Always on Your Side (NaNoWriMo 2019)

35.

I thought my instincts would easily bring me back to my pre-divorce home. I'd biked home from the BART station numerous times with my mom and Brendon, after day trips to the city to see Dad. I thought I'd know the trails, but I guess my sense of nostalgia wasn't powerful enough to overcome my lack of cognitive development at the time those trips had taken place. I had to rely on my phone's GPS. I thought that things would at least look familiar, but nothing did. If places can change and memories can change, it makes it hard to compare to the current reality.

The trail leads me to a residential area, which had once seemed the epitome of normal but now seems almost gaudy. They're old houses but they're all beautifully decorated, freshly painted and adorned with ivy. Except this one. I have to double check the address to even make sure it's the same place, but of course it is; it's the only place with a knocked-down FOR RENT sign leaning against the backyard gate. Other than that it looks unusually well-kept, with a lawn that's slightly overgrown but alive and neat.

I fumble in my backpack pocket for my keys and gingerly take the old house key Brendon left for me. The lock is stiff and it takes me a minute. After I fumble for a second, I freeze.

There's someone inside. I can hear them moving. And after a few seconds of rustling, I hear someone shout something, erasing any doubts I had. The house was occupied.

My heart is pounding. Is this the wrong house? Am I trespassing? Then I remember: squatters. After the previous tenants left, the house was vacant for a while, and even after the housing market improved my parents couldn't find any new tenants because of squatters. That had been years ago, though; no one said anything about it. I thought the problem had been resolved.

I panic. What do I do? Call the police? They're not doing anything wrong and I don't want to disrupt their lives. But I can't just be alone in a house with a bunch of strangers.

I'm about to take out my phone and see if Brendon left any information about the squatters on the chatter app, when the door swings open. I come face to face with a 30-something man bundled in several layers. Behind him are three more men of about the same age, and one women. They are sitting around a cheap and broken table. The living room fireplace is on; I can see the remains of newspaper along the kindling.

I open my mouth and then close it. I don't know how to explain why I'm here. I notice the squatters' facial expressions look mostly deer-in-the-headlights.

"Uh," I begin, "my parents are technically the landlords and I think my brother left something for me in this house. Can I come in and look?" I realize as soon as I speak that my words make no sense.

The man at the door tilts his head. "Your brother? Are you Brendon's sister?"

My jaw drops. "You knew him?"

"Yeah." The guy looks at me like I'm stupid for not knowing that. "He used to come round here all the time doing his thing in the attic. He was pretty much living here a couple months ago. He said his sister might come by to see his project; come on in." He steps back to leave me room and again gives me a look like I'm stupid for not having entered yet.

I am uncomfortable, to say the least. My mom would kill me if she saw what I was doing right now. But I step in, reminding myself where the exits are and making a mental note to text Marina this address as soon as I'm alone.

The squatters at the table stare at me as I walk by. There's drug paraphernalia everywhere and I get the feeling I'm intruding on something. One girl has a joint and the scent is soaked deep into the air despite the broken window to the back yard.

I take the black light keychain out of my pocket and prepare to light it before I realize the door guy is hovering by me like he expects me to keep talking to him. I show him the light, flicking it on and off. "Brendon uh... leaves me a lot of clues in invisible ink. Do you mind if I shine the black light around the walls a bit?"