S I X
like, dead, dead.
I get out of the van, a cool breeze that hits me is both welcome and slightly eerie. Everything about this place is eerie. I hate graveyards.
"Come on," John B encourages Kie and me, who—shock, horror—don't want to walk into a patch of land with dozens of skeletons in the ground, in the middle of the night.
It's nine pm, but my point still stands. It's creepy as shit.
"We're coming," Kie grumbles, clearly not impressed. "This place is fucking terrifying." She mutters, and she links her arms with me. "What are we even doing here?" She asks John B.
"Okay, so, you know when you're trying to remember a song, and you can't remember who sings it?" John B begins explaining, everyone quietly agrees. "So, Redfield. This whole time, I thought it was a place, right?" Another quiet agreement. "But it's not a place..." He trails off and holds his phone up, the light turned on to showcase a mausoleum with the name Redfield etched into the stone. "It's a person." He states what is now obvious.
"Voi-fucking-la." JJ says sarcastically.
"My great-great-grandmother. Olivia Redfield." He further explains. "That was her maiden name."
Who knows that much information on their great-great-grandma? I barely know my actual grandma's birthday—not that it really matters, they're both dead and even when my Mother's Mum was alive we didn't talk to her.
Now I think about it, I don't think I know anyone's birthday. I just get a text from Robbie, I'm fucked if he forgets.
I should probably write them down.
Snapping back to reality I take in the mausoleum. Dead brush covers the stone door, which seems like it'll be almost impossible to open. Perhaps he hid the next clue on this fucked up treasure hunt somewhere around the granite building?
John B—who apparently isn't deterred by the ridiculous door—walks over to the mausoleum. "Help me with the door." He instructs, no one jumps into action. "Come on." He encourages us to make a move.
Fuck feminism, I'm not getting hernia for this. Sorry, John B's father. I wish him all the best, he's probably a good guy.
Pope looks over at me and hands me the torch in his hand, I take it and he walks over to the door. JJ follows him over to the door and they both try tugging it.
It seems Kie is also temporarily ditching feminism.
You don't want too many cooks in the kitchen, anyway.
"One, two, three," They count down, and all pull again in unison. The crunch of heavy rock rolling makes me cringe. But it barely moves, I think it may have further closed. It's probably a sign from Olivia telling us to fuck off with the cursed compass.
"It's, like, seven-hundred pounds, it's not going to budge," Pope states the obvious.
I stare at the door. Moving my torch around it I notice a crack, not where John B, Pope and JJ managed to move it, it was already there. God forbid I give them credit.
"We didn't come this far to let a seven-hundred-pound door stop us." JJ bites back, gritting his teeth and heaving at the door again. Shockingly, it doesn't budge.
Additionally, I think a seven-hundred-pound door is a valid excuse. But that's just me.
Out of the very crack I was looking at, a snake hisses and flops out the door with all the grace of someone running after a double hip replacement. It hits the floor, and still hisses defensively l. "That's a moccasin. Careful," JJ says. Moving over he stands just in front of me, a little to the side, his hands go out either side of him, his arm brushes against my stomach. As he walks back I can't help but walk with him. I do not appreciate the contact. "Ye' old Dr Cottonmouth." He says with a poorly done, mock Southern accent. After we put distance between us and the snake, he starts barking at the reptile. A lesson from my father appears in my mind. Snakes are scared of dogs, he told me. I ignored him, he begins talking shit after a few whiskey neats.
I take another step back from him, breaking the contact. I don't want him to think I'm fine with him. Because I am not.
"JJ shut up!" The group collectively whisper-yells at him. I don't waste my breath.
"You're gonna wake the freaking dead, man." Pope shakes his head.
"I think the people here aren't the kind of dead you can wake up, they're, like, dead, dead," I observe, mostly talking to myself. I think I've lost the Goddamn plot.
Not deterred, John B walks back over to the door and begins pulling again. Obviously blinded by determination, and a hint of desperation. JJ grabs his shoulder. "Wait, if there's one, there's probably dozens." JJ reminds John B.
The 'we didn't get this far' attitude died with a snake.
"Stop, you're scaring me," Kie says, her tone obviously really freaked out. Not that I'm much different, I'm just pretending to be cool, calm, and collected.
Pope begins telling John B the door's not going to open any further. I move the beam of light emitted from my torch back to the door, and the space. "I—uh, can squeeze through," I tell them, everyone stops talking and looks at me.
