Masquerade - The Complete First Novel

- 7 -

(Dakota)

I walk inside the house, as Anastasia raced to her room with her bags. I could hear her make a small noise to signal her anger. Something that makes me curl into a little ball.

I wonder what she said, probably about how I'm stupid.

Now that I look at it, I am. I'm so stupid. I can't read people like Ana can. I can't think like Ana. I can't take risks like Ana. I can't relax like Ana. I can't do anything like Ana. I am not Ana. I will never be Ana.

The knock on my door made me jump from my seat. "Get the door," I didn't move. I don't know why I just didn't. Ana grunted in anger, storming to the living room. "You know, you don't have to so selfish," she started to walk towards the door, "You look like I just clocked you in the face," three more knocks echo from the other side. "Hold on!" She turns around, swinging open the door.

"Dakota Lockwood?" I perk up from my place. A police officer stood at the door, greeting Ana. Ana changed, her furrowed shoulders relaxing as she flashes a smile that I could tell was fake.

"This is her residence, yes," he flashes her his badge and then puts it away quickly. Like detective Westbay. I wonder if they learned how to do that. Or is it just a routine?

"May I come in? I have some questions,"

"Yes, come in, Officer," Ana opens the door for him, stepping aside. He nods, walking in. I jump up from my chair as he turns to me, placing his hands behind his back.

"Dakota Lockwood?"

"Yes?" The quiver comes back.

"You own this house?"

"Yes, sir," Ana walks closer to me, standing next to my chair.

"What is this about, sir?" Ana asks politely. He places his foot forward but keeping his place.

"This is regarding the Fosters. Both of you will be placed on a watch list for harassment," I knew we would get caught. "You're lucky they didn't press charges," Ana rolled her eyes.

"We did nothing to them! We don't even know where they live!" I started to open my mouth but closed it. I know I couldn't do anything because I'm stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. That word started echoing in my head, over and over. Slowing turning me insane. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Dakota!" I snap out of my trance, looking at the officer, "What were you doing?" Crap. I have to go with Ana, or we will be in even more trouble.

"Yeah, we were here, hanging out," he narrowed his eyes, so I elaborated. "You know, watching TV," he raised an eyebrow, and Ana put her head in a hand. I'm so stupid. Of course, I messed up one of Ana's plans. Again.

"Technically, I can take you both in for lying to an officer of the law," he took a step forward, placing a hand on what I assume would only be a pair of handcuffs.

"Wait," Ana stepped forward, allowing me to sulk. "Officer," her eyes followed down to his badge, it seemed to have a black bar over his name, making Ana stop. She finally spoke, "You know, I lost someone too..." What was she doing? Was she finally telling the truth, or telling an elaborate lie?

"What do you mean?"

"They were very dear to me, they were..." she paused, looking away dramatically, "like family," she moved towards me, showing an expression I wasn't sure if it was real. There was a silence, as the officer started to slowly wear down over his fallen friend. He finally broke, something I believed an officer wouldn't do. His friend's death must have taken away something from him. Manhood, maybe? His ability to serve?

"He definitely was family," his eyes started to gloss over, trying to push back the tears. "He died in the line of fire," I sat there, awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. I mimic Ana who nods her head to every word he says. "In my..." He looks up, tears gone. "Look, I'll let this be a warning, just," he looks at me, "don't do anything illegal," I nod once gesturing to the door. He understands, grabbing something out from behind his back. "This was on your doorstep," he hands the skinny square to Ana, it wrapped with red wrapping paper and a black bow.

He leaves, letting us dwell over the mystery item. "What is it?" She ignores me, ripping open the rouge paper. The object shocked me. Something I thought I would never own. We opened the cover, seeing the proof inside: 'This Diary Belongs To: Clem Foster (Diary Two)'. I snatch it from her, feeling the violet leather underneath my fingers. "Who gave this to us?" She shrugged, snatching it back.

"So," I look at her.

"So?"

"What do we do now?" I guess our little argument has left her mind, I'm glad.

"Nothing left except to read it," She hands me back the book forcefully, actively going down the hallway.

"I guess I'll let you take care of that,"