His Captured Curiosity

Chapter 12 - Love or Lies

I look around bleakly at the simple house in front of me, clenching the house keys in my grip that I thought I'd never have to use again.

Brick house, one story,a garage that I know is filled with car parts that nobody knows how to use and a manicured lawn with daisies peppering the pavement leading to the white door.

This house hasn't changed since I was born in it. No wonder I outgrew it so quickly.

I don't even know why I bothered to keep the house keys after all these years. Nostalgia I guess. I even kept the little star keychain that my Abuela gave to me the day I got my license.

Heaving a deep breath and wincing as it aggravates the bump on my temple, I opt instead for shallow breaths to try and pass off some of my anxieties as I force my black heels to march forward.

I didn't even have a chance to change out of my newly purchased funeral wear.

It's been a week since Reg was murdered. Beaten to death horrifically by his bestfriend's metal cuffs. Those cuffs were once on an innocent man, now they truly belong to a murderer.

An unwilling one. But a murderer nonetheless.

Reg's service began early this morning. I read in his eulogy, which was written by his next of kin, that it was his favorite time of day. It was a small gathering for a quiet service and I remained silent the whole way through while my mind screamed apologies for dragging him into this mess and getting him killed.

My steps falter, subconsciously remembering a dip in the pavement coming up to the house steps and I leap over it like when I was young, arms wide and wobbly.

Landing heavily on the threshold of the house I waste no time knocking loudly on the door. At least, I assume I knock loudly, it's not like I can hear it. I haven't heard anything since Reg's final day alive when my hearing aids were smashed into itty bitty pieces.

That's what I'm here for. I'm here to get my spare hearing aids and get out.

No fumbling, no people-pleasing. I am here for my purpose, not theirs.

As I wait impatiently for the door to open, I can't help but have my fingers twitch as I repeatedly glance over my shoulder at the quiet suburban neighborhood.

I haven't felt safe in weeks but lately I seem to feel even more scrutinized. I don't know if it's because I sense an impending doom or because I'm finally growing less naïve.

Has our neighbor Lucille always looked so suspicious under her white, wide-brimmed hat while plucking weeds?

In fact, when I sway to either side it almost looks as though she is staring right at me from across the street... Her body is slouched over the garden, is it a ploy? Could that be a sign of the impelling exhaustion?

Is he watching me right now?

Deciding not to remain exposed I bite the bullet and jam my green key into the lock and turn, entering the house and slamming the door behind me.

"Hello?" I call out, I can feel my vocal cords vibrating from the sound but I have no way of knowing my volume as I walk through the entrance and into the empty lounge.

God, even the furniture is the same. The mystery stains on the couch are as prominent, yet aged, as ever.

"He-" I start to repeat. This time clearing my voice to strengthen it but as I round the corner into the kitchen, the space jolts into action as people lunge out of various hiding places with grins and mouths open in a chorus.

As they all lunge out I scream and dart back, one hand stretched out to stop the attack and the other grabbing my throat in panic as I try to muffle out a sentence.