Chapter 23.

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"So, really, nothing happened?" Hanna asked again, just to make sure.

I bit my lip, hating to lie to Hanna, but I knew that I couldn't tell her that Parker had been hurt. If he didn't want to tell me, he didn't want anyone else to know either.

"Yeah," I replied, "He just came in, checked the tank and left."

She nodded and then yawned. I watched her through the screen. I had promised her to video chat after the wedding and I could tell that she was sleepy.

"Go to sleep, you idiot," I told her, affectionately, "If you dream up anymore questions, you can ask me on Monday."

"Promise?" She asked, her eyes glistening, even through the pixels.

"Promise," I vowed.

"OK. Goodnight, then, you idiot," she told me and clicked off. I shut my laptop and looked out of my window. Parker's bedside lamp was the only light on in the house.

I wandered into my bathroom to finish my nighttime rituals and by the time I got back, Parker's light was out. I staggered into bed, happy to be in the comforts of my sheets. I lay awake, staring up at my star spangled ceiling. On my table, I could still see the midnight blue and silver flowers of my crown. I sighed, trying to drift off to sleep amidst the thoughts of Parker's injuries.

At some point of time between my contemplations and pondering, I had fallen asleep. I was awoken to a sound that I was unaccustomed to hearing when the house was in darkness. There was stirring from the floor below. I could hear things being moved. I sat up in bed, not daring to turn on my bedside lamp, but the light of the moon, finding its way into my room through my sheer curtains, illuminating the place.

Slowly, I got off bed, and went to my almost closed door. Fearing a moment exactly like this, out of the paranoia I had, watching detective movies with Parker as a kid, I always kept my door hinges well oiled. So I opened the door a little to hear better. I could hear, whoever it was downstairs, opening and closing drawers. I crept out of the room, knowing whoever it was, was still downstairs. I glanced over the railing to see the dark silhouette of a man, wearing a coat, looking around the house, like he was looking for something, or wondering what had changed.

He then turned to make his way towards the stairs. That was enough for me. I slid back into my room, shut the door till it was almost closed and backed up, wondering what to do. I heard heavy footsteps come up to the stairwell and then turn away again. I leaned my back against the window, thinking. My fingers caught the latch.

A thought occurred. Without even thinking twice, I slid the window open, climbed on to the ladder than ran between Parker's window and mine and shut the window again. I shimmied my way over to his window. Though it was closed, the latch was open. I pushed up the window pane and stumbled into his room, through the curtains, landing on the floor.

"What the- Alex?!" I heard him ask, groggily.

I shushed him hurriedly, not knowing why because the man was in the other house.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He snapped. I could see he was mad about being woken up, rather than about the fact that I was in his room. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. His hair was sticking up in all odd directions and his bandages were still in place. I guess he noticed the worry on my face, because he pushed his covers aside and asked, "What's wrong?"

"There's someone in my house," I said to him, hurriedly, "A man."

Parker's eyes widened and he stood up. Fetching a t-shirt from his desk chair, he put it on and went to the window. "Stay here. I'll check," he said, "Do you still keep that bat near your bed?"

Despite my worry, I was shocked he remembered. I nodded. He climbed out of the window. I sat down on the spot closest to me, which was the edge of his bed and waited, contemplating whether I should call the police or my Dad or both.

That bat, he had called it. It was his bat. He had to remember that.

About five minutes later, Parker climbed back in through the window. He looked at me, sitting on his bed. He didn't say or do anything.

"It's yours," I said.

"What?"

"That bat," I clarified, "It's yours."

"I know."

He pulled out his chair and sat down in front of me. "He's gone," he said, "I didn't even see him properly. He just left. I checked the door; it was locked and bolted. He had come in through the kitchen window. I bolted that too."

"Thanks," I said, my voice hoarse.

He looked at me for a while, before getting up. "Do you want some tea?" he asked, "You must be in shock."

I looked up at him, taken aback by the gesture. "Uh. Sure," I said, not really wanting to go back home just yet.

I followed him downstairs. It had been a long time since I had been in here. Nothing much had changed. The pictures on the walls and the furniture were different, but other than that, it still looked, felt and smelled the same to me. I knew this place like the back of my hand; maybe even better. The house was surprisingly clean for a place that hosted only a boy who liked rowdy and messy house guests, but then again, Parker had never been like everyone else.

I sat down on a counter stool as Parker fished out two mugs from the cupboard and two spoons from the drawer. "Tea or coffee?" He asked.

"Whichever you'll have," I answered and he proceeded to fill the coffee maker.

"Milk and sugar?"

"Mhmm."

He worked in silence, his voice also soft, not the usual commanding tone of his. He was trying to soothe me, I would have assumed, but I knew better. When the coffee was done, he poured some into both mugs and brought it over to the counter. He sat opposite me and slid one mug over to me with the milk and sugar. He took his, black.

"I'm sorry about tonight. I know it's been a long night for you," he said.

I frowned, completely shocked. "Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault," I said, pouring milk into my coffee, adding a spoon of sugar and stirring.

He shook his head. "I think the man who came to your house was actually looking for me. He must have got the houses mixed up," he said, avoiding my eye.

"Is this about the thing that I'm not supposed to ask about? The thing that made you late yesterday? The thing with your shoulder?" I blabbed out.

He looked up, almost cracked a smile and then nodded.

I straightened, not sure what to make of it. "Then maybe I shouldn't tell my Dad about this?" I asked.

Parker looked at me long and hard. "Would you?" He asked, softly, almost afraid that I would take back my offer.

"Yeah," I said, slowly, "I just hope you can put an end to it. Whatever it is."

"Me, too."

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