The fourth instalment (wherein things take a somewhat unexpected turn…)

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Exploring the Estate

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Having parted ways with the large Grandfather clock, Allen kept moving. Soon he found himself inside a hallway that was lined with a number of doors. He tried the first to his right. It was unlocked, but the hinges sure screamed when he pulled it open to peer inside.

On the other side was a bedroom, sparsely decorated save for the king-sized bed beneath a canopy of embroidered stars. The thick curtains were drawn, blocking out most of the daylight coming in from the window. Allen resisted a surfacing urge to pull them aside.

Instead, he tried the door to the left. Another dim bedroom met his eye and he swiftly moved on to the next door in line, finding yet another one. Wondering just how many bedrooms one manor could possibly need, Allen tried yet another door. This time around, he had better luck.

The curtains were parted, and Allen immediately switched off his phone's flashlight to preserve what little still remained of the battery. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he then proceeded to scrutinise his surroundings.

Going by the large desk situated by the window at the room's farther end, Allen would have classified it as an office. The crammed bookshelves lining the walls meanwhile gave the impression of a small library. And then there was the piano, which stood right up against the shelves. There was also another clock, right next to the room's entrance, but this one had seemingly stopped.

Curiously, none of the furniture had been covered up; a thick layer of dust now covered them, giving them a matted grey appearance. Allen dragged his fingertip along the cover for the piano keys and stared at it, because that was some serious dust. With a slight scoff, he wiped his hand on his jeans.

"Might as well sell anything that can be sold," he muttered quietly, addressing no one in particular. Besides, if no one wanted the stuff, then there were other alternatives. Making a merry and not so little bonfire out of them seemed fairly close at hand. Then again, was there really anything preventing him from setting the whole manor alight, just to spare himself the trouble of sorting through everything? Maybe if he was skilful enough, he could make it look like arson and get some insurance money out of the deal and rid himself of this decidedly haunted-looking and creepy manor in one go?

Blasphemous or not, the idea held merit. Well, some merit at least. Who knew what lay behind these panels after all. The walls might just be rotten, full of mould or asbestos or whatever. Well, that or something priceless, Allen supposed, even though the odds were not too great for that. Still‒

There was something about it, about the room and about the place in general. It was not unlike nostalgia, except it also held some tinge, some nuance, that made his skin crawl. It had been way stronger outside, so strong that Allen had practically been able to taste it. The office triggered no such response; it gave off a certain vibe, sure, but it was neither particularly nostalgic nor particularly creepy. However, fact remained that there was definitely something there, almost a presence in itself; maybe not a ghost per se, but definitely something, like a quiet buzz from unseen electronical equipment.

Allen checked the desk.

Desks typically held important things, such as keys and documents and such. However, they were also the most obvious place for people to look for such things. Thus, taking what little he knew about the manor's former owner into consideration, Allen decided that the desk was a rather unlikely hiding place for anything important. However, even though the desk itself was not important, the room probably held its share of secrets. The question that remained was whether or not Allen should pursue them or find another room to explore.

He pondered the matter for a few moments before making up his mind and setting right to work.

Going by how most of the drawers seemed to have been disturbed at some point, it seemed as though someone else had also been snooping around, likely to no avail. Allen did not waste much time on pondering the fact however, and instead lowered himself slightly, trying to determine the right angle.

You see, Allen had found that people ‒ not everyone, per se, but certain people who fancied themselves to be a lot cleverer than the rest of them ‒ preferred to keep their secrets safe by hiding them in plain sight. Not completely in the open, of course, because then just about anyone could happen to stumble upon them, but also not in places where someone looking for hidden things would necessarily care to look.

Allen spied over the edge of the desk, trying to determine a possible location. After scanning the room for a bit, he came up with three likely hiding spaces; the piano, the bookshelf closest to the door and the clock. He probably wouldn't have the time to properly search all three of them before he once again had Bookman Junior hovering over his shoulder. In truth, he didn't have to search at all, but after having come all this way, he might as well.

The clock, he thought, but then, right when he was about to move away from the desk, there was a sharp thump against the window right behind him. Allen turned, catching a glimpse of a sparrow before it vanished from his line of sight. Walking up to the window, Allen peered out, wondering whether it had crashed or managed to save itself onto a nearby window sill. It hadn't fallen right down, so it probably hadn't broken its neck, so… Why did Allen care again?

With a sigh, he reached up to open the window. The latch was a bit stuck, but it took just some additional effort on Allen's part to get the window open. A breeze eagerly accepted the invitation, blowing past him and through the room, disturbing up until then largely undisturbed layers of dust. Allen sneezed, once, twice and then, right about when he was about to close the window back up, he noticed something. Several things as a matter of fact.

From the office window, Allen had excellent view of a fairly large portion of the property. Among the first things he saw was Bookman Junior, pacing back and forth close to the car. The redhead seemed to be quite into his phone call, given how he didn't even look up when Allen had opened the window. No person had such long and intense discussions with their dentists; that much was obvious. Allen briefly considered taking the heavy-looking paperweight from the desk and throwing it, just to determine if that would elicit a reaction. Also, the accuracy of his aim and how far he could throw it.

