Superheroes

Chapter Twenty - Spy Complex

A/N: Mixing things up and putting this at the top to see if I prefer it there. Dedicated to eighty-nine, who is a magical creature with even more magical characters, who happen to possess a severe overabdundance of sass, abilities to make me cry, and a rainbow cast of sexualities. Her book Lionheart gives me feels. Terrible, wonderful feels. 

P.S. Anyone who thought this book was a murder mystery, and that Dr. Rebecca was the antagonist, you were wrong. This is actually the gritty tale of Andrew's emotional battle against his arch nemisis, furniture. 

Thanks as always for reading :)

__________________________________________________________

                                     Chapter Twenty – Spy Complex

“Ash, this is a bad idea. And this is me saying that, which means it’s a really, really bad idea,” Andrew said, holding the torch so that I could see what I was doing. 

“Will you r-relax?” I said in a hushed voice, rolling my eyes. For some bizarre reason, I wasn’t panicking. Instead, I felt ultra-calm, almost frighteningly so. The idea that we were so close to finally proving this case, beyond all reasonable doubt, had taken a firm grasp on me. I could think of nothing else. “Doctor Rebecca is out on th-that training course or whatever you said, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah,” Andrew said. “That or he was just blowing me off for our weekly hot date. But that doesn’t mean we won’t get caught. I mean, last time you didn’t exactly go undetected, did you?” 

“It’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ve g-got a g-good feeling about this.”

Trying to ignore how much Andrew was fidgeting, I knelt down before the door to Doctor Rebecca’s office. By some stroke of luck, we’d found that one of the waiting room windows had been left ajar, and with care we’d been able to pry it open and smuggle ourselves through. Now all I had to do was pick the door’s lock and we were in.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Andrew asked in a drawl, attempting to restore the appearance that he was calm and above it all, unaware how obvious his constant rocking was. 

“Because, I’ve just got one of those feelings.” I answered, slipping out the lock kit from my rucksack. “You know, the psychic, magical k-kind.” 

“And you’re sure you’re not just…” Andrew trailed off, looking me over as if what he saw somehow proved his point. He spotted me glaring at him and shrugged. “You just seem a bit more worked up than usual, that’s all.”

“I am perfectly calm,” I said evenly. Listening to the thuds of Andrew’s swaying feet induced in me an unexpected sense of god-like control over the situation, and I found my mouth worked with unusual ease. He just pursed his lips and made no further comments, turning to look elsewhere.

Focusing on the door, I slipped the tension wrench into the lock, testing to see which way it turned. Following that, I inserted the pick and gently tested the pins of the lock, nudging them with the tip of the pick. “Ash,” Andrew said from beside me, sounding apprehensive. 

“Yeah?”

“You do know that you’re humming the James Bond theme song, right?” 

I decided not to answer that question. I did, however, spend the rest of my time on the lock making sure that my vocal chords weren’t developing their own free will. 

Eventually the lock clicked, and upon turning the handle, the door opened. “I don’t see how we’ll find anything in here. And you do realise that going through patient files is all kinds of illegal?” Andrew called after me as I entered. Careful not to trip in the dark, I crossed the room to the wall-length window and pulled the curtains shut across it.