𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞〚𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 〛

Chapter 4

Delilah had to hand it to John B. 

Perhaps his house was a mess and perhaps he fooled around more than he should, but the guy was a gentleman. He gave Kiara his room, Delilah the guest room, and slept on the couch. 

The night had been rough and sleep quickly called for her, which was exceptional considering she was sleeping in someone else's house. 

The girl had been awake for some time when she heard banging on the front door. Yawning, she peeked through the curtains, immediately backing away when seeing the sheriff's truck.

"Take a deep breath, my girl," she coached herself, calming her wildly beating heart. "You did nothing wrong."

When certain that her breathing was steady enough so it wouldn't betray her, she pushed open the bedroom door and tiptoed out into the hallway. 

Pressing herself against the wall, she could clearly hear the conversation going on at the entrance.

"You skimmin' just above the surface, John B. Now, down here is foster care, juvie. Pretty big drop for a smart kid like you. Up here is you and your little friends doing whatever you want. Outer Banks... or foster care on the mainland. You one inch above the surface, John B. If I was you, I'd start flappin' my wings." 

The Sheriff's voice wasn't threatening, it was rather calm. Yet the underlying warning was clearly visible. 

"Now, you sure you didn't come across a wreck yesterday?"

"Yeah." John B's response was nearly immediate. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"It's better if you didn't, understand?" She turned to leave, but hesitated. "I got dogs living better than this, John B. You might wanna think about cleanin' up."

On those words, she left, leaving John B to bang his head against the wall. 

Delilah took a few steps forward and leaned her shoulder against the door frame. "She's not wrong, you know."

The boy jumped.

"You could use a hand to clean up," she said, grabbing a few bottles and throwing them in a box she labelled as recycling.

Wordlessly, John B got to work.

"I don't think anyone would have blamed you for telling the sheriff about the wreck," she said, searching for a broom.

"JJ would've," he muttered. "That's all that matters. We need to talk to the others. We can't go search for the wreck, not with the sheriff watching me this closely."

Delilah blew on her hair, trying to keep it out of her eyes. "Not that I don't want to be there, but I have to go back home, at least for a short while."

He nodded. "Okay, see you later, then."

John B was not very discreet about the dismissal but Delilah took no offense. He needed to be alone, she could see as much. 

Kiara was still sleeping, but a walk back to Figure Eight wasn't the end of the world. 

She set off, trying to remember exactly what road to take. 

Perhaps a short walk wasn't the end of the world, but under the boiling sun with very little wind to cool her off, it sure felt like it. Exhausted and drenched with sweat, after several miss-turns, Delilah finally made it home. 

Without her mind commanding them to, her feet carried her to the back of her aunt and uncle's mansion, where was hidden a garage. The garage Scooter had rented. 

The sheriff's visit had bothered her more than she realized. Why was that wreck so important? What did it hide? 

A loud crash echoed through the yard, startling her out of her train of thoughts. The sheriff's visit had left her on edge, such a fact was proven when she stuck to the shadows, hoping that her uncle had decided to clean out the garage. 

But when a string of curse words reached her ears, she was not credible enough to entertain such hopes. Her uncle could barely mumble a single curse word without blushing like mad and apologizing. 

Her eyes raked over the scene unfolding before her. Two men dressed completely in black, with body-guard like forms were throwing the whole garage upside down. They paid particular attention to a certain corner of the shack, where Scooter's personal objects still stood. 

Delilah frowned. Something was definitely wrong with this whole affair. 

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of the shadows, composing herself a stern expression. "What is going on here?"

Their backs stiffened, glancing towards each other in silent consultation. They hadn't been expecting someone to catch them. They weren't prepared. 

And it nearly caused her death.

"He said no witnesses," said one of them, reaching for his gun.

Guns! Why hadn't she seen them before? 

Cursing her own stupidity she ran for the house, her quick response making it impossible for them to shoot her without leaving some evidence behind. 

She slammed the door shut behind her, breathing heavily.

"Alright," she muttered, looking up to the ceiling. "No power, no phone, no way of contacting the sheriff or my aunt and uncle. Who else..."

She nearly cried out in victory at the sight of the smoke detector. 

Seeing the men at the window, she bolted for the cupboard, grabbing a lighter and setting fire to a piece of paper. 

The door shook, the repercussions echoing through the kitchen. 

Climbing unto the table with a flaming paper in hand was not the safest thing she had ever done. She waved the paper under the fire alarm, watching the door with fearful eyes. 

How far were they willing to go? 

A blazing alarm was her only response. 

She yelped as the flames bit her fingers, dropping the paper to the ground and stomping on it until the flames choked. The door did not move. Shadows passed by the window, making her turn and watch as the men ran. 

Adrenaline leaving her, she slid unto the ground.

"What have I gotten myself into?"

The door handle was tried and despite herself, Delilah sucked in a sharp breath.

"Is anyone there?" yelled a voice, trying to get heard over the alarm. "Where is the fire?"

Running a hand through her hair, Delilah prepared herself for whoever stood on the other side of the door. As soon as the door was unlocked, it was shoved open, revealing worried neighbors.

"What happened?" they frantically asked.

She just shook her head. "I... I don't know."