Lola and the Menacing Machine

Chapter 7: The House of Daniels

Detective Harris rubbed his tired eyes, the lines on his forehead deepening as he stared at the report in front of him. It had been a long morning, and the usual tranquility of this small town was now punctuated with an unsolved case that made no sense. In a place where everyone knew each other's business, where the biggest scandal was Old Mrs. Thompkins' cat getting stuck on a roof, a mystery like this was almost unheard of. Gupil's disappearance and suspected death were turning the town upside down.

Harris sighed heavily, casting a glance at his young partner, Daniels. Daniels was twenty-six, lanky, with glasses that were always slightly askew, and he wore his nervous energy like a second skin. Right now, he was hunched over, deep in thought, his lips pursed as he processed the details of the case.

"So, what do you think?" Harris finally asked, breaking the silence.

Daniels jumped slightly at the sudden question, adjusting his glasses with jittery fingers. Harris had noticed this habit-Daniels always startled when pulled from deep thought, as if his mind had traveled far away.

"W-well," Daniels stammered, a blush creeping up his neck. He straightened his posture, tugged at his department-issued blazer, and launched into his analysis. "It's hard as it may be to believe a teenager like Puff, especially with his record-underage drinking, graffiti, theft, experimenting with pot." Daniels' voice steadied as he spoke, finding his rhythm.

"But," he emphasized, "I believe his story to some extent. If you're wondering why... it's simple. He confessed despite knowing he'd get in trouble. His desperation to find his friend was genuine, and, well, the kid did collapse into a coma for two days." Daniels' eyes lit up with the fervor of a scholar presenting a thesis.

Harris couldn't help but smile at his partner's enthusiasm. Watching a self-proclaimed nerd dive into a mystery was oddly satisfying.

Daniels continued, "I suggest we check the school's surveillance footage to see if it backs Puff's claims, before we investigate the new family. Whatever happened could happen again, and soon."

The school's administration was surprisingly cooperative, as they too were spooked by the incident. They confirmed Puff's account of events and handed over footage of the boys' last mischievous hours on campus. The city's street cameras revealed the sleek, ominous car driving through town. It wasn't long before Harris and Daniels identified the sellers: two sketchy figures who owned a nearby car lot. But their next destination was the Daniels' family mansion.

As they approached the towering, modern estate nestled in the upscale neighbourhood, Harris let out a low whistle. The mansion was an architectural marvel, with sprawling glass panels and intricate stonework. Harris had known this area was for the elite, but this house took wealth to another level.

"Jesus, Daniels," he muttered, shaking his head. "The rich think differently. Look, they leave their cars right out in the open." Despite the community's safety, Harris felt that the car deserved a more secure spot, if only to match the mansion's grandeur.

A maid dressed in a pristine black-and-white uniform opened the door and led them into an opulent waiting room. Harris felt out of place amid the gleaming chandeliers, plush velvet sofas, and artwork that probably cost more than his house. His eyes widened as he took in the surroundings, whispering a soft "woah" under his breath.

Footsteps approached, and the entire Daniels family entered the room. Before Harris could introduce himself, a little girl in pigtails dashed forward, her face lighting up as she saw Daniels.

"Uncle Daniels!" she squealed, throwing herself into his arms.

Harris did a double take, feeling his knees weaken. "WHAT?! You're that Daniels?" he spluttered. "The Daniels Daniels?"

Daniels flushed, muttering something about family ties he'd neglected to mention, but Harris was too stunned to respond. The embarrassment was quickly forgotten as they got to work.

Maisey Daniels, a poised seventeen-year-old with dark hair pinned in an elegant twist, was composed but visibly irritable. She wore a designer blouse tucked into perfectly tailored slacks, the epitome of preppy sophistication. Her little sister, Lola, wore a floral sundress, her eyes wide with the kind of childish wonder that only a six-year-old could pull off.

They recounted the details. Maisey hadn't taken the car for repairs, hadn't noticed any damage, and seemed unnerved by her little sister's claim about seeing blood and a finger. "It's probably just her imagination," Maisey said, rolling her eyes.

Harris was skeptical. "If she's that imaginative, she should be in therapy," he muttered under his breath, glad no one heard.

As the sun set, Harris studied the car parked outside. He examined a faint scratch that almost seemed to pulse under the dim light. A cold sensation prickled down his spine. He felt eyes on him, but when he looked up, no one was there. Shivering, he hurried back to his car, anxious to leave this unsettling place.