[6] A Dangerous Mission

(Malory)

A depressed Ron appears through our classroom doors and sits in his respective seat –the one just in front of mine.

“He’s absent,” he says.

Why am I uneasy? Have I gotten so accustomed to being annoyed by Kyle that his absence is strange? The silence is refreshing, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it but... but what? But what, Malory?

But, Kyle is missing.

“Jeez,” I mutter. “What is up with him?”

***

Another day passes at Audrey Burkes and again, Davidson is absent. I should listen to the part of me saying to forget about him and keep enjoying the peace, but the bruise keeps reappearing in my mind.

“We had a biology assessment today, too,” Olivia frowns. “He missed it.”

I bite down on my chicken wing and rip the skin from the rest of the meat, chewing aggressively. “Strange...” I say, squinting.

***

The next day comes around, and still, there is no Kyle Davidson. Ron and I are in the middle of third period’s history class, and I can no longer handle the mystery. I stare at the back of Ron’s head as he slouches into his seat, sighing restlessly as the teacher speaks. I open my notebook to the back page and rip it out, scribbling a note and rolling it up to poke him on the shoulder with it. He reads, replies, and returns the page.

Still nothing? –M

No replies to messages, nothing. –R

Gosh... I’m a little worried –M

Only a little? –R

I... hope he’s not dead –M

Don’t make me pass out with such gruesome thoughts –R

We have to do something about this –M

Like what? –R

I don’t know. I don’t know what I can do about it. I spend the rest of the history class thinking and thinking... about what the hell I should do. Then the school bell brings me an idea. Our history teacher finishes up her lesson and leaves with a polite “Good morning, everyone,” and Ron swings around in his seat to face me. My mouth curls slowly into a huge Cheshire cat smile. Ron gets the chills.

“I can’t read your mind. Spill whatever’s going on in your head right now... that... look is making me nervous.”

“I have an idea.”

There’s one person who I know for sure would be a complete pushover if I had to ask him to get any information at all on anything –especially if it was classified.

Justin Dean.

***

Lunch rolls in and I’m off to the school’s newsroom faster than the freshmen are to the cafeteria on an average day. I walk cheerily into the room to find a thin, tall guy, sitting on a moss green couch in the corner of the room, tapping away on his laptop. He has the same gigantic, baby blue glasses over his eyes that he’d managed to keep well-maintained since we were both freshmen. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. He seems like that kind of guy who would keep his personal belongings spotless.

“Dean,” I say, smirking as I approach him. He looks up and stops tapping, fixing his glasses and squinting up at me for a second.

“Lloyd,” he acknowledges. “It’s been a while since you’ve last acknowledged my existence.”

That’s true. I haven’t spoken to this kid since last year. I used to help out in the newsroom, sometimes and he was always a big part of news production. Then he went off into the Science class and I ended up in Humanities. We’re only genius acquaintances, now.

I’d come to know of his special abilities in first year. This kid is a human computer. I knew he was going to come in handy someday. Fortunately for me, being someone who always thinks three steps ahead, I had managed to get some “dirt” on him that would allow me to pull some of his strings if I ever needed to.

“I am aware of the fact,” I reply with a smile.

“What can I do you for?” He asks, melodramatically.

“I need to find someone,” I say. I don’t exactly know how to elaborate on that.

“And?”

“And I don’t know how to hack into the school’s system where they keep all the information about addresses, but you do,” I finish.

He smirks. “You do know that it’s like... illegal to do that, though, right?”

Of all the times he could have chosen to be a smartass he had to choose now?

“Now’s not the time to be a smartass, Justin Dean. I need the address of a classmate of yours. It’s an emergency.”

He raises a brow. “Davidson, by chance?”

“Yes. Davidson.”

“What’s going on with him? Our teachers are going crazy trying to get answers out of those big brain goodies in class since he’s not around to do all the work for everyone else.”

I had a feeling that would have been the case. Behind Dean’s distracting voice, I can see him trying to focus on closing off tabs on his laptop screen, and I know exactly what he’s trying to hide.

“That’s what I’m planning to find out,” I said.

“What are you going to offer me in return for this assistance?” He asks, smugly.

I smirk. “I’ll keep your secret.”

He scoffs at me. “What secret?”

I pull out my phone and wave it in front of him. “I’ve been saving this blackmail for a rainy day. You wouldn’t want me to sell you out about what you’ve actually been doing on the computer when you used to skip periods of work under the excuse of ‘writing articles for tomorrow’s print’” I chuckle, “would you?”

