Our mother when she died comma tall East Indian tree. 6-mile radius.

After undergoing Hayley's Translation Services -

46, Sandalwood Heights. Distance from school, 3.72 miles. Distance from my house, 2.55 miles.

Onward and upward! To Narnia and the North!

It was the next day, Friday, last day of my first school week. I managed to make it through without much hassle. Mr Hood didn't make an appearance and Miss Queen Bee took to ignoring me, though I did catch her eye once. She sent an unsettling smile my way, making me feel as if she had something up her sleeve. But I had no time for that though, simply because I had bigger worries - like my studies for example.

I had no problems with the languages - English was fine with me, and French was a beginner course. It was the Sciences that were starting to take their toll. I doubted kinematics and dynamics could assist me in retrieving the will, and I was pretty sure the atomic number of the element neon is 10 couldn't help either. I was struggling with my assignments and had to resort to asking the Internet, and then copying and paste the answers. I doubted I could keep up the act much longer.

But right now I had to focus on 46, Sandalwood Heights. I needed to find out who the owner of that residence was. If I only I could get his personal details. . . then I would have a start at least. I could then assemble a biography of some sorts and figure out how to link him to Black and Tan. Eric had mentioned an unmarked third party. Unmarked meaning he didn't have a tattoo, which meant he wasn't part of Black and Tan. Could that unmarked third party stay at 46 then?

So many questions, so little answers.

I had two choices. Either I sneak into the house unknown to snoop around, or I hide in plain sight. From what I had Googled about Sandalwood Heights, sneaking in was near impossible. 

Option 2 it is then. 

After school, I had a shower and changed into a jeans and shirt. I even took along the Pambrooke varsity jacket - though I didn't wear it, too hot for that - that had once belonged to Storeroom Stalker. There were two reasons for me to do so - one, it further cemented my look as a Pambrooke student; two, there was a possibility that Storeroom Stalker was the occupant of the house, and I hoped I might provoke some reaction. 

I had the usual knife under my clothes as well as another one slit under the waistband of my jeans. I wasn't going to take any chances, not when this address might be the home of Storeroom Stalker. I had never used guns, not due to my morals - you couldn't afford to have any in Blackcroft - but simply because a gun was loud. Trust me, a silencer makes it anything but silent. What a silencer does is to make the gunshot sound like something else, for example a staple gun working, or a car backfiring. It's still noisy, except your brain doesn't interpret it as a gunshot. A knife made for closer and faster attacks.

With a stack of survey forms I had printed out, completed with the school logo, I took a taxi and had him drop me at the Sandalwood Heights guard house. I waved the survey forms at the security guard and claimed to be doing a school project. He let me in without a second glance.

I skipped in like a happy kid entering a Toys "R" Us store. Sandalwood Heights was a neighborhood, built exclusively for the rich kids. All the houses were large opulent bungalows. Each street only had about 4 to 5 houses, and man were they big. I made my way to number 43, and proceeded to knock on the door. I had been right about abandoning the idea of breaking in. All the houses had killer alarm systems, motion sensor lights on windows and doors; some even had a dog or two. There was constant video surveillance everywhere. 

"Hi!" I chirped cheerfully as the gate opened. "I'm Hayley Banner, a student at Pambrooke High. I'm currently involved in a school project, on the topic of careers? So I'm trying to get information and statistics on the careers most people in the neighborhood have........"

It was surprising how much information people were willing to divulge when you sounded official enough and had documentation that looked official enough. Number 43 and 44 gave up their particulars without any resistance, looking almost bored as they did so. Their names, careers, workplaces, contact numbers and identification card numbers were all scrawled down on the form along with their signature. I explained that they couldn't be anonymous because the school wanted to make sure that the students had really gone out to do the survey, and not created fake data from fake identities. They took the explanation without question. 

45 wasn't at home, and it was with a deep breath that I rang the doorbell of 46. There was an intercom next to the gate, and a male voice crackled over it.

"Yes?" It was an adult, and his voice spoke of importance. He also sounded busy, as if I had disturbed him in the middle of his work. I went through the usual introduction drill.

"I see. So how may I help you then?" I couldn't decide if the politeness was forced or not.

"Well sir, if you could just fill out one of these forms, sir." I waved the paper at the camera mounted on the gate post. "It would take less than five minutes sir, and would really help me a lot."

A pause. "Alright then. Hold on." Five seconds later the front door opened and a man crossed the lawn toward the gate.

He's shorter than me. Not a lot, about one or two inches. Not Storeroom Stalker then. Storeroom Stalker must have been at least my height, surely. Maybe he is him, but he wore heeled shoes that night. But wait, this man must be middle-aged at least, and Storeroom Stalker had been young. So not him then. His hair was dark blonde, and he was one of those man who looked as if they were born into corporate office. I was guessing those were his home clothes, yet they looked so immaculately pressed and freshly ironed. 

I handed over the form and he took it to scribble his details down. I let my eye roam about the place. No dog, but excellent alarm system. I saw the laundry rack out in the garden and took note of the clothing, the number of items and the types. He has a wife, and one child at least. 

Unless of course he was a cross-dresser and liked the youth look. 

So the will had been here huh? I agreed with Eric; I doubted it was still here, considering Eric had came once - and failed - to steal it. Black and Tan might be dumb, but they weren't that dumb. I thanked the man and he shot me a polite smile, before going inside. Not much of a speaker he was.

I stepped away from the gate, out of sight, and let my eyes fall greedily to the paper. I started from the bottom up, and my eyebrows arched at his workplace and job. Criminal lawyer? Shouldn't Black and Tan be staying away from him? 

Unless of course he was their lawyer. Helping Black and Tan out whenever they got caught breaking the law. Or maybe he really was an innocent civilian, and Black and Tan had just used his home to keep the will. Let's spin the lucky draw wheel, to see which unsuspecting innocent gets the honor of safekeeping an item from a dangerous criminal empire! It would be just like them. Sly little foxes.

My eyes trailed up to his identification card number. I'll have to get someone to run that. Maybe ask father if he knows a person.

In the background I could hear the steady revving of an engine as a vehicle drew near me from behind. Absent-mindedly I moved closer to the pavement, not looking. 

My eyes went up to his contact number, and skimmed carelessly through the line of random numbers.

 The engine noise was slowing down to a purr. It sounded like a bike, and the person was coming to a stop.

My eyes landed on his name.

They narrowed. 

The odds couldn't be that bad surely?

The moment that thought floated through my head I realized that the engine noise had died out. Directly behind me I heard a male voice speak. 

Curt and impatient.

"Excuse me, you're blocking the gate to my house."

I froze. 

A male voice that just might sound like a certain animated villain........known as Pitch Black.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

IT'S FAAAAAAAATTTTEEEEEEE..............Or is it? DUN DUN DUN.

This chapter is dedicated to Kristiekc, a fellow Two Steps From Hell fan! Let the music unite two souls in a bond that transcends epicness! DUN DUN DUN!

Sorry for changing the chapter titles here and there, but I wanted to get the songs to fit the characters so :) Happy reading!

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