"Troubles?"

Bain:

Casually walking in, tossing my carry-on at the door as the lights slowly came to life on a dimmer switch, triggered by movement at the switch panel.

“Modest with a touch of “Suck my Dick”.” Laughing dryly, grabbing the bottle of Jameson, popping the pour spout with a hefty chug as the bottle of Everclear called to me.

“This will do.” Swigging the Jameson, smashing the photos with my fist as the cherry blossom caught my intrigue.

“Elicia would like that.” Plucking the photo from the wall as her fresh rain scent lingered at the last door to the left, pushing open the cracked door with the Everclear bottle.

No fingerprints.

Mama didn’t raise no fool.

Laughing at the simple blue and cream décor, skimming through her drawers not finding anything of my liking, dumping the Everclear along the furniture and bedding. Chucking the bottle at the picture of MC and Bailey hugging her with bright smiles.

“You’ll all pay for this.” Grabbing the lighter from my pocket, burning the edge of the photo as their faces contorted and charred as the orange and yellow flames crawled along the paper.

Turning sharply on my heel as the alcohol ignited with a rushing “woosh” and a heavy wave of intense heat, listening to the pops and cracks echo along the hallway.
Buzz…buzz…

Looking at my smartwatch.

“Here.” Smiling wickedly as the flames crawled and danced along the walls, producing a heavy cloud of blackish smoke.

Grabbing my bag from the front door, checking one last time as the walls charred darkly with soot, feeling as the fire sucked the oxygen from the atmosphere. Quickly exiting with a few coughs through my bent elbow, waving away the smoky fog as the door creaked and buckled under the heat that was collecting behind the solid oak barrier.

“Burn, Baby, Burn.” Laughing darkly, sliding back into the Mercedes with a quick look around the quiet neighborhood, pulling out calmly as the heavy smoke began to escape from the shattered windows in the back.

Heading back to the Fine Arts as the rearview mirror, began to fill with flashing lights and on-lookers as the traffic moved along smoothly.

Reaching the school faster than I planned as Elias Nightshade rushed out the building soaked in blood, carrying a lifeless Elicia in his arms as he skipped down the stairs. Disappearing into the parked Rover, but the Rover stayed frozen as loud screams and growls, erupted from the open glass doors.

Jogging up the stairs, shielding my face from the retched stench of vomit as the blue haired guy held tightly to the side of the building, following the commotion down the hall as Peyton’s bloodied body slid across the black polished flooring. Ducking into the entryway to another dance studio as he gasped for breath, slamming into the concrete and steel wall.

“JESUS CHRIST CHRIS!” Dropping back behind the narrow wall as Roger Nightshade walked out from the studio, goal kicking him in the stomach with a groaning cough as he spit out a wad of bloody mucus.

“Peyton?” Linking him as Ben and Chris followed closely behind, beaten and battered like a tenderized steak as they hoisted Peyton up to his wobbly legs.

“You’re late.” Peyton laughed darkly in link as they dragged his beaten ass out the building with triumphant smiles.

Rushing back out the open door, gaging at the sour aroma of stomach bile and “General Tso’s”, stopping abruptly as the Rover sped away.

“Seriously Dude? Tso’s for breakfast, are you mental.” Looking over at the blue haired guy as he swished a mouth full of water, spitting it back out into the bushes.

“What! I’m a broke-ass student. We live on leftovers and cheap shit.” Laughing at his humorous reasoning with a perked brow.

“They’re taking me back to Texas.” Peyton’s voice snapped me out of my weird fog, looking over to the “pussy” as he leaned against the concrete wall sipping the bottled water.

“Say, do you happen to know where the Nightshade Quad stays?” It was worth a shot, and this guy looked like he could use a boost.

“I don’t know man. The school doesn’t like us giving that kind of shit out to anybody.” He looked nervous, rubbing his neck with a heavy exhale as he looked up into the gloomy skies that decided to bless us with no rain.

“Time is a Ticking Bitch.” Rason grumbled darkly, laughing at his glorious mood that fit perfectly with this “shit” place and its people.

“How about Five thousand pounds to help.” Pulling out my black Italian leather wallet, brushing through the emergency cash, slipping out a decent wad of cash as the guy perked up with a confused expression.

He silently conversed with himself, standing up with a smirk as he approached in his worn loafers, paint-stained jeans and ripped Kiss shirt reaching for the money, pulling back with a tsking.

“Info first, then payment.” Looking at him with a “try me” look as he exhaled in defeat.

“They own Club Subcinctus, down in the industrial district and they bought an old villa west of town. Follow the main road to Windsor about ten minutes maybe, you can’t miss it with the giant “N” on the rod iron privacy gate.” The guy snatched the money from my fingers as my feet hooked sharply, skipping down the stairs to the Mercedes as it chirped to life.

Adjusting the GPS for Windsor, highlighting the main route to adjust the directions as the Mercedes smoothly advanced through the city traffic before the rolling hills of greenery danced along the horizon.

Slowing my pace enough to examine the many villas and old mansions that peppered the landscaping.

Passing a large set of rod iron gates with an embellished “N” dead center as the cobblestone driveway snaked up to the decently sized country villa with ivy hugging the front like a blanket.

“Classic.” Laughing at the irony of the typical countryside villa, turning around at the next turnoff, figuring out my next move because the “Nightshade Quad” was not part of the fucking plan.

GODDAMNIT!

Rason snickering darkly from the shadows.

Punching the steering wheel with a dark snarl, running my hands through my silky locks as two women and a gentleman, approached the gates on horses pressing the access panel to be let out.

They were dressed normally with riding boots, but the saddles and bridals were high quality leather, meaning these people worked on the property. The younger woman with bouncing blonde curls and gray eyes, trotted ahead as the other woman and gentleman talked casually with bright smiles and kissy faces.

“Can’t “Fuck” yourself into this one.” Rason snarled in laughter, hissing back at him as an idea came to me.

Jumping out of the Mercedes, popping the hood to make it look like I was having issues as they approached my location on three gorgeous Arabian’s. The couple were on a matching pair of greyish white Shagya’s with a smoky cast along the face. “Goldy Locks” was on a silvery blonde with the classic convex snout of an Egypt Arabian.

“Troubles?” Goldy Locks spoke softly as she halted the beautiful horse to an annoyed stand, swishing and slapping its tail with a few agitated huffs.

“Yea. But I think I figured it out.” Shutting the hood with a firm hand as the couple approached, flanking the sides of Goldy Locks, smelling wet dog and fresh rain as Elicia’s scent tickled my nostrils with a devious smirk.

“American. Well, aren’t ya a little far from home.” The guy steadied his horse with an angry short as it pulled back on the reigns in his hands.