Summary:
A lot of spooks await Miles at the Verrier household. Investigation part 3 - nearly completed
Notes:
A longer chapter and a lot of scenery / description. Potentially a more involved read :)
Haunted House – French Edition
Thursday August 11th 2016 – 5:52 PM
The sun just set as he navigated the neighborhood. Miles felt creeping darkness that in his being, but ignored that crippling sensation. He pulled up to the Verrier house, parking on the side since there was not a driveway, with Missile in case he would be approached by someone suspicious. That being said, Verrier's house alone alerted Miles to apprehension on appearance alone. In retrospect, he wished he arrived sooner with the sun to accompany him.
Sometimes, people put up Christmas directions at the end of October and completely bypass Thanksgiving, giving that specific holiday themed on gratitude little to no consideration. Verrier did this . . . only with the gory and tasteless holiday – if it could even be considered a holiday – Halloween. His lawn was littered with paraphernalia to a sickening level. Giant mascot figurines completed the assorted décor.
A bright ghost in the fake tombstone garden at the front of the lawn layered both sides of the cobblestone walkway. There were three rows of the plastic stones and that white, glowing ghost sat in the middle of the rows to the right. Behind the right tombstone garden was a tarped over fort.
Multiple zombies dragged themselves through the trees to his left just above the graveyard, near what looked like a manmade mud bath. Miles wondered if the entire point of the 'spa' was atmospheric to zombies dredging through the sludge?
A plump witch, with green skin and a black pointed hat, stirred a cauldron with manufactured mist raising from the black pot, just before the steps up the porch. And Count Dracula stood at menacingly watch by the front entrance with his classic pose of the cape hiding his fangs. Bats hung from the porch archway.
"It's barely August," Miles whispered as he shook his head. Halloween always seemed like a silly and pointless little thing people blew out of proportion. He then walked the path to the house once his eyes found their way front again. He had a hard time keeping them from rolling into orbit he was that unamused. Missile sniffed at the ground and kept close to Miles with his tail tucked down – even he was wary of these surroundings.
Behind the tacky adorning, the house was multi-level but narrow – still a decent size for a single person, and likely quite expensive. A modest house would be in the 3xx,xxx dollar range. Like the front, the enclosed backyard was plenty spacious, and he could barely see a balcony obscured by the high-rise fence. A yard like that would be great for Missile.
They passed the first attraction: the fake graveyard on either side of the cobblestone walkway. Miles subsequently felt his foot press on something that sank down. A sudden noise like shifting wind and a dense fog covered the yard from both directions, causing Missile to growl. The ghost figurine flickered, drawing Miles' attention to it. Disembodied voices wailing around him sent a chill down his spine, but Miles figured out the trick behind the absurdity and composed himself quickly. He stepped on a metal plate rigged to launch a fog machine, lighting changes, and speakers all at once.
Juvenile at best.
Miles picked up the tile plating, colored in tarnished yellow to blend in, and found it connected to power lines hidden in the grass. Miles reset the plate which disabled the event, causing the ghost light back to its original pale shine, the fog to dissipate, and the sound effects to hush.
He moved on to the second scene, the zombies. Miles watched his footing in case he tripped something that would cause the zombies to stir. Not that it would scare him off or anything, Miles just did not want to deal with the puppet undead.
There were three trees in a triangle to his left, housing the zombie family. To the right of him was that fort draped in a tarp. Perhaps it was still under construction? It was also built beside old, tall, and thick preexisting trees. Missile wanted to explore it more thoroughly and trotted into the yard unsupervised, though Miles just let him do his own examination.
The mud bath filled a not even remotely perfect circle centered in the trees. One zombie was just out of view of the furthest tree back – Miles could only see a 'bloodied' hand and half of its unblinking face. A different one was half sunk in the mud, appearing to be pulling himself out of the muck. It faced a light post beside the main path just up ahead. Two were 'walking' the perimeter of the mud. And the last was very close to the path with its arms outstretched, which made Miles a tad skeptical.
Motion activated statues were very common among the Halloween enthusiasts, as he recalled. Miles mentally prepared himself for it to move or moan. As he passed it, however, it stayed dolefully unanimated. Keeping an eye on that, Miles completely missed a thin woven spiderweb replica that spiraled from the nearest tree's overhanging branch that latched diagonally to that light post. He ran into the threading and felt something in the post click.
