Post by TheDarkPrince on Mar 28, 2005 13:24:39 GMT -5
My resolution to enter Number 39 proved to be a lot more difficult to fulfil than I had first anticipated. The thing was, I had to find a way to avoid the police, who seemed to be becoming increasingly desperate to find the murderers before they claimed another victim. Although the area hadn't been placed off limits (yet), there seemed to be detectives there almost constantly, always looking for new clues. Not that they ever found any. The problem was that it would look very suspicious on my part if I were seen to enter the house right next to the scene of the most recent murder. Now that I thought about it, I couldn't think how Adrian had been getting away with it. There was also Adrian himself to worry about. I had seen him entering Number 39 before, and there was no telling when or if he'd be back again. I still didn't know exactly what all his involvement in this was, but I knew from a gut feeling that if he caught me, things would soon get really ugly, maybe even more so than if the police caught me.
I knew there was nothing I could do about Adrian for now, so at the moment I focused all my attention on the police. I started trying to think of ways to get past the police, and came up with several, all of them pretty feeble. I thought I had hit a dead end until the Saturday of the week after the funeral, when, entirely by coincidence, I stumbled on a solution to my problem. I was walking down the high street when a picture in the window of an estate agents caught my eye. I stopped and stared. The picture was captioned 39 Mahogany Drive. The house was for sale; it wasn't abandoned at all! I looked at the picture for a long time, a plan slowly taking shape in my brain. It was a long shot, but it was the best idea I could come up with. It might just work. I walked into the estate agents and up to the front desk. There was a stereotypical receptionist sitting there, young, pretty, and bored looking. I summoned all of my courage and asked her, "Excuse me, I was wondering if I could ask some questions about a house I saw in the window, 39 Mahogany Drive." I said all of this as quickly and maturely as I could, while the receptionist sized me up, disdain in her eyes. I could tell that underneath her smart exterior, an airhead lurked. Thankfully I'm quite big for my age, and she probably mistook me for being fourteen or fifteen. Eventually, she said shortly "through there," pointing to a door on the far side of the room. I let out a mental sigh of relief. I had been afraid of her being suspicious of my asking about a house so near the scene of a murder. If I thought about it, and supposed that I had judged her correctly, she wouldn't be too concerned about what anyone asked, as long as she got her cheque at the end of the week.
When I walked through the door to see the estate agent however, my heart sank like a stone. I could tell that my looking older than I was, which had served me so well with the receptionist, was going to have the reverse effect here. The guy was in his mid - forties, tall and thin with short iron - grey hair. He was wearing an immaculate black suit and an expression which said quite clearly; "teenage delinquent." I was suddenly acutely aware that I was wearing jeans with one back pocket ripped off and a less than clean Linkin Park: Meteora T - shirt. after staring at me for a moment or so, he seemed to catch himself and gave an unconvincing smile and gestured to a chair. "Sit down, son," he said, his voice falsely cheerful. "What do you want to ask me about? I daresay you're too young to buy a house of your own!" He chuckled at his own joke. I tried to laugh along with him, a feat at which I failed miserably. "No, but my parents are looking for a hose around here," I answered, with a passable imitation of honesty. I figured that if I was going to get inside that house, I was going to have to make up a story or two to do it. "They're at the bank right now, but they sent me to ask a few questions." The guy raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And do your parents have a particular house in mind?"
"Yeah. They had their eyes on one in Mahogany Drive. I think it was Number 39." I was getting there. By this point he seemed half - convinced, although I could tell he was still suspicious. Fr a while the estate agent typed on his PC on his desk, until eventually he found what he was looking for. "Here we go," he said. Number 39 Mahogany Drive. Now what would your parents like to know?" This was it. This was the part that mattered. "They wanted to know who lived in the house before they sold it back to you. My parents always like to know a house's history." The guy turned back to his computer and scanned the screen. "Well, it says here that it was previously owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Johnson."
"Can you tell me when they moved out?" I asked. Up went the eyebrows. I could tell he was getting suspicious again, but at this point it didn't matter. I just needed one more piece of information. "Just recently," he said. "I believe they left only a month or so ago. Probably left because of all the murders going on recently." I hadn't thought of that, but I now remembered from the newspaper I had read two weeks ago that incredible numbers of people were moving out of Lossiemouth because of the recent killings. It seemed like a sick joke that someone who could have something to do with the murders was using the house of one of these people. "OK, thanks, i think that's all I need for now." I knew that as soon as I said this, the guy's suspicion would shoot through the roof. But it didn't matter at this point. I already knew everything I needed. "Wait! Son!" he called after me. "Don't your parents want to know..." But I was already gone.
