AARIO Adventures

Street Trash (Pt. 3)

With the power out, little light entered the narrow staircase that the boys were in. Stile placed one foot in front of the other carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. The only sound he could hear was the muffled breath of Evander, who was mere inches in front of him. The staircase wasn't long, and the boys weren't going slowly, time seemed to drag out. Stile's chest grew tight, his muscles tensed. A faint blue light shone on his lower legs as he reached the top of the stairs; a small nightlight plugged into the wall's socket.

Ivan was already through the smooth wooden door a few feet in front of Stile, and Kaden was halfway through, trying to keep it from creaking as he squeezed through the narrow gap. Ivan hadn't dared open the door all the way, for fear of making a loud noise that would reveal them.

Now, with the shiny, tiled floor beneath his feet, Stile pushed himself against the wall and watched. Ivan and Halsey were going into a room almost opposite the small staircase.

Laying between Stile and the two boys was a modern set of furniture. The crisp white couches and glass table made an old grand piano seem oddly out of place.

Kaden was nowhere to be seen.

Evander and Stile, both finished scanning the area, nodded and went opposite ways through the large room. Stile made his way over to one of the pillars that lined the walls, trying not to let his sneakers squeak on the floor. He ducked behind it, shielding himself from the view of anyone in the middle of the room.

A door lay in front of him, deep brown and tall. Stile reached for the crystalline doorknob, and was just turning it when a shriek came from the room Ivan and Halsey were in.

Stile swore under his breath and held his position, unsure of what to do next. Just as he began to step away from the door, it flew open in his face, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, but fell to the ground again after a swift, painful punch to the nose. He crab-walked backwards, then stood up, raising his fists.

A voice rang against the walls. "Thea, are you okay?" There was no answer.

In the dim light, he could see a teenage boy standing in front of him, maybe the same age as him. He was albino, with white hair that fell past his shoulders, bundled back in a ponytail. A deep purple robe was tied around his waist.

The boy turned his attention to Stile.

"What are you doing here?"

There was a brief silence. Stile would have attacked, but he was wary of the boy's punching ability.

When he got no reply, he furrowed his brows and repeated his question. "What... are... you... doing... here?" The boy leaped towards him, fists ready to deliver another blow. Stile scrambled out of the way, catching the boy with an elbow in the gut.

The albino teen looked at him with venom in his eyes. "What have you done to my sister?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Stile fingered his cleaver.

The boy moved towards him.

The cleaver came out.

The boy fell to the ground.

Stile stood, frozen in shock. Blood dripped off the end of his blade. He was dimly aware of a flashing red light, and a screeching siren. An alarm must have been triggered. He shook himself out of his paralysed state and ran towards a large hallway on the other side of the room. A window was at the end of it.

What have I done?

Suddenly, he heard gunshots. One, two, a scream. Another shot, another yell. Stile didn't want to look back, but he forced himself to.

There was blood on the floor. The albino boy was laying on his side, clutching his wrist. Halsey lay unmoving on an ornate rug, his brown hair matted with red. unmoving. Kaden knelt by a heap on the floor. Stile could see Ivan's telltale, slicked back hair. A security badge gleamed as it's owner scanned the room.

"Kaden, move, now!" Stile barely realized the words were coming out of his mouth.

He glanced at the window, which was now only a few yards in front of him. A small stone statue lay on an otherwise-deserted shelf, and Stile used it to shatter the glass. Shards of glass littered the lawn under his feet. He pushed his legs farther, sprinting towards the end of the lawn and leaping over the hedge.

He didn't have time to register the boy before he crashed down on him.

A shock of blue hair rustled as the guy stood up, and Stile heard the clanking of metal. A shiny grey hand appeared in front of his face, somewhat blurry. He shook his head, trying to get his vision straight.

Stile extended his gloved hand, an apology slipping from his mouth. A metallic voice responded as the arm pulled him to his feet.

"Dude, what on Earth... Oh my-"

The guy was looking at his hand in shock, and Stile could make out the red glint of blood. He backed away, then turned and ran away from the house, refusing to look back this time. All he heard as he ran from the house was the voice of the boy echoing behind him.

"I-I'm calling the cops on you, you... you.... you filthy piece of street trash!"

(Unedited)