Instinctively, Miles backed away from the webbing to visualize his obstacle. He heard the statue behind him rotate and knew that he triggered whatever this 'Verrier' set up; no doubt for his own amusement. Missile barked at the sudden movement, clearly easily fooled by these contraptions. He returned to Miles side and protected him from the perceived threat.
"It's okay." Miles tapped the aggravated dog's head and then looked at the zombies out of curiosity at this point. The one nearest to him spun only its upper body toward Miles, which must have really drawn Missile to his side. The zombie jutted back and forth to give an illusion of lunging towards whomever tripped the mechanism.
The mud bath began to bubble rapidly, and the popping of the thick mud was audible. Looking at the zombie in the bath, Miles saw a red light glowing from the eyes. The muck zombie also shook, but side to side instead.
. . . So that explained how this trick was done. The zombie in the bath was not just décor; it actively hid the jets which created the bubbles. The switch that turned on the jets must also be source to the animation of the zombie nearest to Miles.
"GRRREeeeah AARRRrrggghhhh!" A garbling grunting came from the zombies at around the earthen pond. Then the one next to him let out a very loud and very hungry sounding groan. Miles simply rolled his eyes and examined the light post. He found the switch (which was pulled by the 'web' string when someone ran into it) and turned it all off.
There must be electric lines running under the ground. Did Verrier truly install a mud bath, jets, and an electric current just for a crass stunt?
The webbing was about four feet from the ground – so only small children could pass through without setting off the zombies. The threading used was strong and slim, but not enough to cut anyone. It also blended into the background, so it was near invisible at night.
Definitely should have visited sooner.
Miles walked around the light post and returned to the walkway, though twice it was equipped to set off the statues and 'ambience' that came with it. As Miles neared the end of the journey, he wondered what the witch had in store for him.
The witch's arms moved in a circular motion around a pot that sprayed green mist upward. Expecting some sort of ruckus, Miles climbed up the steps and saw inside the cauldron . . . this one was quite simple. The pot's bottom was removed and fit around a preexisting fountain. The misting part was attached to the fountain and gently sprayed a dyed water for the effect. Most of the water ended up back into the fountain and was then recycled back into its tank.
Is that all this witch will do? Is this one simply an aesthetically pleasing piece?
She did nothing new even after Miles reached the top step. That left just one final hurdle to cross, the guardian of the front door – Count Dracula himself . . .
The vampire appeared much younger in his face with a surprising lack of creases. The vampire had a black vest and white sleeved shirt under a burgundy cape. The matte eyes were not a red like most films depicted, but instead a grey that matched his hair and skin. The bangs were parted at the center and had a sharp point to them before falling down his cheeks.
Interesting design choice, though something about it seems familiar. Miles stepped forward and Count Dracula dropped his arm and cape while loudly exclaiming, "I viilll suck your bluuddd! Ah hah hah!" in a very fake Germanic accent with an even more plastic sounding laugh. Apparently, the vampire had a white jabot hiding underneath the synthetic, mobile limb. Missile sniffed at the vampire and sneezed, then pranced to the door.
The witch then cackled suddenly, as if goading at the vampire's threat. She did nothing else, however, and the yard went silent.
"How foolish," Miles ignored the sprightly props and knocked on the door, which eerily creaked open. Missile welcomed himself to the home, but Miles hesitated. What is going on with this residence?
None of the overhead lights were on, but a desk lamp on an end table with a green light revealed a heavily decorated interior with more thematic Halloween ornamentation – a mummy in the living room, more webbing in the doorframes, pumpkins on the end tables, and so on. A greeting of 'Spirits Found Here' hung over the kitchen doorway.
"Mr. Verrier?" Miles called out. He swore his voice echoed back to him, but maybe Miles was imagining things at this point. Maybe Verrier was murdered as well . . .
With these annoying decorations, Miles could hardly blame anyone for desiring it – with the disclaimer of not condoning violence of any kind, of course. The prevailing question now was should Miles enter the house? He made it this far . . .
"Missile?" Miles yelled. He definitely heard his voice bounce back at him and wondered how that could be. He also worried about where Missile went, but luckily, he saw the dog poking his head out at the top of the stairs. With the door opening and seemingly inviting him in, Miles stepped foot inside and followed Missile up. "Where are we going?"
