Adventures of MGTB: Ep 1

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓲𝓿𝓮

Chapter 5
Emma G.

I blink in disbelief as I watch Trenchcoat walk right past me. Did he actually not see me? No, there's no way. I was right there! He had definitely seen me. He even looked at me right in the eye. Does he just not think I'm a threat?

I was chasing after his van in plain sight. He would have seen me for sure in his rearview mirror. His eyesight and memory can't be that bad to not recognise me from earlier. What the hell is going on?

Turning back around, I watch as he calmly walks further and further away from me down the hall. I take a risk.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I call out, loud enough for him to hear at that distance while also not being too loud to disturb everybody on this entire floor. I expect Trenchcoat to turn around at the noise, but he ignores me again, and disappears from around the corner. I'm starstruck. He's definitely ignoring me.

I know the best thing to do would be to chase after him, but my alarming concern for what he had done to my apartment gets the better of my rationality. I run inside my apartment, and my stomach drops. The console table is tipped over in the middle of the hallway. Wallets, spare keys, lanyards, sunglasses, and ripped pieces of paper are all spread out along the floor. Stepping over the mess, I head toward the lounge and dining room, expecting for the worst. My crestfallen expectations are met.

The couch is tipped over on its back, and every single drawer and cupboard is moved out from its spot. The kitchen is the worst — plates and glass cups are all smashed across the tiles. Windows are broken and food from the fridge has been thrown out onto the pile of broken porcelain and glass. I run over to our bedrooms. Blankets and clothes are thrown everywhere; pillows are ripped; books and other items have fallen from the shelves. I can't believe any of what I'm seeing. How has this much happened in such a short timespan?

I feel like I want to cry, but the urge to get rid of this pounding migraine is a lot stronger. I trot over to the bathroom, ignoring the mess inside there as well. I fish around for the painkillers, which is probably buried in the pile of toiletries and medicines on the floor. Finding it, I down two pills.

BARK! BARK!

Behind me Theo's dog jumps onto me, licking my face all over. Usually I'd hate that, but right now I've never been more relieved to have Nitro decorating my face in his saliva. "Oh Nitro!" I cry out, hugging the dog to my face. Already my headache is wearing off.

Nitro pounces off of me, barking again as he scurries over to the exit door. He's right. I should go after Trenchcoat, before it's too late. I give Nitro one last hug before running back out again.

—

As the elevator doors open to the ground level, I sprint outside just in time to see the van reversing out of the parking lot. Racing over towards it before it drives off, I hop onto the narrow ledge at the back of the van and hold onto the handles of the doors. The engine revs and accelerates out of the car park and onto the main road. My clutch on the handle tightens and I hold on for dear life. From behind here, there's no way Trenchcoat man could tell I'm here unless he either gets out of the car and checks or someone else points out to him a stranger just hopped onto the back of his van. Luckily, none of those two happen. The van continues to move along the streets, and I continue to hold on at the back.

After ten minutes I already felt my hands start to slip and grow tired. But reminding myself that if I let go I'll not only die but my brother probably will as well. That's what gets me to wake up and fight against the pain. Soon, after about thirty more minutes the van pulls over beside a shed which is behind a giant warehouse. Finally, I let go of the handles, and when I do both my palms are swollen red with blisters. I flex my fingers to try to get the blood pumping through my hand again.

The van door opens. The Trenchcoat man must be getting out. I stay behind the van, holding my breath. Not making a single sound. There's some shuffling, inaudible mutters... The door shuts. Footsteps. But they're not coming from the Trenchcoat man — they're coming from someone else.

"Did you find her?" I hear a feminine voice ask.

"Wasn't home," comes a deeper voice. My eyes narrow. Trenchcoat man. "But I trashed up their little crummy apartment so when she does come back, she'll get our message."

I stifle back a gasp. My house is not crummy. It might be small and lack the proper sufficient air conditioning it needs but it's its own beautiful free-funded work of art.

"That's a shame, then." The girl replies. I hear the sound of rubber slapping skin — is she putting on a glove? "I guess we'll just have to move onto Plan B."

"Sounds good."

Then there's footsteps, growing fainter and fainter by the second. They're walking away. I swallow, wiping the sweat from my forehead — this time, not by the heat, but by the nerve wracking anxiety building up in me.

I don't know what the hell 'Plan B' is supposed to mean, but I know it's not good. I have to find a way to get in there, before me or my brother have the chance to find out.