Skylar's POV

I pushed open the glass doors and stepped inside the incredibly small shop. A bit suffocating too. The moment I entered, I heard a bell chime above me, announcing my arrival at the empty shop.

It was a typical antique store, and verything in here seemed to have something consisting of glass pieces; mirrors. Real mirrors, glass pieces carved into giant vases, wind chimes made out of mirror shards.

The shopkeeper must be really into mirrors.

I hadn't intended to come out here alone, even before Dad had made it clear that I shouldn't. But at the same time, I couldn't find it in myself to ask someone to tag along. I could've asked Caden.

But I hadn't.

"Hello, young lady. May I help you?" I heard a voice right behind me.

As if broken out from a serious trance, I turned around to see an old man--who looked not so old--with a trimmed white beard and a bald head.

"Oh, I heard you were good at making wooden puzzle boxes?" I started, clearing my throat.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "I do make them, yes. What kind of boxes do you want?" He asked, walking behind the counter.

I slid off my handbag from my shoulder and gingerly took out the wooden box. Making sure he could see it and not exactly reach for it, I showed it to him.

"I don't need any boxes. I just thought you might be kind enough to help me open this?" I asked hopefully. I needed to know what was inside it, at any cost.

He eyed the box curiously before looking up at me. Something in his gaze didn't feel so right.

"If you can't--" I took a small step back. "--that's not a problem at all. I can take this to someone else."

He exhaled a sigh before shaking his head. "It's not that. I do not remember ever making such kind of boxes." He murmured. "But my brother used to sell them at his shop."

Maybe that's where this was bought from.

"So, you might be able to open it?" I asked him.

His hand reached out towards me, asking for the box. I hesitated a little before giving it to him.

He took it and turned it around in his hands, inspecting it very closely. His forehead furrowed in concentration and it took him almost a few seconds before he pressed something at the bottom. Surprisingly, I saw the locks working before the front of the box opened itself.

The old man looked at me, a slight hint of pride in his eyes. I wouldn't blame the guy.

"Oh, thank you so much," I spoke up in surprise. "I had no idea it was that easy."

As I made a move to take it from him, he held it back.

"It isn't. It takes the critical stage of mind to know where it opens and where it locks." He said, once again narrowing his gaze at me.

"Yeah," I said, and the polite smile on my face seemed to waver a bit. "Like I said, thank you. Can I have it back?"

"Tell me where you found this."

I blinked in surprise, curling my hands around the strap of my bag. Nothing about this small shop felt so fine anymore.

"I-I don't know." I hesitated. "Please, can I have it back?"

He did give it to me this time. An involuntary sigh escaped my lips as I held it. Mom had been crystal clear when she told me that I was to take care of this box. I didn't want to lose it in the hands of some creepy old shopkeeper.

"I know this box was bought from my brother's shop." He stated, almost glaring at me. "Do you know how I know about that?"

I really didn't want to know. I just wanted to leave this shop.

"He got killed just after that lady bought this box from his shop." He stated. "Those bunch of guys came there looking for this same box. And killed him."

A small shiver ran up my spine as my eyes widened a bit.

Why did it always lead to death?

"Bunch of guys?" My voice sounded strained for some reason.

His stare finally broke away from me as he picked up a cloth and started wiping the counter. "Heartless idiots." He muttered in a voice that clearly told me how better it would be to just leave. "Ruining families."

Moving towards the door, I stuffed the box back into my bag. I gave one last glance to the man before exiting the shop. The clouds seemed to rumble the second I stepped back on the street. It was going to rain soon. The weather had been kind of like that since yesterday night. Since Mom and Dad came back. Since Alex left.

Something tugged in my gut, a feeling of unease settling at the pit of my stomach.

I didn't believe him. Alex, I mean. I trusted Caden, didn't I? Enough to not believe in such assumptions about him. He'd saved my life so many times. He liked me. I more than just liked him. He did act a bit heartless sometimes, but that doesn't mean...

He couldn't have killed his own parents.

If Blake had lied earlier to Alex, why couldn't he be lying again? He hasn't ever given me a reason to believe him. Why should I believe him now?

Maybe Blake had forced Alex to feed those lies to me, just like every single time before.

But then again, who was Kevin? Why had Alex mentioned his name?

I pushed off the thoughts far back in my head just like I had done yesterday. Just like I had been doing every single second since Alex left my house. The hollowness in my chest seemed to increase at that.

I just ignored it, though.

Alex must've been lying.

Everything was fine. Everything was.

Then why didn't it feel like it?

•••••

"We were hoping you'd like to participate in this since your parents themselves have contributed a lot to such events." Principal Stewart looked at me.

It wasn't the first time I wished my parents weren't lawyers. Them being lawyers and well known among the town made it a lot harder for me in such situations.

"I think I won't be able to--"

"I'm sure it would help cover up your lack of extracurriculars, Ms Anderson." He cut me off. He surely was not taking a no for an answer.

Our school was having this charity thing for some organization. And I would've loved to help only if a lot of things hadn't been going on with me at the moment. I still hadn't gotten the chance to pull out that wooden box from my bag and see whatever that was inside it. I'd been caught up with so many things--especially my parents.

It had been a mess when Mom saw a handful of paintbrushes under the couch in our lounge (which I forgot to take back up in my room). And the mess had only increased tenfold when she and I both noticed her most adored silk cushions spotted with bits of my yellow paint too. An absolute fucking mess, believe me.

"All right." I nodded at him, stifling the urge to groan out loud in frustration. At least this way, he wouldn't pester me anymore. And I really didn't want him to call my parents for that matter. They'd be extra enthusiastic to get me to participate. "When will this be happening?"

