Ablaze , ᶦᵛʸ

c.3

Anxiously, she paced back and forth in the motel room, her arms tucked in behind her back.

"Shit, shit shit. What do I do?" Emlyn mumbles to herself, grabbing the edges of the kitchen's sink, staring into the drain and trying to ground herself.

She was never that good at coming up with advice; she always relied heavily on others to steady her mind, to help her figure out what to do next. But now that she was on her own, Emlyn was forced to think for herself. She can't just rush back to Australia to rescue Jasmine. She knows that. Then why'd she send her the note? To warn her? Of what?

Some kind of coded puzzle she was supposed to figure out?

As her ex-girlfriend, she knew Emlyn— she knew Emlyn wasn't the logical type. She couldn't just sit at the table and think out her chess movements. She's in the heat of the moment, that's when she thinks, on her feet.

Not having anything to stimulate her senses, left them dull and blunt.

Now she was left pandering to her confused flurry of thoughts, struggling to pick point what to do.

Finally, Emlyn forced herself to sit down and collect herself. "You're not gonna get anywhere by running around mindlessly," she whisper yelled.

To add some background noise, Emlyn switched the channel from a cooking show to a news channel.

"...And none other than the same woman in red, Carmen Sandiego. The thief struck again, this time in Sydney, Australia..."

The mention of her home town was enough to prick the girl's curiosity and she whipped her head around, fingers hurrying to click on the volume, turning it up.

A lady dressed in business attire sat at a desk, her hands pressed together for formality. She stared deadbeat at the camera as she read her report. "Police reports say the items in question were already gone from display long before the thief took action. However there were some rather suspicious circumstances that puzzled even the officers... back to you, Rodney."

The screen flipped to show a burly man standing at a building, which was yellow taped and a swarm of police cars surrounded the scene. "I'm at the crime scene where the alleged Carmen Sandiego had broken into. The items in question that cannot be accounted for anymore are the following..."

Emlyn tuned out the tv as she noticed something in the corner of the scene. There were, of course, plenty of people standing there, civilians curious by the happenings and trying to get a closer look at the crime scene. But what really caught her eye was the tall figure dressed in tight jeans and a loose purple tank top.

Her hair was long and shimmery, layered down her shoulders elegantly.

Her face wasn't clear, and it was somewhat blurred out but Emlyn could recognize it a hundred miles away.

Jasmine.

***

She didn't know much but from what Emlyn had gathered, Carmen Sandiego and her little heist have something to do with Jasmine.

What the hell was she doing there?

Leaning back into the couch, she takes the remote control and surfs through the tv some more, not sure what she was hoping for but wanting some kind of information to advance her plans. She bit into her rich cheeseburger, savoring the flavors of her lunch while she looked.

And what she did find— wasn't anything important. Just a boring news channel talking about the old menu items on a restaurant coming back and something about an antique table finally having found a buyer at a local auctioning.

Emlyn placed the remote down and turn the TV off. "Fuck it, I'm going back to Australia if this doesn't pan out okay," she muttered.

She walked back to her suitcase and put her hygienic stuff in again, zipping it closed and quickly swallowing down the rest of her meal, and proceeding to run to her small double bed, sitting on the end and grabbing the room's phone, dialing Jasmine's house number.

The quiet echo of the ringing sound fills the room.

"Hello? Who's there?" a snappy familiar voice yells in her ear.

"Mrs Porter?"

"This is she. Who the fuck are you?"

"Look, um, is everything all right with uh, your daughter Jasmine?"

"I'll ask again and for the last time now before I hang up— who the hell are you?"

"I'm a friend of Jasmine's. My name's Daisy. I, um, we went to church together," Emlyn lied, biting her lip nervously.

"Why'd you call?" Her words were slurred and Emlyn mentally face palmed herself. She's drunk.

"Because I wanna talk to Jasmine. Can you get her to the phone?"

"No... she's not here right now."

"Um, when do you think you can get her to call me back then?"

"Never. That little brat's gone."

***

Whoosh.

The incoming cars whiz past Emlyn, her hair brushing her shoulders in the light breeze. She stood on the sidewalk, in front of the crossing at Greystone Street, which was smack dab in the middle of a bustling city.

People in cars, pedestrians, and dogs were everywhere, each busy and attending to their own lives.

She sighed, staring at the cafe, The Expresso, across the street.

Watching the light and awaiting its change, she immediately started walking quickly as soon as it hits green.

The Expresso.

This was Jasmine's favorite cafe. The first place she thought to check.

Not all that smart but honestly, you gotta start somewhere.

She walked towards the entrance when something— or rather, someone, caught her eye.

Carmen fucking Sandiego.

Her face wasn't all that visible but Emlyn recognized her in a heartbeat. Admittedly she had been just thinking about the crime scene reported on the news that very morning and therefore her mind was on this particular person's oddity of an appearance at the same place she spotted Jasmine, but she never expected to spot her at the exact cafe she was visiting. This entire ordeal was very weird.

"You..." she mumbled, and debated over tackling the international thief or just calling the authorities to let them know the woman in red was here, at a mundane cafe in Australia. What do you know? Instead, she decided to play the clueless card. She tried to appear as casual as possible, strutting by their table and peering under the umbrella. "I love your hair," she complimented Carmen, smiling. As much as she knew the thief did, Emlyn had to admit the woman was very attractive. "Um, do you mind if I sit with you guys? I, uh, just found out I lost my grandfather and I need some company."

Seriously, Emlyn? she asked herself, silently bubbling over with laughter. Somehow though, she managed to remain composed, her face deadly.

"Oh, uh! Of course! Mate, that's awful! Sit with us, 'course. Losing someone... yeah, awful."

Emlyn smiled gratefully. "Thanks, mate." She sat down, linking her hands together, turning around to face the man who had been so gullible to her on the spot lie, and— "How in the fuckety fuckening—" she hissed. "Impossible. No, no—" she cut herself off, knowing it couldn't be. But she was staring at her brother. The same brother who had died years, years ago. "Graham?"