I resolved to enter Number 39 the next day. I knew everything I needed to know to get inside and I had thought of a good cover story to avoid the police. I was still uneasy about Adrian, but I knew I would have to take my chances with him. My anxiety must have shown at dinner that evening, because Mum asked me, in a trying-to-sound-casual voice, if I was feeling all right. I suddenly realised that I hadn't eaten a single bite of my meal, even though we were having Burritos (my favourite). "You don't seem very hungry," she continued. I racked my brain for an excuse and, to my intense relief, found one. "It's nothing," I said hurriedly. "I'm just a bit nervous about the geography test on Monday, that's all." My own voice stirred something in my mind. Sh*t. I had completely forgotten about Monday's geography test. I became vaguely aware that Mum was talking again. "You'll be fine. You've always been good at geography, remember?" I didn't reply. "Earth to Paul?" she said uncertainly. "Yeah." My lips seemed to form the word by themselves. "Thanks Mum." I could tell that she was still worried about me, but I was spared from further questioning by Dad's normal nosy entrance. He was coping well, Dad was. Despite his ridiculous shifts at work, he was still making every effort to be with his family, and I respected him for that. He sat down at the table and launched into a story about Allan Ross' latest measures to track down the killers. Mum was still looking worried, but she was held back from talking to me any more by Dad's floodtide of complaints. I bolted down my dinner and left the table at top speed.
By the time I was brushing my teeth before bed, my butterflies were practically tearing me apart from the inside. I tried to beat them down. You're going to be fine, I told myself. Even if Adrian does catch you, what's the worst he can do? I tried to disract myself by studying my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Much to the annoyance of my Mum and sister, I liked to grow my black hair long, down to shoulder level. My tan from our holiday in Mexico a few months ago was almost completely gone, and acne was once again beginning to creep across my face. I was fairly tall for my age, about five foot six, and heavier than my build would suggest. I had grey eyes. My eye colour has been a strange issue throughout my life. Since the age of four, I've made a slow transgression from blue, to green, to grey eyes, and I've never understood why. I'm also told I have pretty intense eyes, a sort of really strong stare. I don't know. I've never tried to stare out my reflection.
I heard the door open behind me, and Mum came in. "Hey," she said softly. "I thought you seemed a bit too anxious at dinner for it to be all about a geography test." My heart sank. Mum was still on a roll. "Paul," she said seriously. "I want you to tell me if anything's wrong, because if there is, I'm sure we can work it out." For a moment, I considered telling her everything. I could tell that this was the point of no return. If I delved any deeper into this business with 39 Mahogany Drive, it would be completely out of the range of anything I could discuss with my parents. But maybe it's already reached that stage, said a voice in the back of my head. If I let slip what I was doing now, it would lead to a police investigation of Number 39. And if it turned out that I was wrong, and that Adrian and the house had nothing to do with the murders, then I would be neck deep in hot watewr. No. This was something I had to see to the end myself. "No. No Mum, I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. Honestly." This, finally seemed to satisfy her. "Okay then," she smiled. "Glad we've got that out of the way. Good luck with the test on Monday."
I went to bed that night with an uneasy conscience, but I convinced myself that it was just nerver. "Don't worry," I told myself for the hundredth time. "Tomorrow, one way or the other, this whole thing will be over." If you're still alive by then, said the little voice in the back of my head. But that was a nasty thought, and I tried to blot it out. If only, oh if only I had listened to it.
I knew there was nothing I could do about Adrian for now, so at the moment I focused all my attention on the police. I started trying to think of ways to get past the police, and came up with several, all of them pretty feeble. I thought I had hit a dead end until the Saturday of the week after the funeral, when, entirely by coincidence, I stumbled on a solution to my problem. I was walking down the high street when a picture in the window of an estate agents caught my eye. I stopped and stared. The picture was captioned 39 Mahogany Drive. The house was for sale; it wasn't abandoned at all! I looked at the picture for a long time, a plan slowly taking shape in my brain. It was a long shot, but it was the best idea I could come up with. It might just work. I walked into the estate agents and up to the front desk. There was a stereotypical receptionist sitting there, young, pretty, and bored looking. I summoned all of my courage and asked her, "Excuse me, I was wondering if I could ask some questions about a house I saw in the window, 39 Mahogany Drive." I said all of this as quickly and maturely as I could, while the receptionist sized me up, disdain in her eyes. I could tell that underneath her smart exterior, an airhead lurked. Thankfully I'm quite big for my age, and she probably mistook me for being fourteen or fifteen. Eventually, she said shortly "through there," pointing to a door on the far side of the room. I let out a mental sigh of relief. I had been afraid of her being suspicious of my asking about a house so near the scene of a murder. If I thought about it, and supposed that I had judged her correctly, she wouldn't be too concerned about what anyone asked, as long as she got her cheque at the end of the week.
When I walked through the door to see the estate agent however, my heart sank like a stone. I could tell that my looking older than I was, which had served me so well with the receptionist, was going to have the reverse effect here. The guy was in his mid - forties, tall and thin with short iron - grey hair. He was wearing an immaculate black suit and an expression which said quite clearly; "teenage delinquent." I was suddenly acutely aware that I was wearing jeans with one back pocket ripped off and a less than clean Linkin Park: Meteora T - shirt. after staring at me for a moment or so, he seemed to catch himself and gave an unconvincing smile and gestured to a chair. "Sit down, son," he said, his voice falsely cheerful. "What do you want to ask me about? I daresay you're too young to buy a house of your own!" He chuckled at his own joke. I tried to laugh along with him, a feat at which I failed miserably. "No, but my parents are looking for a hose around here," I answered, with a passable imitation of honesty. I figured that if I was going to get inside that house, I was going to have to make up a story or two to do it. "They're at the bank right now, but they sent me to ask a few questions." The guy raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And do your parents have a particular house in mind?"