It would probably be a pretty bad idea though, because what if he smashed the car's windshield or something?

Abandoning the thought, Allen looked past the car, gaze settling upon the small hill.

On one hand, it seemed a bit too easy as far as hiding places went. On the other meanwhile…

Treasures were typically buried, were they not?

Mind made up, Allen pulled the window back shut and turned on his heel, heading for the door. However, he had scarcely even exited the room before there was another thump. A loud one. Then another, slightly more muted. Not a rat. Much bigger. Footfalls, Allen realised, horrified when he heard the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking open from close by.

It was the door on the opposite side, among the ones he hadn't tried to open, and the door handle was moving. So was Allen, even before the door was pulled open. He didn't even look back before he had just about rounded the corner. He paused only momentarily, just long enough to get a decent look of the intruder.

The intruder stared right back. It was a dishevelled and scruffy-looking man wearing some rather ugly coke-bottle glasses. Vagrant, Allen thought. Possibly an addict. Possibly a very nice person. Probably the former rather than the latter. In any case, Allen was not about to deal with them without a proper weapon at hand, and as things were, he knew exactly where to find one.

-.-.-.-

"Hey! What's the rush?"

Allen didn't even dignify that one with a response, closing and locking the door behind him. While making his way back, bumping into some furniture along the way, he had been forced to quicken his pace because that other bastard had started following him. "Give me those damned keys," he demanded instead, impatiently presenting his hand, palm facing upwards.

The redhead blinked, clutching the keys tighter. "To the house?"

That had been the original plan, plan A. However, as the situation had developed, Allen had already moved on to plan B. "The car."

A frown. "Can you even drive?"

Well, no, but− "I'll take my chances."

That got him another look, but Allen was temporarily distracted by the fact that there was an intruder, an intruder that was following him. For now though, he was unable to properly articulate the fact. Instead, he said the next best thing that came to mind. "Gun."

There was yet another look. "Gun?"

"That handy little tranquilizer of yours," Allen hissed, casting a nervous look over his shoulder.

"Why would I have it?"

Allen tore his eyes away from the door to level the redhead with a glare. Because.

"Fine," Bookman Junior finally relented. "I did bring it. What about−?"

The doorknob started turning. Out of the corner of his eye, Allen saw Junior's face go slightly pale, which likely meant that they were not in cahoots. Silver lining.

"Who's there?" Junior demanded, pulling out the modified tranquiliser, readying it.

The doorknob stilled, but only briefly. "Who's asking?"

Allen made a half-hearted to utilise Junior's shift in focus to snatch the gun from his grip, but Lavi noticed and raised it high enough for him not to reach it. "Someone representing the owner," Lavi said, his inner turmoil barely audible.

"Owner?" the voice repeated from the other side, seemingly surprised. "This place is supposed to be abandoned."

"Just because a house isn't used very often doesn't mean it's okay for you to just break in," Lavi said, his voice on the neutral side but his gaze never wavering from Allen, who glared right back at him.

"I got caught up in a storm a while back and needed a roof over my head," said the voice. "I found the place and decided to take a closer look," the man continued.

This time around, Lavi's eyebrows furrowed slightly, presumably in response to that load of bullshit. "This whole area is private property," he said, voice serious now. "Either way, you're trespassing."

The response was surprisingly quick and unconcerned. "I'm exploring. It comes with the territory."

Territory? "Exploring?" Lavi repeated, evidently critical.

Again, the response was quick. "Urban exploring. Urbex. Ever heard of it?"

No. "It sounds very illegal," Lavi commented, attention flittering briefly towards the door.

"Most fun things are," the voice added, seeming to find some degree of humour in it all.

Bookman Junior meanwhile looked decidedly unamused, which was somehow even creepier than him wearing his trademark grin, and then he pulled out his phone. "I'm calling the police. But before that…"

The serious gaze shifted and levelled upon Allen. "Are you okay?"

No matter what Allen might have had against the guy, there was no mistaking the earnest concern directed his way. Still− "I'm fine. My phone's dead though."

"Physically fine or mentally fine?" Lavi prompted, ignoring the comment about the phone.

Allen didn't respond. Well, to be specific, he didn't respond to Lavi, because the intruder had asked something just now, about the phone. "It's last year's model. I won it in a poker game."

The intruder let out a slight whistle. "Any good?"

Allen looked towards the door, curiosity beginning to overpower his earlier apprehension. "My phone or my poker skills?"

"Ah, that model's crap. I know, because I have it. I do have a charger though. Here somewhere. I'll let you borrow it if you manage to defeat me."

Allen blinked. "In combat?"

"I was thinking poker, but… Why not play a little game?"

"That's a very SAW-like thing to say," Lavi cut into the conversation, grabbing hold of Allen's hood, pulling him farther away from the door. "I'm sure the police would looooove to hear all about it."

