Max Payne huffed as he pulled himself and his backpack in from the last long day at school he would have for a while. Though he wished his classmates would stop asking if they could come over--his dad always told him no lately, but that didn't necessarily mean they would stop asking.
But as of today school was out for the summer, and everyone knew that Clarence Payne, Max's dad, worked for SparkScreen, one of the most successful game-developing companies in the country and that Max got to play the many games the company helped design for free, and also a week before release. What more could he say though? Max could almost hear his dad state how he was a technological genius at work and too busy for those kinds of visitors, that being said with half humor and half seriousness.
"There's gotta be a reason why your dad he won't let us come over there," Steven had commented earlier that day.
"He's just saying all that genius stuff to get you off his back. He has to be hiding something," Brandon, his other friend had added. "You should just march in that garage and see what's in there."
"Shut up," Max snorted. He didn't want them to go back into the many gruesome theories they had for why his dad spent so much time in that garage and what he could possibly be hiding--if anything. "He's not a bad guy. We don't even have a basement, which is probably why the garage is always such a wreck. Besides, I didn't ask you guys over, since you probably just want to play my games."
"Yeah...he's in denial," Brandon whispered to the others behind Max's back as he'd stiffly walked off toward the bus.
But now it bugged him more and more with every step he took through the house. What was it his dad was so bent on nobody seeing? Was Max possibly in denial about the whole thing?
He'd seen that garage several times. It barely had enough room for the car because of all the storage, which caused some pretty rough terrain if you wanted to even try to walk across to the little built-in storage closet. But as he stood there in the middle of the living room, reluctantly trying to remember anything that might even possibly prove either of his friends right, there was one memory, but only one, that he could recall...
Four-year-old Max had jumped off the bus, having come home early, and run down his driveway only to find the doors of the house were locked.
"Dad, the doors are locked! I can't get in!" Max complained, walking into the open garage and knowing he would find his dad in here somewhere.
"Dad! Dad! Where ARE you? Dad...?" After a minute of calling, no answer.
"Is everything alright, sweetie?" One of the neighbors quickly came over to see why this little boy was having to yell for his only parent so many times.
Max's chin quivered. "My dad's not answering! Someone might have hurt him or, or...!" He hugged the young woman's leg fearfully.
She was just getting her cell phone out when Clarence finally emerged somewhat clumsily from the closet. After apologizing to their neighbor for the scare and simply explaining that he was trying to find something in the garage and hadn't heard the bus, he'd kneeled down to Max's height and grasped his shoulders a bit tightly, looking him straight in the eye but never raising his voice.
"Max, don't ever do that again."
Max sniffled. "What'd I do?"
"You shouldn't draw that kind of attention to us. You had that neighbor just about worried sick."
He had no idea what his father meant about drawing attention at such a young age, but he just said, "I'm sorry, Dad."
Clarence then smiled and ruffled his son's hair. "Good. And see? I'm perfectly fine. You know, I think what you need is your own key."
"But what about you? What were you doing and--and why didn't you hear me?"
"That closet was just so stuffy and pretty much all the noise from outside is muffled," Clarence explained. "But, I always have my cell phone with me; I'll write the number down and you can put it in your pocket. That way you can just call that if I can't hear you when I'm in here working."
"Well, alright," Max said reluctantly.
He sighed at the memory, often wishing he had a mom to explain to him why his dad was the way he was sometimes. None of his friends' parents acted so paranoid but at the same time so constantly amiable. Although, the key and phone number had proved to work pretty well all those years. He'd only lost the number once or twice, but hadn't needed it either of those times.
Max looked at the clock in the kitchen. His dad wouldn't be home for another hour. He rolled his eyes as he dropped his backpack next to the table. He couldn't believe he was actually considering giving that closet one more try. It's just so I can tell the guys there's nothing wierd in there, Max reassured himself.
