Up With The Birds

Chapter 4

Today is Saturday, and I'm so thankful. I really need some time to relax and get control of my emotions.

Rain patters against the window. Grey clouds circle the atmosphere outside of my window. I can't hear anybody else moving in the house. Everyone must be asleep. I check my reflection in the mirror. All I have on is a sports bra and some spandex. My hair is in a bedraggled bun on my head. But I don't really mind - it's not like there's somebody around to notice me.

Silently, I tiptoe down the stairs towards the kitchen. The clock on our oven reads 7:30. I can hear my dad snoring in the room beside mine. On the table, papers are scattered and a few are stained with coffee. I go to investigate.

It's my Dad's case files. I can't believe he's onto a case so early into the move. I know I shouldn't snoop, but I can't help but read the papers. And I start to regret that I did.

The very first few I read are about Dakota Rider. I wonder why he's still researching Rider - I mean, he's dead. Then I realize why. The next papers are lists of where his connections and accomplices are located. A shiver goes through my body. Rider has four suspected accomplices in London.

A knock on my window gets my attention before I can read about who they are. I jump back, clutching the wall behind me in fear. Outside the window, I see a man in a raincoat. I run over to the cabinets and grab a knife, poising it at the person outside. They lower their hood, and I see that it's just Chris.

Let me in, he mouths with a smile.

I slide open the door in our kitchen, and he drags his soaked body in.

"God, Chris," I whisper furiously. "I'm glad you know how to invite yourself in." Chris laughs quietly.

"Sorry, Lana. I just felt like paying you a visit." He puts his raincoat on a coat rack and shakes out his blonde curls. Water flies everywhere, as if he were a dog. He moves his attention to the papers on the table. "What's this?" he asks, leafing through the files.

"Cut it out!" I command, smacking his wrist. "Those are my dad's case files - he's a detective. You can't read them."

"Is that why you guys moved all the way out here?" Chris questions. I can't believe this topic got brought up. I don't want to tell him the origins of why we came here. That's not how you make a fresh start. But I can't lie to him. Chris seems to be one of the only true friends I'll find around here.

"It is," I say. "Do you want some coffee?" I ask, trying to change the topic.

"You Americans and your coffee. I don't get it. Sure, we do enjoy a good mug of coffee here in London, but as you probably know, we're more of tea drinkers. But sure, I'll take a cup." I turn around to brew a pot of coffee, and I hear the papers rustling. 

"I told you not to mess with those!" I chide him, whipping my head around.

"Sorry! I just couldn't help but notice the name Dakota Rider." He moves away from the table, his hands behind his back.

"You've heard of him?" I ask, shocked.

"Of course I have!" Chris confirms. "His murderous group has gotten a lot of publicity, even here in London. They say that he even has some people here in our own town. It's pretty ominous. But I heard he got shot. Why is your dad after a dead man?" 

As the coffee drips into the pot, I invite Chris to sit down on the coach with me. "It's a long, but short story," I tell Chris.

"I have time," he replies.

"Okie-dokie then... I guess I'll start with pretty much all that I know. My dad was pretty renown as a detective back in Indiana, and the bureau assigned him to the task of tracking down Dakota Rider. I'm not really sure what all went down in my dad's search, but somehow Rider found out where we lived. One day, he showed up at our house and was holding me there as a short of ransom, threatening to shoot me. Then he hit the floor. My dad was unarmed, but apparently my mom wasn't. She saved our lives. And now we're here. That's all."

"That sounds bloody awful!" Chris exclaims. "I'm so sorry that you went through that. No wonder you've moved so far away. Are you sure you're perfectly fine?"

"Yeah," I say. "I mean, I guess I'm still a little paranoid every now and then, but I'm not traumatized or anything." The coffee maker beeps, and I pour us both drinks. "Come on, let's go to my room."

Chris looks at me bewildered. "That's an... odd request, seeing as you're half-naked," he says awkwardly. 

"Ack!" I gasp. "I am so so so sorry Chris, I didn't eve realize what I was wearing! I'll put on some pajamas when we get up there." 

"Only if you really want to, " he says with a smirk as we head to my room.