The SVE Club

34. Hoard

"Tyler! Can you drive me somewhere?" Rachel called, knocking on her brother's door.

The melodious tune coming from the strings of a viola within the room didn't stop or even falter. Rachel was used to this.

"Tyler!" she shouted louder, banging on the door with her fist. The sound echoed through the large, empty house. The song cut off with a sour sounding note, which was followed by footsteps growing louder as her brother neared the door. The door whipped open to reveal Tyler's disapproving face. He still gripped his bow and viola in one hand.

"What do you want, Rachel?" he asked impatiently. "Can it wait?"

"I just need twenty minutes," Rachel explained. "I need a ride."

"No-can-do, Ray," Tyler said. "I've got an audition to prepare for, I need every spare second to practice." He began to close the door. Rachel pushed it back.

"Please, Tyler," she begged. "This is really important. My friends are all gonna be there, I can't bail on them. Please Tyler."

Tyler looked at her and sighed, shaking his head. "Listen, Rachel. I know how you feel about the whole music business, but this is serious. I don't expect you to understand." He began to close the door again.

"Wait!" Rachel called, but the door swung shut and was locked. She groaned and threw her head back. The past year, it seemed every conversation she had with Tyler ended like this. The year before her sister, Kierra, moved to perfect her piano playing had been the same.

It's not my fault I didn't follow in Mom's footsteps, Rachel thought as she trudged down the hallway, pulling up the address Taro had sent her on her phone. Music's just not what I want to do.

Her eyes scanned the address and she wondered how she would manage to get there. The rest of the SVE club was meeting at Taro's house to discuss the strike plan for breaking into ISH. Midas had stressed the necessity of all being present. Rachel didn't like the idea of being the one no-show.

She suddenly thought about calling her father. Was he at work today? She couldn't remember. He seemed to work all the time nowadays, seemed to think he couldn't stay out of the house enough. Rachel almost didn't blame him. The walls of the house were covered in pictures of her mother, her album covers, her concerts. Her piano sat in an unused studio room, untouched in years. Rachel, of course, missed her, but didn't remember her as well as the others did.

Maybe that's why I never took up music, Rachel mused, plugging the address into her maps program and finding a route. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Taro's house was just one street over.

"Tyler, I'm going out!" she called, not caring if he heard or not. She pulled on her shoes and coat and jogged out into the chilly winter evening. She kept up a break-neck pace until coming to the address contained in the text message. She stopped and stared. So this is where that slob lived.

Rachel walked to the front door, making a face of disgust at all the random junk that was scattered around the front lawn. Everyone knew this was the trashiest house in the upscale vicinity. The shingles were falling off the roof, the siding needed a paint job desperately and the grass came up to one's knees. Maybe in another decade this house was the envy of the neighborhood, but for now it belonged in a horror novel. Rachel secretly dreaded going inside.

As she neared the front door, Rachel noticed a paper sign taped to the screen, flapping in the breeze.

Please use back door, do not ring doorbell.

Strange. Rachel gritted her teeth and turned to find the back door. This would require fighting through some overgrown bushes and blowing away some enormous spiderwebs. She finally found it and knocked. No answer. She knocked again.