We'll be right there. For now, just make sure he can breath properly." I hung up and raced back to the room, where Isabella was hovering around the bed, obviously panicked and trying to help.
I didn't have time for that. Pushing her aside, I spoke urgently to dad. "Dad? Can you hear me? Listen, hold on, okay? The ambulance will be here soon. Dad?"
He didn't respond, just shook his head and stared at Isabella with shock. His breath was hitching erratically. I lost it. "Dad! Please! I'll never forgive you if you die!"
Turning to Isabella, I growled. "Get a glass of water! Do something to help! You caused this, so do something to fix it." Looking terrified, she ran out of the room, and I heard water in the kitchen. It was tap water, but that was okay.
She came racing back into the room, a glass in her hand. I grabbed it. "Dad! Do you want water?" He didn't answer, and at that moment, the door downstairs opened. Throwing the glass of water at Isabella, I catapulted down the stairs.
Four paramedics were there, looking alert. "Upstairs!" I panted before they could ask, and they followed me. From there, everything was a blur. Getting Dad into the truck, insisting to ride in the back with him, looking at Isabella as she gave a desperate and lost look around, and motioning for her to get on.
She did so in silence, and she looked as shell shocked as I did. The paramedics talked to us as they took care of dad. "What caused the heart attack?"
The voice was professional and cool, and it calmed me. "Shock." I said shortly. "He had just had a stroke." I was barely listening to the questions, looking intently at the heart monitor.
What had happened? We were rushed into the hospital, and when I would have followed my dad, a nurse stopped me. "Stay out here. We'll be with you shortly."
I glared at her, but turned on my heel and placed myself on a bench. Isabella, looking pale and scared, sat next to me. I turned my glare on her.
"Explain." She shook her head, apparently at a loss. I felt a pang of sympathy, but pushed it back. I needed to know what was going on. "Now." She took a shaky breath, then started to speak.