I hadn't really thought through my statement, it was more a fact than an offer. But it really sounds like an offer; one I can't really take back, that feels mean.
"What?" John B's eyebrows knit together. "No, no, no, no. You think you're going to fit through the hole?" He asks me.
"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, my head tipping to the side a few degrees, mostly jokingly.
"Wait—no, that's not what I meant." He rushes out.
"It's important to you," I tell him, my tone is blasè when internally I'm anything but. Internally my chest is tightening, and breathing gets a little more difficult. "You deserve to know the truth. So, I'll do it." I state finally.
My palms are sweaty, knees wea—not the time, Frankie.
My hands are actually clammy, though. I walk over to the door. I wipe my free hand on the back of my shorts and grab the dead brush.
Just don't think about it. It's fine. Not a big deal.
JJ walks over quickly, not giving anyone else time to be the one to give me a boost.
Once he gets close to me, facing away from the rest of the group an apologetic looks washes over his face. Lord alone knows if it's genuine. "I'm sorry," he tells me, quiet enough that no one else would hear.
I stare at him, trying—and failing—to figure out if his guilt is all a charade to get into my pants. "You should be," I reply.
With a small nod of acknowledgement, he turns around, putting his back against the rough stone, linking his hands together I gather I'm meant to stand on them. "I'm gonna boost you. All right." He explains needlessly. I did manage to put two and two together. Nevertheless, I give him a small nod of my own. I put my foot in his linked hands. "Ready?" He asks a dumb question, desecrating a gravesite isn't really something I ever thought to prepare for. I just grab the top of the rough stone and begin pulling myself inside.
Don't overthink it. It's not even that big of a deal, she's dead. Very, very dead. I wouldn't care if it was me, it's not like going to be ripping off her hand.
On contact with the rough stone I can feel my skin being scrapped off, I keep shuffling through, trying to ignore the carpet-burn-type feeling. Sweeping my knee up to give myself more leverage I curse myself for not heeding my grandmother's advice and constantly dressing like a Mormon. I'd probably still have some skin left.
Eventually, I get my body through enough to awkwardly drop down onto the stone floor, thankfully the only person who—in theory—would see no longer had the capacity to see.
"Mabel? You still alive? Living, breathing, heartbeat and all?" JJ shouts past the stone door that once hid Olivia from the rest of society.
Getting up from the ground I pick my torch up and adjust my shirt that rode up. Just like I expected my elbows, knees and the part of my torso that got exposed is rubbed raw.
Let's hope I don't get an infection and join Olivia.
I'm being insensitive. She was no doubt a wonderful woman.
"What am I looking for?" I ask, raising my torch and flicking the beam of light around the room. I don't bother answering JJ, my speech is answer enough.
"You'll know it when you see it," John B tells me. I don't hold back a quiet scoff.
"I climbed into an actual tomb and all I get is a 'you'll know it when you see it'?" I mutter to myself, not loud enough for any other living being to hear.
I angle the light everywhere, brightening each corner. Long, glistening cobwebs hang daintily from the ceiling, if they didn't contain devil spawns, they'd be beautiful. I move the torch to point at the box that contains the woman in question, I'm half expecting ol' Olivia to be sitting up, holding a stake ready to impale me and call me a witch. But I quickly come to the conclusion no one is about to murder me. A very small sense of relief floods me. Small blessings.
I hate to be a hater, but the torch is shit. It hits the corners of the room, but I think my anxious mind is making up half of what I'm seeing. I take a step back, my foot catches on something, I let out a small yelp as I struggle to stay upright. The last thing I need is to become the second corpse in the tomb. Although, it would solve all my issues.
"Mabel, are you okay?" JJ shouts, sounding concerned enough that I begin to believe he may actually be sorry. Wouldn't bet my spleen on it, but perhaps my appendix.
Thankfully I don't hit my head, just my back hits the crunch, of dead vines that cover one of the walls. My shoulder burns, blindly I bend an arm back, trying to see if they tore my shirt. I come to the conclusion they did.
"I, uh... I need some more light." I admit.
"I gotcha," John B says, passing through his brighter, handheld light. This does the trick, I glance down at my knees, which are in a state.
Please, for the love of all things Holy, just something. The risk of death needs to at least be somewhat worth it.
"Did you find something? Is there gold?" JJ asks. His voice bounces around the cold, stone walls.