Each step on the staircase creaked loudly and the noise reverberated from upstairs, somehow, but Miles was definitely not imagining things. "Mr. Verrier?"
"Mr. Verrier?" His voice returned cleaner, coming from in the middle room on the upper level. This residence has security cameras. Great. I am trespassing on tape again.
Missile pawed at the center door where each sound that they made repeated back to them. There was a witch hanging from just above it and Miles shook his head, "No. I don't think we should."
Missile whimpered and barked back in apparent disagreement to Miles.
". . . We are trespassing. I already found myself in this position once this week."
Missile barked a few more time and nudged the door. He really wanted inside. I could erase those records of me being here, I suppose.
When Miles pushed on the knob, he realized that it was wedged. He needed to apply more force and the door screeched as it came out of the frame wrong. It required a repair, though Miles felt the door wanted to thrust back shut. He then thought it might not be the best idea to enter as he held the door from launching back to its default position, trying to figure out why it would in the first place.
Missile darted in the room, however, and Miles chased after him, slipping his hand above the handle. Ash his strength waned with his body stuck in the frame, he looked up and saw a tension support, found normally in screen doors, on the top of the door facing the hall. The floating witch prevented him from noticing it in the first place.
Miles moved his hand to reposition but stumbled into the bedroom due to imbalanced weight distribution. The door slammed behind him and he became exceedingly frustrated. If that wasn't strange (infuriating) enough, this side of the door had no handle. Almost as if it had been tampered with for the sole purpose of catching intruders.
It's a 'haunted' house. Maybe the intent was just another prank.
Though he doubted that someone would prank a bedroom like this. Miles pulled on the empty doorknob holdings, but the tension from the top and the misfed jamming kept pressure against it. Without a knob (or something similar) for leverage and a door stopper, he was stuck in this room.
That did not stop Missile from sniffing around and barking excitedly. Directly across from the door was the sole window in this room that was left wide open. To the left of where Miles stood was a desk with a computer tower and monitor, and a laptop. Two full bookshelves were to either side.
Opposite of the desk was a king-sized bed, draped in blue everything except for a medium sized ghost plush, with a shelfed headboard for more books – also filled. A dresser to the left of it, and an end table and the closet existed to the right of the centered bed.
Miles checked out the open laptop and noticed immediately that there were several videos playing back in real time, both in and outside. Yeah. I will be lucky if those trespassing charges miss me this time. As he examined the laptop, Missile happily made himself at home on the person's bed and Miles just hoped that Verrier was an animal person.
He began to search for a prop to open the door so he could leave. He found the doorknob beside the computers and fit in into the slot. Then he brainstormed to think of a way to brace it open. Miles remembered vaguely seeing a balcony on this side of the house – as he poked his head out, though, he saw that it was about a two-foot drop to a fire escape that connected to all three outside facing windows. At worst, he would roll his ankle wrong on the landing.
At least there IS a way out of this buffoonery.
He looked at the live feed again. Another car pulled in behind Miles' bright red car; perhaps Verrier came home? He watched to see who would step out of the purple car and felt unabashed dread when he saw White exit the car. Miles could not make it out, but he held something in his hand.
The homicidal maniac casually walked up to Miles' windshield and threw the object, smashing it completely. "Oh, you son of a –" Miles began to curse and heard his car alarm wail. White then reached inside the open front to unlock the door and retrieved his object.
Someone will probably call the police. Miles thought.
"I will do what those dumb bitches can't." Miles heard clearly from the laptop. He studied the cameras positionings for a second, realizing exactly where they were placed – the plastic statues' eyes. it was more than just a juvenile prank: it was an elaborate way to monitor for threats . . .
But, why would Verrier feel the need to set this up? Regardless, Miles had to retreat.
Noises. Fog machine. The horrific moaning and then the laughter from the witch and the vampire – these were indicators for how far a person progressed on this property. That also meant as soon as the witch cackled, leaving through the door would not matter – actually, it would not now. He would cross White's path and that could not be a good thing. They would have to leave through the fire escape.
The ghostly wail of the first indicator went off – White was at the 'graveyard'.