"Yeah. They had their eyes on one in Mahogany Drive. I think it was Number 39." I was getting there. By this point he seemed half - convinced, although I could tell he was still suspicious. Fr a while the estate agent typed on his PC on his desk, until eventually he found what he was looking for. "Here we go," he said. Number 39 Mahogany Drive. Now what would your parents like to know?" This was it. This was the part that mattered. "They wanted to know who lived in the house before they sold it back to you. My parents always like to know a house's history." The guy turned back to his computer and scanned the screen. "Well, it says here that it was previously owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Johnson."
"Can you tell me when they moved out?" I asked. Up went the eyebrows. I could tell he was getting suspicious again, but at this point it didn't matter. I just needed one more piece of information. "Just recently," he said. "I believe they left only a month or so ago. Probably left because of all the murders going on recently." I hadn't thought of that, but I now remembered from the newspaper I had read two weeks ago that incredible numbers of people were moving out of Lossiemouth because of the recent killings. It seemed like a sick joke that someone who could have something to do with the murders was using the house of one of these people. "OK, thanks, i think that's all I need for now." I knew that as soon as I said this, the guy's suspicion would shoot through the roof. But it didn't matter at this point. I already knew everything I needed. "Wait! Son!" he called after me. "Don't your parents want to know..." But I was already gone.
I resolved to enter Number 39 the next day. I knew everything I needed to know to get inside and I had thought of a good cover story to avoid the police. I was still uneasy about Adrian, but I knew I would have to take my chances with him. My anxiety must have shown at dinner that evening, because Mum asked me, in a trying-to-sound-casual voice, if I was feeling all right. I suddenly realised that I hadn't eaten a single bite of my meal, even though we were having Burritos (my favourite). "You don't seem very hungry," she continued. I racked my brain for an excuse and, to my intense relief, found one. "It's nothing," I said hurriedly. "I'm just a bit nervous about the geography test on Monday, that's all." My own voice stirred something in my mind. Sh*t. I had completely forgotten about Monday's geography test. I became vaguely aware that Mum was talking again. "You'll be fine. You've always been good at geography, remember?" I didn't reply. "Earth to Paul?" she said uncertainly. "Yeah." My lips seemed to form the word by themselves. "Thanks Mum." I could tell that she was still worried about me, but I was spared from further questioning by Dad's normal nosy entrance. He was coping well, Dad was. Despite his ridiculous shifts at work, he was still making every effort to be with his family, and I respected him for that. He sat down at the table and launched into a story about Allan Ross' latest measures to track down the killers. Mum was still looking worried, but she was held back from talking to me any more by Dad's floodtide of complaints. I bolted down my dinner and left the table at top speed.
By the time I was brushing my teeth before bed, my butterflies were practically tearing me apart from the inside. I tried to beat them down. You're going to be fine, I told myself. Even if Adrian does catch you, what's the worst he can do? I tried to disract myself by studying my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Much to the annoyance of my Mum and sister, I liked to grow my black hair long, down to shoulder level. My tan from our holiday in Mexico a few months ago was almost completely gone, and acne was once again beginning to creep across my face. I was fairly tall for my age, about five foot six, and heavier than my build would suggest. I had grey eyes. My eye colour has been a strange issue throughout my life. Since the age of four, I've made a slow transgression from blue, to green, to grey eyes, and I've never understood why. I'm also told I have pretty intense eyes, a sort of really strong stare. I don't know. I've never tried to stare out my reflection.
I heard the door open behind me, and Mum came in. "Hey," she said softly. "I thought you seemed a bit too anxious at dinner for it to be all about a geography test." My heart sank. Mum was still on a roll. "Paul," she said seriously. "I want you to tell me if anything's wrong, because if there is, I'm sure we can work it out." For a moment, I considered telling her everything. I could tell that this was the point of no return. If I delved any deeper into this business with 39 Mahogany Drive, it would be completely out of the range of anything I could discuss with my parents. But maybe it's already reached that stage, said a voice in the back of my head. If I let slip what I was doing now, it would lead to a police investigation of Number 39. And if it turned out that I was wrong, and that Adrian and the house had nothing to do with the murders, then I would be neck deep in hot watewr. No. This was something I had to see to the end myself. "No. No Mum, I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. Honestly." This, finally seemed to satisfy her. "Okay then," she smiled. "Glad we've got that out of the way. Good luck with the test on Monday."
I went to bed that night with an uneasy conscience, but I convinced myself that it was just nerver. "Don't worry," I told myself for the hundredth time. "Tomorrow, one way or the other, this whole thing will be over." If you're still alive by then, said the little voice in the back of my head. But that was a nasty thought, and I tried to blot it out. If only, oh if only I had listened to it.