He started by moving some of the yard tools and cardboard boxes--some empty and some that were so heavy with stuff he could barely budge them--just enough to create somewhat of a very narrow path to the closet.
Why was his heart beating so fast all of a sudden? He stared at the door, determined to get to it. Nearly tripping over an old printer in the process of that determination, he just managed to reach over and grasp the knob to keep from falling only to jerk the door open and reveal a surprisingly neat closet--maybe even sizeable enough to be a small room--except for a pile of dirty towels and T-shirts that took up most of the back right corner. It looked nothing like any kind of workspace.
He half-crawled and half-climbed to the door's threshold. Right now it didn't matter what kind of punishment he would get for this. He would find out what his dad was hiding, and maybe why his dad was always back here. Max shook his head as though he had a headache. There you go again.
He pushed the T-shirts and towels away, and in the fading evening light that shined through the garage window, around Max and into the now open closet, he could barely see what almost reminded him of a trapdoor...big enough for even an adult to fit through.
By now having forgotten all about the mess he'd left in the garage, he felt around for a handle of some sort to open it with, but found none. He'd just have to use his bare fingers to try to pry it open. It took him eight attempts exactly--yes, he'd counted--before it finally decided to open for him. Max exhaled with partial relief, even though his fingers would most definitely ache tonight.
Well, aching fingers were the least of his problems, Max realized as he heard the sound of the garage door starting to open.
Max slammed the closet door with him safely (or not to safely) inside, then suddenly realizing how extremely stupid that had been. His dad would find him and know exactly what he was doing, no doubt. He felt around for a possible light switch, not remembering the trapdoor-like opening he'd forgotten to close until it was too late.
He screamed out, momentarily forgetting which way was up or down as he fell through the opening, too shocked to try to grab onto anything to save himself, and down what felt like a step ladder, and finally, onto a hard floor--he wasn't sure what it was made of, but he was in no mindstate to think much about it right now.
His arm and side were badly scraped, and he wondered if he would ever walk normally again as he lie there, a little wary at finding out for a couple of minutes. Plus he didn't want to injure himself further by any other unseen objects; it was pitch dark.
So after a couple of minutes, he was unsure whether to be relieved or just worried further when he heard familiar footsteps coming from the part-closet and part-porthole above.
Wincing at having to move his left knee, Max inched back and felt with his hand what was probably the step-ladder he'd fallen down. He had to hide, for now; he had no idea how his dad would react to the mess in the garage and his discovering this strange secret underground room that he was pretty sure his dad knew all about. Well, it actually wouldn't be his reaction so much as his response.
Max struggled to clear his head as he made his way as quickly as his body would allow under the ladder. Just in time, too, Max thought as a light flickered on and he was able to size the place up from his hiding place. The room was about the size of their living room and the kitchen combined, and the walls were a dull white. Everything in there seemed to be covered up with a sickeningly shiny grey tarp, except for a row of buttons and levers and a medium-sized screen on the wall.
Max could only stare and think over and over, I have to get out of here...I have to tell somebody...
"...Maximus?" Clarence called out, calmly as usual. Maximus was Max's full name, but his dad was pretty much the only one who called him by it.
Max held his breath, his hands clutching at each other and soaked with sweat by now.
"Maximus, just come on out. I know you're in here somewhere." Clarence stepped down the ladder, gazing around the room with a look of pride and accomplishment and not seeming to see his son hiding right below him. "We can do this all night, if that's how you prefer to do things."
It certainly wasn't how Max preferred to do things. "...Alright Dad, let's just get this over with," Max muttered, dragging himself out from behind the ladder.
His dad smiled. He wasn't smirking or leering, just smiling, which seemed somehow to only make the circumstances even less enjoyable. "I thought you'd come around. So..." He walked over to a subtle hook on the wall next to the ladder and took down a white lab coat, putting it on slowly as if for emphasis. "What do you think?" There were faint reddish-colored stains near the hems of the white coat.