Allen didn't take kindly to getting grabbed. At all. And with the gun still out of reach, that left just one alternative. The phone. Because in-between dealing with a single intruder on one hand and a weird solicitor backed by representatives of the authorities Allen would much rather continue avoiding on the other, well−

"Hey!"

Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea ever, but in Allen's defence, he had technically been kidnapped less than twenty-four hours prior to this.

What did he do? Well, his plan of action went something like this:

Step one: Snatch the phone.

Step two: Hurl the phone out the open backdoor.

Step three: Make a mad dash for the other door. The locked door. The door he had just locked to keep out (or in) the intruder.

Step four: Profit?

Well, such had been the plan. He only just barely made it past step three, grabbing hold of the doorknob just as the world lurched and his knees buckled beneath him. He turned his head slightly, to glare in Bookman Junior's general direction. Allen didn't bother wasting time on removing the dart. Instead, in a final show of defiance, he unlocked the door.

-.-.-.-

He woke up disoriented, but not really uncomfortable. Granted, the mattress was a bit too bouncy for his tastes, but the covers were warm and heavy, smelling of unfamiliar cologne and just a hint of cigarettes. It was probably the latter that really pulled at his consciousness, because the smell of tobacco evoked uncomfortable memories. Even so, he rolled over, burrowing his face into the pillow. Tobacco. Aftershave. Shampoo?

He cracked an eye open. As the world drifted back into focus, he saw his phone, charging on the nightstand. Nightstand. Bed. Bedroom. Where the heck?

He made a half-hearted attempt to get up. It was only partially successful. The covers were so heavy, so warm, and the outside world so chilly. Still−

The floors were cold, hellishly so, and so was the door handle when he laid his hand upon it.

He could hear some noise, but only in the distance. Voices? Music? Radio?

He opened the door and was immediately startled.

"Ah, you're up. I was just about to go and check on you."

It was the intruder. The same voice at any rate. When it came to appearance on the other hand… "Who're you again?"

The ugly glasses were gone and the hair was smoothed back now rather than unkempt, and the hint of a stubble on the chin was gone as well. He was even wearing a dress shirt of all things, even if it looked slightly out of place combined with denim. "I never gave you my name, did I? In any case−" A row of surprisingly white teeth was bared in a smile and a hand extended towards him. "−Tyki Mikk."

"Allen," Allen eventually volunteered, reaching out to grasp it. "Where's−?"

"The fiery redhead?" Tyki interrupted, giving his hand a slight squeeze while levelling him with a surprisingly and somewhat unnervingly intent look. "He's downstairs, handcuffed to a radiator for now. I figured I'd wait until you were awake before doing anything else, so…"

Huh? "Handcuffs?"

"Hey, don't give me that sort of look. They're not mine. I found them in that guy's car."

Allen pressed a hand against his forehead, still a bit fuzzy around the edges. "…Why am I not surprised?"

The guy, this Tyki guy, was quiet for a moment. He was probably staring. "Who's that guy anyway?" he said at last, scratching the back of his head. "He said something about representing the owner?"

Owner, Allen privately thought, because that was him, supposedly. "…No idea. I've only known him for about a day. He's the Junior part of Bookman & Junior, some sort of law firm."

The man let out a thoughtful hum at that. "What about you then? That guy's been pretty persistent when it comes to you. That little tranquiliser gun of his is pretty interesting though, really nifty."

Gun. Allen looked up. "Where is it?"

The smile directed his way was wry but friendly, at least at first glance. "I might give you a clue if you tell me a bit about yourself."

Allen narrowed his eyes slightly at that. "Give and take."

The man started walking again, motioning for him to follow. "Well, as I've already told you, I'm Tyki Mikk, I'm something of a free spirit with a passion for exploring abandoned places and living pretty off the grid. I came across this place about ten months ago and I've been back three times since. It's still got the power on and the water's still running, and I'm between leases right now so I thought 'Hey, why not camp out here for a bit.'"

He paused in his step and turned partially, smiling apologetically this time around. "Sorry for startling you back there by the way, but in my defence, you startled me first. I was sleeping and not expecting company."

Allen didn't really feel like he owed anyone an apology. Still− "Sorry for overreacting…"

"It was a pretty sane reaction, I think," Tyki said, flicking on the light switch to the antechamber. "Not all squatters are the friendly sort."

"Are you?"

The question brought the man to a stop, and he turned, eyeing Allen with seeming curiosity. "That depends on the company."

Allen pointed to himself.

The man smiled. "I don't think I'd mind being friends with you. I mean, I did carry you all the way back to my campsite so that you wouldn't have to sleep on some dusty sofa downstairs."

Yeah, Allen kind of figured. "Piggyback or bridal style?"

The man let out an amused snort. "Would you be mad if it was the latter?"

Mad, no. Embarrassed, yes. "No."

"It was the former−" Nice. "−You hungry?"

Allen's stomach answered for him, growling loudly. Normally, Allen would have been embarrassed. At this point though, he was far beyond that. "Yeah…"

"Are chicken noodles okay with you?"

As if Allen would ever say no to free food.

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