"What was that?" White growled through the static. Miles decided to just leave the equipment alone and called Missile to the fire escape. It was the safest course of action. Missile came but paused when they both heard someone attempting to open the door.
Missile growled and Miles studied the feed again. White was still outside, so who could possibly be at the door? Whoever it was freed the door from the jamb and disabled the tension, completely opening the door.
Missile went up to the person, a man, in a navy-blue coat with a tacky and cheap blue suit underneath. He sniffed at the man, recognizing the scent, and immediately dropped his aggression. The man knelt down and pet Missile. He had spikey black hair, and while Miles couldn't say for certain, he thought it might be Phoenix.
Missile returned to Miles side, who had found himself at a loss for words. White tripped the webbing and the zombie rotated its body; and with it, the camera. "STUPID FUCKING! ARGH!" White yelled and swatted at the webbing.
"Hah!" The man with spikey hair laughed and reapplied the tension rod, let the door shut hard as he stepped out of its lunge path, and then slammed into it himself for good measure. He walked over to the laptop and watched it in amusement. "Hey, Miles." He said casually, like they weren't being intruded by a madman with a weapon.
"'Hey, Miles'? Really? Is that the best you can do?"
Phoenix(?) hummed to himself, ignoring Miles, as he collected the ghost off the bed and retrieved a laptop bag. Hunched over the laptop, he began to save the feed and said, "Would you rather I fanfare?"
"Well, no. What are you doing?" Miles asked.
"What does it look like? I'm saving my data and then we're leaving."
"Phoenix." Miles said and the other turned his head.
"Yes?" He asked.
"We are leaving? Us both?" So, it is . . . Phoenix. Miles took in what he saw this time – the full hair that had not changed since they were kids and all the facial details: wide eyes, a surprisingly structured jaw and a muscular neck, and eyebrows that were tweaked to look a certain way. He was there, in front of Miles, and he could not think of a single thing to say.
"Well, yeah?" Phoenix said, "I'm not getting my skull bashed in by Blanco Nino over there. And I'd rather him not harm you, while we're at it."
"Blanco Nino?"
"White's nickname. Oddly fitting." The files were taking a long time to save, and Phoenix commented on it, "Urgh. Hurry up you slooow piece of work."
"Do you need to take that with you?" Miles asked, though he knew that laptop contained at least the last ten minutes worth of evidence, so the answer was likely . . .
"Duh. How else will you prove to your insurance who smashed your window in? Besides, I have a lot of crap on this dinosaur."
"My insurance? . . . Oh." Miles felt information overload hit like a truck, and somehow forgot that his car was damaged. "Yes. I will love to sue him for that."
"I would. When you're caught 'red' handed on tape, it's really hard to argue you're way out of that one. Truly, it is a black and 'white' situation."
"Stop it. Please. I cannot handle poor puns right now." Miles closed his eyes and listened. "Is he in the house yet?"
"I didn't hear the –"
A muffled voice laughed stalely, 'Ah hah hah!'. Then the witch cackled.
"Okay, yeah, he's likely in the house now." Phoenix answered as if Miles had no hearing of his own.
"Yes. I gathered. Thank you."
"You asked. Don't give me that look! Oh, yes! Done. Shutting her down now." Phoenix closed the laptop and wrapped the power cable around it, but Miles noticed a cast on his left wrist and hand, which made the actions Phoenix took slightly longer to accomplish.
"Do you need help?" Miles opened the laptop bag and Phoenix then slid the laptop in. It was Miles who then strapped the bag over his shoulder and asked, "What happened to your hand?"
"Later. Jump out the window." Phoenix said in return.
". . . Alright. I expect a full explanation –"loud footsteps trampled up the stairs, breaking Miles' thought process.
"Shall I give you the full hours-long version right this moment or would you prefer to escape while we're both fairly intact?"
Miles glared at Phoenix in response but could not pick apart his case.
Out the window." Phoenix whispered, "Now. Don't argue." He grabbed the ghost plush from the computer chair.
"Is that thing really necessary?"
"Don't. Argue." Phoenix said, "You first." White began to shake the door, which was their cue to leave. They jumped down one at a time. The yard and fire escape were both lit well, so navigating would not be a problem.
