“I got it. No need to explain.” I raise my chin.
Noah looks at me with red eyes. “I kind of do. If you keep acting like an asshole, she’s going to end up canceling the idea. She thinks you can’t handle Marko on your own.”
“I can do it.” The fact that my sister thinks I can’t take care of my nephew for two goddamn weeks makes me more sad than angry. I’d never do anything to put him in jeopardy.
Noah shrugs. “I mean, feel free to take offense, but you don’t exactly scream capable.”
I narrow my eyes, the anger from earlier returning with vengeance.
Noah rolls his eyes. “Not because of that, idiot. Because of how you don’t take care of yourself.” He points with his index to my stubble and grown-out hair.
“You’re telling me that Maya needs a vacation, but the only way she will go on one is if I convince her I can take care of Marko?”
“Yes. So can you turn down the attitude for a day? We plan on sleeping over tonight, that way she can test you out and see if you’re up for it. That means you need to buck up and put on your best babysitter act. I don’t care what you have to do, but your sister needs this trip. She wants to think of every reason she shouldn’t go, so prove her otherwise.”
“No problem. I’ll be so convincing that even you will second-guess my capability.” I smile.
“God help us all.”
6
Chloe
I slip through the same warped wooden plank as last night. Dark clouds hide the moon, which makes my journey through the overgrown yard difficult with only a small flashlight. My mood takes a dive when I trip over a group of exposed roots. I land on my knees, scraping them in the process. Wet dirt clings to my legs as I stand, and I’m pretty sure my shirt ripped down the back based on the breeze tickling my skin.
“Has this man ever heard of a lawnmower?” I mumble under my breath as I brush a clump of dirt off my shin.
I somehow make it through the maze of trees and bushes without any more accidents. My neck cranes as I check out the ominous mansion this man calls home. It’s about as welcoming as a nap in a coffin.
“I’ve officially made an enemy out of Count Dracula. Good to know.” I scan the front entryway, not finding any cars in the driveway. Like a desperate fool, I search nooks and crannies for a spare key but come up empty.
I follow the perimeter of the house and peek through a few windows. The rooms are dark enough for me to catch my reflection in the glass. My confidence grows as I praise God for helping me out and making sure the house is empty.
I come up to the back porch. Testing my luck, I try the knob only to find it locked. The standard deadbolt is easy to break into based on the information I gathered earlier from YouTube’s crash course on picking locks. I’m not entirely proud of how many times I watched it until I mastered the movements.
I pull out a special screwdriver I scored from a local shop from my backpack. Holding my mini flashlight in my mouth, I replicate the motions I practiced on my own bathroom door this afternoon. After a few failed tries because of my nerves, the door opens with a click.
Darkness cloaks the house in shadows and random shapes. My tiny flashlight does a poor job of guiding my way through the kitchen. Nothing stands out on the counters, so I continue moving forward.
“Okay, think. If I was an unhinged man, where would I hide a phone?” I stumble out of the room.
I make my way through a wide hallway before I’m spit out into a large room. Everything is going fine and dandy until I trip on something I didn’t see with the flashlight. I let out a scream as I fall forward, landing on my hands and scuffed-up knees. My eyes water as something embeds itself into my hands.
My fingers brush across lots of small rectangular shapes with ridges. I pull one up to my eyes and analyze the foreign object. “A fucking Lego? This place really is owned by the Devil.” I crawl through the Lego warzone, brushing the pieces aside.
I make it to a grand staircase lit by the glow from a dangling iron chandelier. I’m halfway up the stairs when the front door opens with a groan. All hell breaks loose in the lobby of the house, and my ears ache from a female screaming.
My heart gets stuck in my throat. “Seriously. Why can’t I catch a break this week?” I whisper under my breath. All that effort for nothing. In a rush, I tuck the flashlight into my back pocket and turn on my heel, hitting the guests with my best smile. With my knees threatening to buckle, I clutch onto the railing for support.
A few overhead lights turn on, revealing a brunette in a billowing skirt and a T-shirt. “Oh my God. Santiago, who is that?” She screams again for good measure.