19675904

Doctor's Office

That summer teemed with magic for someone named 823. She spent half her free time with us and half of it with her new boyfriend (or occasionally both groups would join). I will admit, he did a lot of good for our family. He would play board games with my dad, giving him the competitive edge that my mother never did. He would take 91 on "sister dates" meaning that he would buy 91 flowers just as he would buy 823 flowers, training 91 to only accept the "highest caliber of man" as 823 worded it. He even grew on me, listening and making sense of the research I did on the secret 6's and helping me work through plot holes. I almost hated how perfectly he acted, for example, he would help me through the brainstorming process so that I could come up with the problem-solving ideas and not him. In the end, I had to learn to accept that he really was genuine. It forced me to work through my pride–character development I guess you could call it.

He wasn't perfect. He was utterly delusional. His adoration for my sister was that kind of romance you'd find in a book I'd burn. 823 loved the nascent spring season; it allowed her to talk to the coneflowers, milkweeds, and any other butterfly-attracting flowers. She'd spend her sunset evenings talking to them year after year, channeling her 7-wannabe energy. She'd befriend the flowers and the flower's children and all their grandchildren and great-grandchildren–however many generations of flowers came until the Indian summer ended. 81 joined her, enchanting each other with fairytales. Like I said, delusional.

Their flower child conversations turned into child conversations. It was no surprise when he got down on one knee on the canoe he had built out of a fallen tree from the coneflower and milkweed forest. He had good timing too. I had just finished my novel. I was so pleased with myself: being able to finally point people to a novel they could read–when they would inevitably make small talk with me at the wedding–yes, the satisfaction would taste better than whatever rich person cake they would purchase for the reception.

Time came around and I needed a doctor's check up for my stupid joints and stupid extra digits problems. 81's dad let me go directly to their house, saying that he had everything he should need from home. I sped going to their house, slightly eager to finally see the rich family's house-mansion. We did the check up in his home office–clearly a man's office with a heaping mess of books on the floor shoved under a blanket rather than on the mostly bare book shelves. After exhaustive prodding about my medical history, he recommended I sit in their sauna for a bit to help with my current joint stiffness.

"The Mrs. keeps extra bathing suits and towels directly next to the sauna room. They're in the walk in closet by the pool doors–it's all in the same hallway. You'll go left into the foyer, take a right into the long, main hallway, and then a second left 3 doors down, into the hallway with the pool doors at the end. Are you fine taking it on your own?"

I nodded and left. And then right and then left again, wait no, wasn't it second right? I corn-mazed my way until I found some closet. I didn't see the pool doors nearby, but I figured I should at least start checking closets. The closet sat 3 shelves of the prettiest shaped glasses filled with the ugliest color I could've seen at that moment: purple.

Here was the dagger, but the handle wasn't in my hands. I shut the doors and clarity came to me. A left, a right, and a left. I retraced my steps, avoiding 81's dad's office, until I slumped into the sauna in an ill-fitting bath suit.

Should I have taken a bottle and shoved it in my purse? Take home pure evidence of whatever this–this clue–alludes to. Is the whole family in on it? What and why the hell? A whole closet?! The dad has both a 6 and a 7 and no one else in his family does, so why would he be part of the secret 6's. I feel like they'd just want him dead. Okay wait, so if I take a bottle as evidence, even just to confront 881, then... yeah wait what if someone notices that it's gone. What if they have security cameras watching over it or what if I can't retrieve one without getting caught. Or what if I get caught snooping around their house? I guess–I