The fire escape landing connected to all outside facing windows, but the stairs did not extend fully to the bottom. That was probably to deter thieves from breaking in; however, there was an additional ladder, one that probably originally belonged to that pool in the center of the yard, had more stair-like steps than narrow ladderlike ones. It was attached to the landing, so they thankfully would not have to jump to the ground. A two-foot drop was much different than an eight-foot freefall.
Phoenix, true to his word, was only slightly behind. Missile hobbled behind, able to maneuver the steps just barely, while Miles assisted the dog. Phoenix dropped the plush, it bounced off the first stepped and overshot the next several, before bouncing once more and landing on the ground. Phoenix unhinged the ladder from the landing, then carefully descended so the ladder would not slide around.
Miles watched him, hoping that it would not shift either. He considered that, without the ladder, it would be possible to climb up to the fire escape landing. Miles could reach the lower landing if he wanted to (with a stepstool or something for height leverage), but pulling oneself back up would be the challenging part. Then he noticed a rope ladder tucked underneath, secured by a small open unit under the base.
"I hate heights." Phoenix grumbled. He pulled the ladder away and started to turn it upside down but had a hard time doing so with his damaged hand.
"What are you doing?" Miles asked, feeling his eyes narrow.
"Well, White will have to jump to follow. If I flip this so the underside is up, White would be jumping into a very nasty neck bruising."
Miles disagreed wholeheartedly with this plan. "Phoenix. Enough. Just slide it out of his use and let us go. I understand having it so White cannot use it, but I will not allow you to purposefully harm him."
"Fine. You're morally, ethically, and legally right, anyway. It's annoying. Hopefully he breaks an ankle or both on the way down." Miles ignored Phoenix's last remark and helped him move the ladder, since Phoenix struggled to with only one viable hand – Phoenix himself looked put-off by it but said nothing. Once cleared, Phoenix picked up a metal rod resting against the fire escape support and slipped it into a belt loop. It was very similar to the murder weapon found at the apartment.
"The fence is the only way robbers do not attempt to steal from this place on the routine, correct?" Miles asked, pretending not to notice the connection. Yet.
"A dog would be a better deterrent." Phoenix eyed Missile who gently snatched the plush in his mouth. "You want to hold onto that for me? You're such a good boy."
"He recognized you immediately." Miles observed.
"That's a bit surprising, but he always was smart." Phoenix looked up to see if White busted through the door and subsequently to the fire escape, then remembered he was talking about it. "The person who added the fire escape completely believed the world would end in 2012, very apocalyptically. There's a bunker in the basement and a way in through the yard."
"Is this your idea of a joke?" Miles said, then admired the yard space. Plenty of room to improve. A pool and what looked like a sauna and a hot tub took up some of the estate, but Missile would have a good time in a yard like this. Whoever Verrier was kept his foolish side front and his polished one in the rear. That was some fundamental backwards logic.
"No. I'm one hundred percent serious about the bunker. Adds some charm to this house, don't you think?"
"You . . . are insane." Miles replied, unable to describe it as anything else, and Phoenix just laughed again. They heard police sirens in the background. Verrier and Wright . . . "I have a question about you and Verrier."
"Save it for later."
"Is he home?"
"Hah! Oh. Wait. You're serious? . . . Hmm." Phoenix put his hand up to his chin. "No. Later. The only one left in the house is White. Does that clear it up for you?"
Not at all. Miles just decided to escape and sort those details later, but he then realized he had no idea where the gate for the fence was.
Phoenix pointed to around the back, seemingly reading his mind. "This way." And took Miles' hand to lead. Instead of arguing about it, Miles just let it happen – he had no intention of letting Phoenix escape him again.
As they rounded the corner, they both heard a noise above them and locked eyes with White. The man held very clearly in his hands a Thinker Statue. Miles recognized it instantly, "That clock? Why does he have it?"
"Oh. It's a clock. Huh." Phoenix said. "Never mind that for now. . ." Phoenix ran to a locked gate, locked by a lever. He had a hard time moving it, so Miles took over and slid it to the right. "Don't worry about securing it." Phoenix said as they hurried away.
Miles wanted to go to his car and faced that direction, but Phoenix had a different idea. "If White doesn't jump down, he'll likely return to the front yard. Your car is not our getaway."
"Then what are you suggesting?"
"The alleyway. I know a path that ends up in the downtown square. It's only a few blocks."