His smug look fades. He whispers. “Fine. I get to erase your blackmail, though. That’ll be my payment.”

This kid must think me stupid. I have another copy of it on my computer at home. In fact, I have an entire folder of blackmail content that I can use against any one of the seniors. I’m incredibly slick. Don’t ask why I’ve done it. I’ve just learnt how to be the one to always win.

“After you give me Kyle’s current address. Deal?”

“...Deal,” he says, reluctantly. “I’ll give you the address hopefully by the end of tomorrow.”

The end of tomorrow?

“Psh, I’m sure you can do better than that.”

“Of course I can,” he says, confidently, “but the Information Technology teachers would know someone is hacking into the system while we’re all here during school hours. I’ll wait for them to leave first.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Thanks, Justin.” I turn to leave.

“Oh! Wait, Malory?” He calls suddenly.

“Yerrrr?” I utter as I turn to him again.

“Is it true that you and Davidson got the leading roles for the A.F play?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Truth is I was a bit sceptical about letting anyone involved in the school press in on the business between Davidson and me, but I don’t need to worry about Dean. I still have a good case against him.

I inhale slowly. “Unfortunately.”

He shudders. “Sheesh. How’s that working out for the two of ya?”

Horrible. Terrible. I want to throw myself off a cliff. I want to shove a moving chainsaw down my throat. I want to deliberately bang my head a hundred times on a wall. I want to donate all my blood to someone in need and just give up the ghost.

“Well... it appears Kyle has gone missing for almost a week,” I say. “I’ll say it’s working out pretty well for me. But now I need to find him. That’s not the good part in my opinion, but I must. I’m not letting Kyle Davidson ruin my final year of theatre at Audrey Burkes. He has to be a part of it and neither of us have a choice but to participate and to do well.”

“Was this Beverly’s decision?”

I nod once. “Bev’s decision.”

He grimaces. “Go figures. I’ll get you the address. Do you want a phone number as well?”

Do I?

No I do not.

What would I do with Kyle Davidson’s phone number?

To hell with the thought of calling that fool.

“No, I’ll get it from Ron if I really need it. But thanks, anyway. Just the address is fine.”

***

I walk into the cafeteria, back to Olivia and Ron who were seated at a table. They cease the conversation once they notice me. I take a seat beside Olivia.

Ron raises his brow, “So?”

I take a deep breath in and pause, keeping them waiting in anticipation. I smirk. “I’ll have Kyle’s address by tomorrow evening.”

Olivia sighs in relief. “How do you do it, Malory?”

I put on a narrator’s voice and begin the story of my life. “Most people hoard pictures or music; Miss Malory M.V. Lloyd hoards blackmail.”

“M.V?” Ron asks, puzzled.

“Her middle names. She’s never revealed them to anyone –not even to me!” Olivia insists.

Ron laughs. “You’re ridiculous! A genius, but absolutely ridiculous!”

“Thank me later,” I say, flipping my pitch black hair and silver streak, dramatically.

“So,” Olivia says, with a gesture of her hands, “What’s the plan once you’ve gotten the address?”

“Well, obviously to go over there and fetch him myself.”

My best friend looks at me pointedly. “Malory, don’t be stupid.”

“What?” I ask, innocently.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit... dangerous to go somewhere you’ve never been to before? Alone? You don’t know where that place is... what the neighbourhood is like... And when are you planning to go anyway? After school tomorrow? What if he’s not home when you get there? There are so many factors you need to consider.”

“What if you bump into his uncle?” Ron pitches in.

I squint at him. “I thought you said his uncle was flying out.”

“I did say that but Kyle hasn’t replied to me in days so I don’t know if he’s left yet or not.”

“So what are we going to do, then?” I ask wearily, shrugging.

“We’ll all go. The three of us.”

Brilliant plan, Olivia. So your parents can further blame me for dragging you into messy situations and being a bad example. They seem to already think I’m not ‘Christian’ enough. They probably talk about me like I’m one of those “rebellious” kids.

“Hell no. We don’t have transport for the three of us,” I say, turning to her, “and your parents will lock you in your room the minute they hear you’re planning to step outside to go anywhere just like that.”

“And my mom would be sceptical about it, too. Usually if I have something to do she gets at least a heads up two days before,” Ron says, clenching his teeth in frustration.

I gesture towards him pointedly. “See? Whereas my mom is out of the country, so there’s really no protesting for me, and I know how to fight. I can handle myself.”

“I still think it’s a really bad idea to go alone,” Olivia says, nervously.

