𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.
❝ UM... ALLISON
YOUR BROTHER
ALMOST KILLED
ME WITH A KNIFE. ❞
in which allison's best friend
visits her after finding out her
father dies and manages to catch
the attention of number two.
(chapter twenty.) yeah, you're not taking care of me ❝ YOU'RE REALLY BAD AT BABYSITTING. REALLY. ❞
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☂
PARIS SAT NEXT TO DIEGO ON THE STEPS OF THE HOUSE DIEGO BROUGHT them at. After waking up and finding a single note that simply said, "Stay with Diego" and Paris, feeling a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, had nothing to do but follow after Diego, who is his babysitter for today.
"Yeah, you're not taking care of me," Paris had told Diego when they both read the note Poet left behind. "You're really bad at babysitting. Really. I can see from the fact that you keep forgetting I'm right here and only remember me when you think of my aunt."
Diego only rolled his eyes at his comment.
Turning to glance over his shoulder when he heard a door closing, Paris came across a woman who smiled confusedly at him and then looked over his shoulder to only let out a sigh when she saw Diego lying on the floor.
"What the hell?" She let out. Paris looked around awkwardly, asking whoever where the hell his aunt was at. "Who'd you piss off this time? And also, why is there a kid with you?"
"I gave it as good as I got," Diego answered. "This is Paris, Poet's nephew. Paris, this is Patch, you can call her Eudora if you want. It pisses her off."
"Oh, Poet's nephew, nice to meet you," Patch smiled at him and he gave a curt wave with a small smile on his face. "But you didn't answer my question."
Diego sat up, grabbing the cup Patch gave him. Paris groaned quietly, his stomach growling with hunger.
"How's all that paperwork coming along?" Diego asked. Paris walked backwards without the two noticing and sped away to whatever place he could see. He came back as quietly as he could, eating a hamburger and drinking soda. He also had a bag of donuts in the other hand. He had a fast metabolism.
"It's a real page-turner," Patch replied before staring at the boy with a confused look when he noticed the food and how fast he devoured it. "I've got two guys in children's masks, rare bullet casings, a random fingerprint from a 1930s cold case, and... I just learned that the tow truck driver from the doughnut shop didn't have any family."
"The boy."
"Not his, apparently," she sighed. "Kid's our only possible witness and he's a complete mystery."
"Jesus," Paris let out, munching on his burger as he listened to the woman's words closely. "Aunt Poet would've loved listening to this."