". . . Okay." What other choice did Miles have? Phoenix pulled out his phone as he led and watched a GPS tracker.
"That one is stationary. Oh wait. That one is for yours. Let me just . . . okay, here's White's car."
"Wait, did you say, 'that one is for mine?' You placed a tracker on my car?" Miles asked.
". . . About that."
If Miles wasn't out of breath from all this activity, he would have scolded Phoenix on the legalities on tampering with someone else's property. Phoenix stopped in his tracks and looked down the street they were on, from the direction they came.
"White did return to his car . . . he didn't take the leap, I guess."
"He can't possibly know where we are?" Miles inhaled heavily, though Phoenix seemed unaffected by the rush.
"The bike trails. He can't follow us with his car. Slight detour?"
Miles nodded. Phoenix pocketed his phone and took Miles by the hand again. Phoenix kept looking over his shoulder and then to his front. He was worried about outrunning a car; the same concern happened to cross Miles' mind multiple times.
The sirens were louder for a brief moment, then passed them by, unsuspecting of Miles and Phoenix. Between breaths, Miles asked, "Should we talk to them?"
"We're no safer putting our lives in their hands. Trust me on that."
"You're not one of those people who are blatantly against law enforcement, are you?"
"No, of course not but –" They both turned to the same sound of a car rolling into their narrow back alley street. Phoenix pulled Miles into a cubby between houses and their fences and Missile joined the two men. Phoenix took them to a spot that was not visible from the street, and they waited it out. Phoenix pulled up the phone and whispered, "It is him. Just stay quiet."
"If he steps out of his car you will not be able to track him, correct?" Miles whispered back.
"No. But I'll know he's on foot if his car idles too long. The road he's on comes to a dead-end soon. He'll either have to turn left or right to go down a parallel street or reach a roundabout. If he chooses the turnabout, he will have to drive back this way. Whatever he chooses, staying here is our only move." Phoenix handed Miles the phone so he could visually see the map layout.
The bike trails were beside the turnabout, but also parallel to the road Phoenix mentioned. There was not a road connecting to it, but looked like a sidewalk did. Phoenix knew this area well to have that route memorized and he was right – there were parallel backstreets, but he could only travel straight for so long. Along the fastest path to downtown would be patrolled by white. The bike trail ran into a bus line that intersected at a street of pubs.
As Phoenix said, the tracker showed the car turn at the dead-end and slowly approached their location. Miles handed Phoenix back the phone so he could know this information as well. "We have to get to the bike trail as soon as possible. He cannot follow by car." Phoenix reiterated. "And it looks like he has no intention of abandoning it, either."
Miles took in their current surroundings. At this rate, they were going to be caught if they did not come up with a sound strategy. "If he continues to circle through the neighborhood, we are going to be seen."
"I know. I'm thinking . . ." Phoenix and Miles huddled together over the screen. They had to account for headlights, too, and their shadows betraying them in the beams. "Not all houses have fences. We might have to zigzag through yards."
"But that's –"
"I know. Would you rather be right or dead? He's not going to give you a chance to plead your case, you know. Hold on to this. Keep an eye on what street he is on and we'll figure out a way to keep unseen."
White's car passed them and drove on by. The three of them stayed in the corner until Miles said, "He's turned to the right. He is coming up parallel."
"We need to slowly move forward. Once he reaches the next turn, we need to hide."
Miles said nothing and they ventured forward. White's car obviously moved at a faster rate than their sprinting speed, so they were up one house with no fence. "He's coming back this way."
"Cut through the yard. Don't." Phoenix raised a finger before Miles could express how uncomfortable trespassing again felt. "Just do it."
They were back on the street that Verrier's house faced after cutting through a straight path. Miles noticed the police cars parked out front, but none had patrolled further ahead. Not that Miles felt any reason to not approach the police or would fear them spotting the three of them. Phoenix, however, was a fugitive.
"We shoulda probably avoided this street. Act normal." Phoenix kept his eyes ahead as he walked. Miles wondered if there was more to that then he was being forthcoming about.
"Phoenix. Are you sure we are avoiding the police, not because of White, but because you are a suspect in a murder case?"
"If that's all this was, I'd have already let the system work itself out. White saw you and Missile. He saw your car. The minute he links all that back to you, you're in as much trouble as I am."