My skin gets covered in goosebumps, I feel a light sweat beginning. This is really not the time, Frankie.
In through the nose... I look around the room. Hold... I spin slowly, looking into every corner. Out through the mouth... my eyes catch something, tucked away on the far side of the tomb in a crack between two pieces of stone is a parcel from FedEx, reaching out I pull the light package free. I guess 'you'll know it when you see it' wasn't all that far off, because I don't think plastic was all the rage when Olivia was knocking about.
Totally not rushing, I push the parcel through the hole, wanting out asap.
"That's not gold." Pope huffs, clearly disappointed in my discovery.
A thank you for climbing into a tomb wouldn't go amiss.
While the group ponders over the newfound clue, I heave myself up to the only escape. Going through the shuffle and shredding of skin for a second time, and thankfully, I slightly more gracefully plop down on the other side. I smile, trying to look unaffected by the last ten minutes.
I can feel JJ watching me. I want him to stop.
"This is from my Dad," John B emails quietly. I recognise the handwriting, mainly because it's shit. I just continue dusting myself off, it feels like I have death dust on me.
My happiness that John B had one more piece of the puzzle of his father is cut off by a rumble of an engine not so far away.
"Code red. Code red." JJ begins to stress. "Square groupers!" He rushes out.
My heartbeat speeds up, not that it really slowed down.
"Go, go, go!" Kie instructs, prompting us all to move.
My heart pounds in my chest, my breathing is short and shallow. My stress levels pique at the highest all day, everything seems to compound. It has to be the smugglers. I don't want to get murdered in a graveyard, no matter how convenient that may be.
We all rush to the other side of Olivia's place of rest, that I just invaded and desecrated. Again, I'm sure she'd understand.
"Turn the lights off!" I stress quietly. Why they still have their very bright lights on is beyond me. I swear I feel an ulcer brewing in the pit of my stomach. John B tries to hide his very bright light underneath the very thin button-down shirt. Because that's definitely 100% going to work.
"Light, JB," Pope whispers aggressively at his friend. Clearly just as stressed as me.
The rumble of the engine is growing closer to us with each passing second.
"Do you think it's them?" Kie asks. I sit sandwiched between her and JJ, who sits near the edge, he shuffles away to peer around the corner.
"Homie's got a gun," JJ informs us, my heart sinks so low it must have fallen out by now. Either that or it's sloshing around in my stomach, being melted by the acid.
I've resigned myself to death. It seems to be where this is heading, and I am forever a realist. I just hope it's an execution, bullet to the back of the head type thing, and not some torture where they pull off my fingernails. I think I'd start admitting to crimes I haven't committed. While I have done absolutely no research into smugglers—I didn't think I'd ever need it, and where would you even find a reliable source?—their morals seem loose at best.
Kie stands up beside me. "Screw this," she decides before cursing under her breath and beginning to sprint as fast as her legs will take her toward her. Pope starts running almost instantly after Kie, and then John B follows behind.
"Get up. We need to go." JJ tells me as I freeze. Still squatted, hidden behind the resting place I broke into.
Panic. It's building and building, having no room to decompress all day. I'm going to snap, or explode, or just keel over and die.
Leaning down JJ grabs my wrist and pulls me up to a standing position, "You can't stay here." He tells me, and begins dragging me at first, toward the van. After a few seconds, my brain catches up with my body and I begin sprinting.
The grass covered in dew begins soaking into the canvas of my shoes, making my soaks wet. That's the cherry on top of a shitty day. Wet socks. Brilliant.
I don't even feel JJ's hand still wrapped around my wrist, refusing to let me fall behind.
We get to a massive gate, clearly to keep shitty teenagers out. So they don't destroy graves and other such crimes. So, pretty much to keep us out. I see everyone else beginning to climb it, so I follow suit. I have never been more thankful that I was forced to do gymnastics as a child, I pull myself up with relative ease. All the screaming at little Frankie seems to have paid off. I jump down the other side, and barely a second later Kie jumps down, then Kie and John B.
My arms and legs burning, mainly due to the fact I haven't used them in that way for a while. But with all the adrenalin I barely feel it.
Just as I begin running toward the van Pope shouts into the night air. "Guys. Guys, I'm stuck!" I stop in my tracks and turn around. I take his state in, his shorts are stuck on some decor on the large gate.
