Florence
Chaos didn’t even begin to describe that next morning. It was somewhere around eight o’clock, and we were barely packed. After our night out for dinner, we’d come home late and had a night off from our relentless training. Steven watched a movie downstairs with Erik, and I retreated to my room to curl up with a book. No one was thinking of packing our bags the night before, just to be organized.
Currently, Steven was running around the house with a rather large checklist. He’d somehow managed to find old maps of the Yellowstone area, they were archived in the recesses of an old library, and were expensively mailed over. Due to the state and age of the paper, he needed to find separate tubes to put them all in. Next, he needed to pack his medical kit, the tranquilizers and trackers for Erik and I, and hiking gear for when he had to come and pick us up. After that, he needed to pack his own clothes and personal belongings, hence the long list.
Erik had come into town with little in the way of personal items, so his one small duffel bag was packed in less than ten minutes. He’d been spending the morning going over some of the details with me, like how exactly we’d find Kyle once we were on Yellowstone soil.
After that plan was solidified, I had a chance to pack a bag of my stuff, which was fairly easy. All I needed was a few outfits, toiletries, and a book or two for the ride.
To make matters worse, the doorbell rang. I could hear Steven cursing upstairs, before he yelled down for me to grab the door. Erik didn’t move from the kitchen, so I was left to welcome our unknown guest.
The said guest was impatient, for not a few seconds later they rang the doorbell again.
“Hold your horses,” I sighed, unlocking the bolt and opening the stiff door.
The lady outside was vaguely familiar, though a name didn’t jump to mind immediately. She was an elderly woman, dressed in a crisp lilac dress and small heels. Her hands fluttered at her hips, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles there. Her expression was that of distaste, and her narrowed eyes combed over my person before meeting my gaze and offering a small smile.
“Hello, you must be-” she left the sentence open and hanging.
“Florence,” I reminded her. “I don’t think we’ve met before Mrs. Priskett.” I’d heard a lot about Steven’s nosy neighbor.
“Is Steven home?”
“I’m afraid he’s a little busy right now, can I pass on a message?” I was still standing in the house, with the door open a few feet so that we could converse. Mrs. Priskett tried to peer over my shoulder to see if Steven was somehow lurking in the background.
The eyes were narrowed once again as they looked at me in disdain. “That is unfortunate. I wanted to enquire about the ruckus that was going on. I had half a mind to involve the police, and perhaps they’d discover that refugee you’ve been hiding.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I apologise for the noise, it’ll be quiet in no time. Steven and I are just going on a road trip for a week or so, and we’ve yet to finish packing. The refugee you are referring to is my cousin,” I lied smoothly. “He’s coming on the trip as well. We’re visiting family in the South.”
Mrs. Priskett looked unconvinced, and her mouth was set in a line of disapproval.
“Very well then,” she admitted at last, recognizing that she could say no more.
“Goodbye Mrs. Priskett,” I stepped inside and clicked the door closed, rather rudely, in her face. The woman irritated me so easily, with her prim appearance and proper attitude. Hell, even her name got on my nerves.
