Thank you to everyone for your feedback. This will be a slow burn story. I would like to thank Gamblinluck, Velcrofist, and CurrentParameter for all their help with the story. I did get some feedback about the universe. Please remember the Slave Camp universe this story is set in is an alternative future. I realize many of the themes throughout the story reflect some of the current political climate in the US. This is a testament of how in touch with the attitudes and views of the population Gamblinluck was when he first started this universe in 2017. Once again, if you have not read the stories by these authors, I highly recommend them. Now back to Claude and his life.
Chapter 2- Crumblin' down
Sherry was the first one of us to break out of the trance. I just stood there, staring at the strangers standing in our kitchen. Sherry extended her left hand and gently lifted my chin to close my mouth. She then looked at Dad and screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK, DAD?!!"
The smile that had scared me a few minutes previously vanished from my father's face. In its place was an expression that was much more familiar to me, but none the less frightening. I knew this look, and I knew he was starting to get very angry. This was confirmed when I heard him start to talk in The Voice. I think every kid knows The Voice. All parents seem to have the ability. When you heard The Voice, you knew that playtime was over, and someone was about to be in real trouble.
"What did you just say to me?"
Yep, calm, dispassionate, but with an undertone that let everyone know Sherry had overstepped. Still as scary as always. But this was the first time I had ever heard it directed towards one of my siblings. A quick glance at my sister's face, however, told me she was also familiar with The Voice.
"I...I...I'm sorry, Dad," she stammered as she tried to defuse the situation. "I'm just shocked. You and Mom never had slaves. I can't remember either of you ever talking about it. Now, you suddenly walk in and tell us you bought two? Sorry, I am just caught a little off-guard."
Dad's face relaxed some, but The Voice was still hiding under his reply.
"Ok, I can get you are both a little shocked, BUT, that does not make it acceptable to scream and curse at me. Do you understand?"
Sherry quietly nodded her head.
"Now, Jason and Mike are coming over soon. Mike should be here in a minute, and Jason called me and said he was about 20 minutes out. The five of us have a lot to talk about, so let's move to the parlor and wait for them." With that, he motioned his two new slaves to follow him and walked out of the kitchen.
I turned to my sister and watched her face as she tried to figure out what had just happened. If we hadn't spent the last two hours crying on each other's shoulders, I would have been utterly confused by her look. But now, only hours after we had reconnected, I saw the same look I had before. My sister was having her life turned upside down again.
"Sherry," I whispered, "what the fuck is going on?"
"I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this. Dad just bought 2 slaves out of nowhere, Jason is coming down, and now Mike is coming over? This isn't good."
Mike, or Micheal Buchannon, was my dad's CFO. We knew he was going to take over the business when dad retired. Maybe the old man was finally going to hang it up and turn everything over to Mike. He had been talking about it for long enough, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Shrugging at Sherry, I told her we may as well see what this was all about and quickly followed the trio to the parlor.
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This might be a good time to briefly talk about our "house." Built by our grandfather after WWII, it was a house in name only. Mansion wasn't even an appropriate name. Set on thirty acres of land (basically a little over 25 football fields in size) just outside the city, most of the property was woodland area. The woods circled about ten acres of cleared land, with the home in the middle. A long driveway snaked in from the road through a large iron gate. The house itself was a testament to old world Louisianna plantations with the columns, wrap-around porch, and all the exterior trappings expected from such a structure. It was 2 stories, with 10 bedrooms, 12 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, a formal dining room (which could probably substitute for a ballroom), an informal dining room (much more modest in size), 3 living areas, 3 parlors (2 downstairs, 1 upstairs), a library, a full sized "butler's pantry" and an enormous basement that was divided into a theatre, a game-room, and a small gym that would put most hotels to shame. It even had the expected double front doors that opened onto an enormous grand staircase that you kept expecting to see Vivien Leigh parade herself down.
And that was just the main building. Out back beside the pool, was a three bed, three bath pool house with more amenities than you could count. What we called a pool house was probably larger and better furnished than many of the houses in town. But the final building on the property was not built by my grandfather. The third structure was both more modern and more industrial. My father had added it to the property when he took over the home. This was his garage, and we'll talk about that later in the story. Basically, the entire home was already such a gross excess for a family of five. For the last month, being just my dad and me, the home felt like a museum after hours. It was just too much. What all this is to say, is that when my father "invited" us to join him in the parlor, we weren't even sure which one he meant.
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Sherry and I quickened our pace and saw them turn into the parlor just off the staircase. This made sense, as there was easily enough seating for the seven of us there, and it made a short walk to let Jason and Mike in when they arrived. But when we entered the parlor, we saw that while my dad was already seated in the oversize chair with glass of bourbon in his hand (how he had already poured himself one and sat down I'll never know), Ellie and Simon were just standing off to his side with their heads down, legs shoulder width apart and forearms crossed behind their back. I would later learn that this was a version of the "present" pose that most slaves were expected to remain in while awaiting orders.
I sat in the love seat across from my father and was surprised when Sherry sat right next to me. She patted my leg. I looked at her and she just gave me a weak smile. I could tell she was worried, but all I cared about right then was that my sister was trying to comfort me. I smiled back and squeezed her hand slightly. This new connection with my sister made me feel better than I had since my mom's death. Taking a deep breath, Sherry released my hand and leaned forward.
"Dad, can I ask..." Sherry barely started speaking before my father held up his hand and told us to just be patient. He'd explain everything when the other two arrived.
I could tell she was about to protest, when we heard the doorbell. When my father started to try to pull himself out of the chair, I could tell the glass in his hand was not the first of the day. Knowing his quick temper when he was drunk, I quickly offered to answer the door and leapt up to let Mike in. It had to be Mike, Jason wouldn't bother to ring, he'd just walk in.
"Claude!," Mike exclaimed as he passed through the doorway. "My God, you have grown. How long has it been? Three years? I'm so sorry I couldn't come to your mother's funeral. Was stuck over in Texas and couldn't make it back. She was a great lady; she will be missed. Are you doing ok?"
"Thank you, Mr. Buchannon. I'm hanging in there," I replied as I led him into the parlor.
I had always liked Mike. It was obvious he was a great businessman, but he was always friendly and jovial around me. I always thought of him like the funny uncle you only see every couple of years.
"Claude, I've told you, call me Mike." He did a quick scan of the room and immediately greeted Sherry. "So nice to see you again, Sherry. You are looking lovely as always."
She greeted him with a quick hug, as he turned to our father.