In response to the news, JJ immediately pulls out his gun from his pocket and aims it at the material that has snagged on the gate. Very, very close to his leg. "Pope, don't move!" JJ shouts seriously. The stupidity of his actions seems to have flown right over his head. He isn't a marksman, or snipper or whatever they're called. He's an idiot.
I push the gun harshly so it's not aimed at Pope.
"You're going to shoot his fucking leg off!" I say in disbelief, paired with an intense glare. JJ disappointedly tucks the gun back in his shorts.
John B takes a much more appropriate course of action, he walks over and grabs Pope's leg and gives him a yank. The thin material of his shorts instantly tears and he's free.
As we run none of us bother to retrieve the shorts. An abandoned pair of shorts seems a lot better than a bullet to the brain.
We all get to the van, I grab the closest door and jump in. Ending up in the passenger seat. I'll take being as far away from JJ as possible.
As we begin tearing out the graveyard I roll the window down. Like I actually have to use a turner, and then push it a bit to make sure it's fully down. I feel the wind pulling all the hair that's fallen out of my ponytail back, the cool air hits my face and I tip it out the window a little.
It's nice to have a break from Rafe constantly breathing down my neck.
Once we get back to John B's house, called The Chateau, apparently, I have an actual look around as I hover near the door. JJ immediately heads to the kitchen, opens the fridge and cupboards, collecting a bunch of things and dumps them on the counter.
"Mabel, you want a sandwich?" He offers me. Not extending the offer to anyone else.
Kie looks up from where she sits on the sofa sat beside me, her quizzical look painted over her features. I shrug flippantly, trying to get the point across that I have no clue why he's asking me
"No, thank you." I turn the offer down. Worried it comes with conditions.
Pope walks into the kitchen and stares at the sandwich JJ is assembling. "Rhat bread went mouldy three days ago." He reminds JJ. I'm now very glad I turn him down.
Three days of mould is too much, you can get away with day one mould, but not day three mould.
"It's fine." JJ acts like Pope's being ridiculous. "I'll pull off the bad bits, plus mould is good for you. It's just a natural organism." He seems pleased with his sandwich.
"So is arsenic. And asbestos. And a whole lot of awful things." I point out.
JJ shrugs. "Hasn't killed me before."
"Well means it is totally okay." I give him an unimpressed look.
John B takes a seat at the messy table. The lights are still of at The Cut, meaning there are candles scattered all over the place—even the occasional oil lamp. The teenager sits, holding the parcel I found, written across the plastic front are two words: For Bird.
Compared to the last note he left, this one is significantly more legible.
We all move over to the table, wanting to see the parcel we all risked our lives for. John B tears open the plastic.
Standing right beside me JJ takes a bite of his well-stuffed sandwich. It's barely in his mouth a second before it's spat back out. There's a gag that makes me cringe, and then he walks to the kitchen and throws away the sandwich like it betrayed him.
"The mould adds a unique flavour, doesn't it?" I tease him.
"Sure does." He agrees still looking annoyed. "It's an acquired taste, I've just gotta keep trying it, one day I'll like it."
I don't reply, not wanting to come off too friendly. I turn my attention back to John B who pulls out a piece of paper. He unfolds it and sets it on the table. It's a map.
"Holy shit," he says with a grin.
Pope points to a spot on the map where an 'x' is written with a permanent marker. Real creative.
"There's something else in there." John B tells us before digging back into the parcel, retrieving a little black box I recognise as a tape recorder.
JJ furrows his brows as he looks at the piece of plastic like it's some advanced, alien piece of technology no one but a rocket scientist could ever possibly understand. "What's that?" He asks. I turn to look at him, wordlessly asking if he's serious. He's already looking at me, obviously asking the question to me.
"A tape recorder, JJ." I tell him condescendingly.
John B clicks down the button on the side of the tape recorder and a voice plays. "Dear Bird," it starts.
•
You know one of my biggest stresses about writing anything is that the mc's are boring and have no personality, because reading about a girl whose only personality is liking a boy (*cough, cough* Bella Swan) is boring, and the other way around where a boy's only trait is angst. I want layers, please give me layers and character development please.
In other news, I bought a new plant because my last one is still alive and thriving.
I started watching The Bear after putting it off for months, and it is so good. Jeremy Allen White is such a good-looking man, it pains me.
Also, Mabel may be slightly annoyed and taking it out on JJ —and Olivia, rip—but give her a break, it's been an intense day for the poor girl.