"You could have turned yourself in last night. Why didn't you?"
"Where is White now?" Phoenix asked, deliberately dodging the question. Miles checked the phone and felt his heart leap. "Ahead of us. He's about to turn on our street." He must of went up and back already . . .
"Okay." Phoenix stopped and inhaled. "How close is he to the turn?"
"Very close." Fear was the best description for what Miles felt. The officers were just a few houses down from them, but . . . There is no way that White could murder them so close to police presence, could he? Surely the officers would prevent that.
"He's gotten away with it before. The police help him cover it up." Again, Phoenix answered as if he could read Miles' mind. He smiled, though, still calm. It was warm and pure and oddly comforting. "Run straight ahead. The next four houses are all open yards. We'll be going in the right direction this time."
"And . . . If I chose to go to the police?"
Phoenix sighed. "I am not leaving your side. It's your choice . . . but the police will be the wrong one."
They could see the headlights now taking the bend back their way. It was time to decide. Even as White approached, Phoenix did not move until Miles did. It was senseless, considering his situation, but Phoenix was serious.
Miles made his choice. He sprinted through the houses with Phoenix, who had taken custody of his hand again. He could barely feel his hands or his arms – all the blood drained in favor of his legs and heart – and it surged as they fled.
Hounds from the neighborhood set off, but Phoenix did not let up. A thought occurred as they went – Phoenix would have already made it had Miles not slowed him down. Phoenix could have abandoned him at the start but chose the path that would be most risky to him.
They made it to house number two before Phoenix stopped and asked about White. Miles brought it up with the hand not enclosed by Phoenix's and saw that they were furthest from him than they had since this began. Phoenix nodded.
"Let's head to the bike trails. We should be nearly done. Are you okay?"
Miles nodded, unable to speak. Phoenix didn't question it outright, but he did have a look on his face that said he more-or-less did not believe Miles. They made one last haul toward the edge of the street, only having to overcome the length of one more yard. They crossed the road to the sidewalk and descended into a slight decline to reach the trail. Trees blocked the trail partially and it split off into a wooded dirt path.
"We can stop running now," phoenix said with a shortness of breath, "Let's duck in the trees a minute and catch our breath." Phoenix suggested. Miles watched the GPS as they went into the cover. White continued to circle the neighborhood, unaware that they made it down to the trail.
"How did you know this would work?" Miles asked when he could manage to form a complete sentence.
"I've become somewhat of an expert at dodging people this week." Phoenix laughed, "I have some really nosy friends. That, and a stalker who really wants me dead."
"Stalker? White?"
Phoenix sighed. "We're still not exactly safe. I'd say we could take the wood trail, but with how dark it is, I don't think it's a good idea." A few people were walking toward them and to the pubs, and Phoenix said, "Perfect. Crowd blend. Do you have a leash for Missile?"
"I . . . left it in the car."
"Eh. Whatever. Missile's well behaved enough to not attack others. Unless it's warranted. Let's keep pace with them and blend in."
The group of people all admired Missile and Miles finally relaxed as they used the gathering. He still watched for White both on the GPS and by looking up at the sidewalk. He was at a loss for words still and could not have predicted any of what transpired, but he finally achieved his goal. And they were both fantastically in one piece.
As long as they were using these people, though, Miles could not bring up the obvious topics that he wanted to interrogate – inquire, rather – about. For the duration of their walk, he would just have to accept it. Phoenix laughed with the new people as if he had been friends with them for years. Astonishing, really, how he could both just bounce back from what they just went through and immerse himself in a random group of strangers.
The people asked questions like, "why are you two out of breath?" and some other personal details, but Phoenix just told them that "they enjoy a good run in old suits. Good work out," and other various partial truths, or flat-out lies. Phoenix told them that Miles kept checking the phone because he was playing "Catch 'em All" and was looking for critters to add to his collection. Miles wasn't sure what that was, but they started to gossip about all their 'dex's', whatever that meant. Miles just nodded along and let Phoenix do the talking. Evidently, Miles was 'shy' and had a stuttering problem. Whatever. At least they were safe – that was all that mattered at the moment.
Notes:
I don't even know what to say about this chapter. It's the one I've been waiting to post haha.
