The Boy from the Treehouse | ✓

Chapter Twenty Five

Angela was in shame. She refused to tell her mom what she had been doing in the backroom, and Mrs. Grodberg probably assumed the worst. Her mother had yelled and screamed at her, trying to get Angela to confess what was going on. When Angela’s lips remained sealed, she was given an old-fashioned punishment and told to sit in the corner of the living room in a time out. The Grodbergs had already assumed Angela would sneak out from her bedroom.

It was miserable to sit in time out. That was a child's punishment. Angela fumed for about an hour, glaring at her parents anytime they walked across her line of vision. They ignored her. They gave her a peanut butter sandwich to eat for a late lunch and then left her there for several more hours. “When you tell us what you’ve been doing lately, you can leave the corner,” Mrs. Grodberg had declared.

It looked like Angela would be sitting there forever then. All she could think about was how Scott’s time was running out, and she was being treated like a baby. Her parents had no idea. She was trying to save someone’s life!

She occupied her mind with furious tirades she would use on them, suddenly remembering why she had been so angry at her parents just a few days previously. Scott was out there, his clock ticking… He should be waiting in the treehouse, at least, if he kept his promise.

Angela ate an early dinner and was sent to bed. “Don't sneak out,” her mom warned.

“We’ll be checking on you,” her dad said.

Angela scowled and stomped up to her bedroom. She slammed the door behind her, even knowing her parents would just get angrier at her for it. She threw herself upon her bed and gave a muffled groan into her pillow. What could she do now? Scott only had a few hours left and Angela felt like she had wasted that time. Was he in his treehouse, even now? She peered out of her window. The sun was beginning to set, and she could still see the neat structure.

Even as she wondered what she could possibly do when confined to her room, Angela heard footsteps outside of her bedroom. The door opened and her dad poked his head open. “Still here?” he asked.

“Still here,” Angela repeated, staring at him hard.

He sighed and came in. “Why don't you tell us what's going on?”

“Who said anything is going on?” Angela asked.

“Angela, we’re not dumb.”

No, they were a little too smart for her taste. She was the dumb one. Angela may have been book smart, but she always knew she lacked what Chloe termed “street smarts.”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Angela said moodily.

“Try us,” he dared.

She stared at him, wanting to trust him with her secret, but she didn’t know if she could. If she told her dad and he didn't believe her, she would definitely be prevented from leaving the house. With Scott’s life in the balance, she couldn't stay here.

It would be so nice to tell him, though.

Angela stared stoically ahead until her dad sighed and left the room. She felt strangely sad about him giving up. But she had her reasons, and maybe he would believe her, but she couldn't take the risk of him not doing so.

The hours passed by slowly. Angela took a shower and climbed into bed. However, in her closet a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and her tennis shoes were laid out. Angela willed the time to pass faster, and stared at her clock until the LED numbers blurred in the dark. Her parents kept checking on her, and every time they did, she pretended to be asleep. Her body was tensed under the covers, but she kept her breath even. Angela couldn’t have slept even if she tried. Her sense of dread increased with every minute, until she wanted to curl up in a ball and shut the world out forever. Something was happening outside, she knew.

Her parents thankfully went to sleep earlier than they usually would. She crept out of her room and saw the dark house, even going so far as to sneak down to hear her dad snoring. It was ten o’clock. Angela quickly went back to her room and placed some stuffed animals under the bed covers to imitate her body and changed into the clothes she had already set out. She climbed out of her window, reflecting that it was an easy thing to do now.

Afraid of what she would find, Angela ran to the treehouse. She didn't hesitate at all, practically jumping up the trunk. A sense of urgency propelled her movements.

She poked her head up the hole, but the treehouse was empty.

Angela took a deep breath. Scott’s rugs and books were still there. Were they stolen too? That wasn't the time to think about that, though. If he wasn't here then he was heading toward his murderer -- or he was already with his murderer.

No. She refused to think she was too late.

Angela scurried back down the ladder and paced in front of the trunk. Think, she urged herself. But her brain kept coming up blank. She couldn't think, too panicked. Angela told herself to be calm, that this was the worst time to lose her wits, but soon her breathing was accelerating at a worrisomely rapid pace.

She cast her eyes frantically around, looking for a clue as to Scott’s whereabouts. He had left. Okay. Somehow he would end up in the bayou, but the news report had implied that where he was found wasn't where he was killed. So where did he go?

He had some sort of aversion to the bookstore. Or maybe he just didn't want Angela to go to the bookstore, if he had sold The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to the man there and he didn't want Angela to see it there. He didn't ever show up at Miss Agreste’s again. The last time was when he had seen Angela in the backroom.

The… the backroom. She suddenly recalled the second vision she had in that backroom: of Miss Agreste talking to someone on the phone. Why had she seen that? What purpose of fate or destiny or whatever it was that ordained Angela experiencing these things?

Two voices came to her as strongly as the ghosts of the past Angela had been seeing. A French accented voice saying, “Maybe that's why we broke up” and a deeper male voice saying, “I used to love that woman. We broke up not long after this affair.”

Angela broke into a run. They had dated. Mabelle Agreste and Raymond had dated. And tonight, they would be together again. She didn't exactly know what this meant, but she now had a destination.

Angela was sprinting across the darkness, her legs pumping furiously, adrenaline carrying her, when a black figure came out from behind a tree. Angela crashed into it before she could stop herself, and she screamed briefly before a hand was clapped over her mouth, smothering her shriek.

Would she die tonight too?

Now we're talking business!

Song: Devil's Backbone (by The Civil Wars)