Principal Stewart cheered up at that and opened his drawer. "That'll be tomorrow. And don't worry, there are a few other students who are volunteering for this. Tomorrow night, that is."

When I came back home from school, I realized how bad this decision was. I'd be wasting my entire night on that thing. And all of this hype just to pass out helpful instructions to random people? No thanks.

It was more like a school carnival. The money collected would be given off to charity.

Wouldn't my mother just love the fact that I was participating in it?

Groaning at my life, I sat down on my bed. Chicken started roaming around my feet before running towards my laundry basket. Mom and Dad weren't leaving until tomorrow for another one of their business trips. And once again, I was kind of glad that they were here.

Inhaling a deep breath, I finally picked up the handbag that I had just taken out of my closet and pulled out the wooden box from inside it. It looked exactly the same, and thankfully still unlocked.

I tilted it a little in my hands and watched as the front of it swung open like a door. Surprisingly, now that I looked closer, there wasn't much space inside it like I had expected.

And in there was a USB drive. A black one.

Once I had taken it out and the small drive was in my hand, I realized that I had been expecting something much more...valuable. I don't know what I had been expecting, but it wasn't certainly this.

I was about to crawl over to my laptop and see what the drive had in it when a knock resounded on my bedroom door, giving me enough time to shut the wooden box and slide the drive under my pillow, before Mom barged in.

"Mom!" I exclaimed. "You are supposed to wait a little after knocking on someone's door!"

Her blond hair were up in a ponytail as she carried a large cardboard box in her hands. It was truly a sight to see my Mom in sweats.

"I don't see the point, Skylar."

"Well, what if I was in the middle of, let's say, having sex?" I asked her.

Mom raised a brow at me. "I found this box up in the attic with a few other boxes of your Dad's case files." She just totally ignored me. Typical Mom behaviour. "It's got some of your old stuff. I thought you'd wanna have it."

I frowned a little before getting up from the bed and taking the box from her, sitting down on the rug.

"Wow, this is old," I whispered, taking out a handful of scrapbooks that I must've made when I was a baby. "Like, really old."

I didn't even notice Mom coming over and sitting down beside me. I was too busy looking at the handmade crafts I'd made when I was little. Half of them, to be honest, were literal trash.

"You loved making these." She picked up a red origami heart. "You'd make so many of these and hide them all around your father's office."

"That does sound like something I would do," I murmured with a small, nostalgic smile, flipping through a dusty scrapbook. "Hey, look at this! I drew a picture of you and it's awful."

Mom smiled when I showed it to her and I grinned too. Eight year old me sucked.

"I've been thinking about what you said the other day." She said.

I didn't look up at her fast enough. Because then she was pulling out a large canvas from under my bed, which had been right in our view, now that I thought about it.

I almost winced when Mom ran her eyes over the painting.

"Yeah? Um...what day are we talking about?" I carefully took the painting from her and threw it back under my bed.

"University options. You said you want to pursue art."

I blinked in surprise. "I don't remember saying that."

"I've seen all of what you've been hiding under your bed." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Apparently, your father knew about some. Why do you never show me those paintings?"

I stared at her with total speechlessness.

Mom stared back.

"Well...I...was...I thought..." I trailed off. "You hate when I paint."

Mom frowned a little. "I don't hate when you paint."

"You totally do."

"Skylar, your Nana loved painting too." She shook her head in what I think was disbelief. "I grew up in that house. It was always a mess in there."

I gaped at her. "Really? I didn't know that."

Mom shrugged.

"We should look over your university applications together." She said. "I don't want you to be pursuing something that you'll probably be hating me for in near future."

When she rubbed her palms on her sweatpants, getting up, my eyes widened.

"Wait, what? When did this happen?" I blurted out. "Why are you being so nice to me? You literally just yelled at me for getting bits of paint on your beloved cushions."

Mom pursed her lips and I think she was trying not to smile. "I've got a right to yell at you, Skylar, if you get paint on the house furniture." She pointed out, then added right before leaving, "And I think you should take those canvases out from under your bed. Your father and I would like to see all of them someday."

I had my jaw hung open even after she left the room.

•••••

Once I had my laptop open, I quickly inserted the drive and waited for it to pop up on the screen. I saw Chicken running out of my room the exact moment a folder popped up on it. I wasted no time clicking on it and found myself looking at a video icon.

I don't know why it took me a whole minute before I finally clicked on it. Maybe because it just seemed a bit odd to me. First I find a USB drive inside the wooden box everyone has been looking for, and then I find an only video inside the same drive?

It just seemed weird.

The video player opened up on the screen and I found myself looking at a dark room. The blinds were closed shut, with only a sliver of light visible from the cracks. There was also an empty chair in the middle of the room and nothing else.

It seemed like a recording. I noticed the date timed back years ago from now.

From somewhere in that dark room, I heard sounds of shuffling. The camera tilted a bit before it re-adjusted itself. Out of nowhere, a man entered the view and sat down on the chair, facing the camera.

Facing me.

Something inside me stirred uneasily. That guy was literally staring at me like he was looking right into my soul. He looked somewhat in his thirties, or maybe a bit older. I couldn't really make out his appearance since the camera seemed outdated and everything was black and white.

"There is something important--" He started but a shrill voice interrupted him. He looked at his right in alarm, clearing his throat ever so slightly. Nothing about that man seemed familiar to me.

I expected him to get up again, probably run away judging by the scared look on his face. But instead, he looked back at the screen.

"I might not be alive once I'm done with this video." His expression was eerily calm now. I would've guessed that nothing was wrong only if I hadn't seen the panic in his eyes. His features were contorted with fear and panic. Or maybe that was just me. "You must know where that object is hidden."

He blinked as I heard the shrill voice again, seeming to come from behind his camera.

"You must keep it safe."  

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Crystal 🌿