(REWRITING) The Skylar Experiment : Coveting

Chapter 45.1 : The Spencers' House

RILEY 

THE END OF FINALS freed up a chunk of my time, so much so that I could manage daily training during Dad's working hours and go off when he came home, under the same pretext. In general, kids used vacations to roam the malls, visit family, travel to a tropical country or sleep their day away.

Here, I stood in front of a stranger's house, at nine in the evening with a backpack, in a neighborhood on the opposite side of town. Why?

Because these murderous bastards are out to kill my friends.

I almost put one in a box the other week, but I figured they were better ways to go about it. This was it. This was my idea. 

If it was quiet, the car would be parked further down the street, allowing me to keep a direct view. Whenever doors opened or voices carried through the nightly chill, I'd duck under my seat, then wind back up when the coast was clear. I was not getting a burglar medal anytime soon, but it got me this far.

On the third day of watching the dormer-roofed house from afar, they finally exited their garage. I didn't want to follow them of fear that my cover might be blown, and I intended at first to just watch, but then I thought...

I could clock the contents instead until they came back.

And hopefully, I was getting past the fence, the naked bushes, and those ominous front door cameras. I shuddered under my parka, thinking I should have asked someone if a mutant can freeze a camera. The next best thing was destroying them, and that would mean this visit was the last one. They'd be suspecting me afterward. Upping vigilance, no doubt.

This was beyond what I practiced with Luc and Tony, but I'd managed candle flames now.

I eyed the beeping red dots in the street light dimness, granted the road one last probe, and focused hard. I pictured the heat challenging the sub-zero temperature, rising and rising inside like a powered oven. Right away, my temples throbbed.

Nothing. The frustration born out of it didn't help, either.

Every time I was successful under pressure, I'd been scared, threatened. With Miles, I kept thinking of them eventually finding Luc, Devin, Ben, tracking them all down. Game over.

I stopped with the heat thing and focused on the passing minutes, each one closer to their return and what it would mean for me. The faster I got in, the higher the chances of leaving before I got caught. Otherwise, the consequences would be painful and probably deadly.

I thought of the candles, of the dot, the dot on my forehead, of time. The skin riddled with poison darts. The maddening frequency I'd only gotten a taste of. As the throb intensified to the point I flinched, I realized both cameras weren't beeping anymore.

I made an adventurous step to the fence, planting my hand on the latch. Maybe I was the shit, after all.

Looking behind me, I tried to walk casually to the entrance. I mounted the front porch steps and, hands in my pockets, the lock complied. The corridor was dark, dark varnish floors, knobs and banisters. I dug out a flashlight from my bag, unwilling to risk using house lights.

The door closed on the interior and I wiped as much dirt possible onto the mat. Entrance gave me the living room and dining room ahead, but I wasn't interested in those. I wanted offices, desks, rooms. The garage, considering what Emma recounted. Who installs a tarp shelter in their driveway when they have a garage? Guys who used it to store their weapons instead.