“Hey, the way I see it, if something happens to me, I won’t have to do the play with Kyle Davidson.” I poke the side of my forehead twice. “Think positive.” I steal a potato wedge from Olivia’s plate and shove it into my mouth, chewing with a smile.

***

Friday finally arrives. Rehearsals are over and I stand with Ron and Olivia at the entrance doors of the auditorium.

“Don’t you have to be at work in about an hour?” Olivia asks me.

“I spoke to Nadine about the situation with my play, a while back. Friday’s work has been handed over to another part timer for the while, so I’ll be free on Friday evenings completely. What joy!” I say, sarcastically.

“Can I see the paper again?” she asked.

I fumble into my jeans pocket to pull the slip of paper with Kyle’s address on it. I hand it to her.

“Millennium Lane...” I let the name escape my lips for the first time. “Sounds fancy. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Me either...” Ron says.

“Same...” Olivia adds.

“I’ll have to take a taxi to get there,” I tell them.

“Keep your phone close,” Olivia says, going off on an anxious tantrum. “Call immediately if there’s trouble. In fact, have both Ron and me on speed dial.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, mom.”

“Be safe,” she adds.

I leave, walking up the sidewalk from the school compound to get to the main road where I would be sure to find a taxi.

***

I exit the taxi and take a look at my surroundings. I’d never been to this place before.

There’s a white concrete sign that reads ‘Millennium Lane’ in letters painted in gold. A tall cream wall surrounds the compound and there’s a guard booth connecting a large automatic gate to the walls. The gate appears to be the only way into the compound. I walk towards it.

This... doesn’t look anything like a gang’s neighbourhood...

Looks more like a gated community for rich people.

Huh.

I stop at the guard booth, where the middle-aged security looks down at me with polite smile plastered over his face.

“Good evening, Miss,” he says.

I swallow hard.

Why am I so nervous?

“Good evening, sir. I’m here to see Kyle Davidson.”

Does Kyle really live in a place like this? How rich could his uncle possibly be?

“Oh!” the guard says, surprised. “That young man has never had a guest of his own before. You must be a school friend?”

He’s never had a guest over? I don’t understand... Should I even be here, then? Ugh, and I’m not his friend.

“Yes, sir.” I reply with a broad smile.

“Go on right in, then,” he says to me. “Walk straight along the sidewalk, He’s at house number eight.”

With the flip of a switch, the automatic gate opens and I’m able to walk right in.

Wasn’t he going to ask me for my name or something? Wasn’t he supposed to keep a record of who goes in and out? Why did he let me in so easily? Is this how these gated communities actually work? I guess the security here isn’t really as tight as people who aren’t rich or live in these kinds of places expect it to be. Why did he let me in knowing Kyle doesn’t usually have visitors?

I thank him and look around the compound as I walk down the sidewalk, next to the perfectly paved road.

All the houses in the compound are larger than life. The compound inhabits a large golf course, and each house shelters at least two or three cars –judging only from the houses I could see through that weren’t surrounded by opaque walls. There are seniors playing golf in the distance, and some driving their golf carts. There is a pond shaped like a heart, and a beautifully built shed nearby to it where I personally would love to have a barbeque. All the tension in my body disperses and I shove my phone into my pocket.

There’s no need to feel like I could be threatened –or at least it doesn’t feel that way at all.

Finally I spot a large, nude-coloured house with two separate balconies. The balcony on the second floor is smaller than the balcony on the third floor –which is basically the roof. The rails of these balconies are adorned with glimmering bronze tiles. The accent colours of the house are monochromatically matching the nude colour of the paint. I can’t see much of the first floor –this house is blocked by one of those opaque walls.

There are cameras at the front gate. There’s a mailbox on the wall that reads “#8”.

I’d reached my destination. I ring the doorbell three times and wait. There is no response for quite some time. I ring the bell again.

Again, I receive no response.

I turn towards the golf course in frustration. “Jeez, Davidson! Are you sleeping or something? Seriously why do you have a doorbell if you don’t answer when it ri-”

-A hand holding a piece of cloth appears from behind me and covers my mouth. I panic. My heartbeat speeds up. I could feel my breaths becoming laboured. The first thing I notice when I process what has happened is that there is nothing that can drug me in the cloth; it is completely dry.

Still, the strange, long arms pull me into the house through the small doorway in the automatic gate. I send my elbow back to hit the person in their abdomen but I hit the metal instead and groan into the cloth, painfully, as my elbow begins to throb. I scream, but there’s no one who can possibly hear me. The arms don’t let go of me. Instead, I feel myself being pulled backwards until the metal door is kicked shut.