(FEATURED)
It's been months since the unceremonious fall of Kimie Sato's older sister. The whole of Ridgerock High knows it, and by now, the majority have moved on. But Kimie still watches those who had a hand in it continue to walk free, and the mo...
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My heart was beating at a terribly fast pace when I reached Jett Foster's house and realized that I didn't know what to do. My sister was in there with that monster.
On an impulse, I quietly went up the porch stairs and leaned closer to the door after looking around as casually as I could to make sure no one was around. The neighborhood was empty.
I could hear voices, but they were muffled, like they were trying hard not to be heard. I needed to get closer. I needed to see what was going on in there. I went to the back of the house, careful not to draw attention to myself, then tried the back door. The knob turned but stopped halfway. The door was locked. Disappointed, I walked back to the front of the house, wondering if I should just ring the doorbell and demand to know what Kairi was doing there. But my eyes fell on the slightly open garage door before I could make up my mind, and I paused.
I was being impulsive and stupid at the moment, so I noticed that the space between the garage door and the floor was just enough for my small body to squeeze through. Some garages were connected to kitchens. Kitchens were close to living rooms. And my sister was in the living room with Jett.
"You bastard!" I heard from the house, from my sister, and her voice seemed to drive me into action.
I went down on my knees before I could think twice about it, then quietly crawled through the space, arching my back a little to prevent the door from giving me a good scrape. The knees of my jeans and my palms caught some of the dust on the garage floor.
The garage was filled with all sorts of things. Boxes, car parts, old bikes, vintage-looking furniture. And there was a door, just like I hoped there would be. I listened to make sure the kitchen was empty as I made my way to it, then turned the handle. The door was a little stiff, giving me the impression that it hadn't been opened in a long time, but it wasn't locked.
I was shaking. I just realized what I was doing—sneaking into someone's house. I could be arrested for that, couldn't I?
It's for my sister. I nodded in agreement to myself, then pulled the door open, holding my breath when it groaned in protest. When it opened enough for me to fit, I quietly slipped through it, making sure none of my body parts touched it.
If you walked into Jett Foster's house without knowing who he really was, you'd never guess who he really was.
The kitchen was simple and monochromatic, splashes of black here and there, and it smelled like home-cooked meals. The structure dividing it from the living room was more of a fancy shelf than a wall. It was filled from top to bottom with figurines and trophies and glass ornaments, and through the gaps in it, I could see my sister. And him.
He was sitting on the couch, and she was standing over him, her legs on either side of him.
I gently crossed the kitchen floor to the shelf, then crouched behind it so I could watch them. I subconsciously reached for my phone, but realized that I left it in the car after patting my pocket and feeling it empty.