Max glared. "Look, it's over. It's time to come clean, Dad, or should I even call you that depending on what kind of things you're hiding?" He was able to get to his feet despite everything seeming to hurt in some way or other after that harsh fall. It's a miracle I'm not paralyzed for life. He held on to the step ladder for extra support. At this point, he thought, it was pretty much okay to think his friends might have had a point about all this.
His dad looked at him with a look of hurt in response to what he'd said--or it could have just been mock hurt. It was impossible to ever tell whether he was joking or serious. "Maximus, I really don't know what to say to that...don't you think any of this is impressive?"
Max tried to keep his voice cocky and undisturbed. "Can't tell. There are tarps all over everything."
His dad laughed, almost ruefully. "Maximus, please. What do you think I am, some kind of monster?"
"Monster, no. Mad scientist, maybe." He raised his eyebrows at the lab coat--and the stains it had.
Clarence walked all the way to the room's far side with all the buttons; it looked like there were enough of them to be some kind of control area. Max's stomach churned at the thought. The CONTROL area.
"I suppose I do have the look down, don't I?" Clarence took a tiny mirror that had apparently been laying on the panel, running his hand through his red-hinted brown hair with the two white streaks on the left side that he and the other employees at SparkScreen Media wore, which was one of the odd things that made that company unique from other game developers. "Dr. Clarence Payne. Hm. I have to say, it does have a nice ring to it."
Max cringed as his dad laughed and carelessly tossed the mirror right back onto the buttons. He hoped he wouldn't have done that if everything had been turned on. No telling what that mirror would have hit.
"Alright, look, I'm just gonna get right to the point. Does this have anything at all to do with why you never let my friends come over anymore?"
Clarence crossed his arms. "You know, Maximus, if I were really the villain you're treating me like, I strongly doubt I would have taken the time to adopt and raise you the way I have."
Max did feel a twinge of guilt at that being said, remembering how his dad had always taken him to amusement parks and ballgames and helped him with his homework every chance he got, and would always make sure his suitcase was packed just right before sending him off to camp in summers past--just like a real dad. But he quickly shrugged off any traces of any guilt, knowing that was beside the point right now. "Just answer my question."
His dad sighed, uncrossing his arms and looking Max in the eye. "Alright then. Yes, I was afraid your little friends might get too curious and go rummaging through what isn't any of their business."
Max looked again around the room, speechless. He couldn't decide whether his question really had been answered or not.
Clarence now loomed over his son and said, "It's now your responsibilty to make sure that no one else finds their way in here...understand?"
"No one?" Max asked in a near whisper.
"This is a project I've been working on for years--even before I adopted you. And understandably I would hate for years of effort to go to waste."
"Why shouldn't I tell anyone?" Max asked, surprised at his own boldness. "You haven't even told me what's in here. You could be building a bomb for all I know."
"That's right, son. Think about the possibilities that this room could hold--maybe then you wouldn't want to tell so many people about it. So you'll need to earn your answer. Show me that I can trust you."
Max was being threatened--by his own father. He was starting to feel queasy. Or maybe that was just his whole body hurting.
"Now, are you able to walk alright?" Clarence now asked as normally as if nothing had happened. "That must have been quite a fall you took."
"Yeah..." Max managed. "My left knee kinda hurts though." He looked up the ladder. He hoped he'd be able to get up there.
"I'll be right behind you," Clarence reassured, seeming to turn back into a caring parent again.
Max wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disgusted at his dad's sudden change in attitude as he made his way up. With Clarence watchfully behind, he at least made it to the top alright; all he'd really had to do was push up to each next step using just his right knee.
"Go ahead and take a pain pill or two," Clarence advised. "Meanwhile, I need to unload." He walked toward his car.
"...Unload?"
Clarence simply pivoted towards the house and put his finger to his lips.
Max limped to the door, wishing there was something he could do about what he'd just seen. He'd been too afraid to ask about the stains on the lab coat.
