Shaking her head, Tara's worries gradually dissipated as no one emerged from the villa, demanding answers about her presence at their door. It became evident that the premises were unoccupied.

The house was dark and appeared to have been abandoned or unused for too long. Confusion furrowed her brows but she didn't have the time to dwell on it when someone approached her. The sound of their footsteps preceded their voice, prompting Tara to brace herself for any potential threat.

"Hey, you there," a man called. "Need any help?"

Tara grimaced before composing her expression into one of harmless, feigned innocence, then turned to him. "Me?" 

The man, whom she presumed to be a farmer, blinked as if to say: there's literally no one else but the two of us. Her eye twitched, but she forced a dumb smile before pointing at the villa. 

"Does anyone live here?"

His brows knitted together, suspicion never fading from his eyes. "No, not really. The owners of this house only rarely come here for vacation."

"Oh, I see. Do you happen to know who they are?" She sniffled, deliberately wiping her nose on the back of her tattered sleeve. He zeroed in on her messy, disheveled attire and smudged face, and her heart thudded harder. Was her disguise effective? Did he recognize her? Was he complicit? Had he seen her on that day? Did anyone?

"I'm sorry, kid, but I can't tell you that."

He didn't have to vocalize it for Tara to grasp his insinuation. Her shoulders slumped. The farmer was essentially dismissing her, implying that she should seek charity or scavenge elsewhere. Despite this, his expression had darkened, and he appeared eager to depart as if he wanted no involvement with anything related to the owners or their property.

It was evident that he possessed some knowledge or intuition regarding the activities that typically transpired within. 

As soon as he left, Tara circled the house, scouring desperately for any clue. Had her disguise been a mistake? No, she couldn't afford the risk of being recognized. Fortunately, luck favored her when she discovered the place to be deserted.

Tara was on the verge of giving up when her eyes landed on the electrical box outside. She recalled that old houses often had similar layouts, with most of their utility boxes placed outside for the companies' convenience in noting consumption.

Her eyes widened, and she fished out her phone, hastily writing down the number on it. With the information secured, she stealthily returned to her car and sped away from the area.

Tara sat in the kitchen, staring at a sealed packet of instant noodles, having no energy or appetite to either cook or eat. With a sigh, she grabbed her device and waited as it rang.

"Hello?" 

"Uncle Jim? This is Tara, from building  Z. The...pharmacist, remember me?" 

Realization dawned on him, and he started bombarding her with endless questions about herself. Though she was still a student yet to graduate, Uncle Jim was committed to calling her by her job title ever since she'd helped him with his medication.

Tara laughed, feeling some tension leave her muscles. "I've been good, thank you. How about you and your wife?"

"Great, dear. Is there anything I can help you with?"

He was never one to beat around the bush. Tara hesitated, then grimaced. "I've recently started seeing this guy, and he showed me a house that he claimed to be his, but..." she trailed off, allowing a dramatic pause, feeling a twinge of guilt for manipulating him in this way. "I don't know."

"Oh my, you can never trust anyone these days."

Her body hunched over as she picked on her cuticles. "Yeah, exactly. So, uh, I saw the number of the electrical box and immediately thought of you. Can you...find me the name of its owners?"

Uncle Jim was an electrician responsible for monitoring electricity consumption in the area where her apartment was located. They had crossed paths several times before, and Tara had initially earned his favor by offering him a bottle of water on multiple occasions.

"Boys," he sighed. "Alright, just text me the number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

A smile stretched her lips. "You're the best, Uncle Jim!"

Tara spent the rest of the day staring at the dark screen of her small TV, absentmindedly doodling on a piece of paper and chewing on the inside of her cheek until her phone pinged with a notification. Holding her breath, she cautiously glanced at the device.

It was a text from Uncle Jim. Short and concise, just as she'd preferred. It contained the family name, their address, and phone number.

"The Barlowes," she whispered to herself, sinking back into the couch. "The Barlowes," Tara repeated, pouring fuel over the fire raging within her soul. Her eyes glinted with an ominous promise as she gazed at the ceiling, unable to suppress the grin that slowly spread across her face. "Bingo."

She'd finally taken her first step toward revenge.

Two days went by in a whirlwind of sleeplessness and scheming. Night melted into day, and silver turned to gold as the sun set fire to everything its rays touched.

Tara stood before her full-length mirror, giving herself a final once-over in her disguise—a loose, tattered jacket that engulfed her frame, its colors faded and edges frayed, baggy old joggers, and worn-out sneakers. Satisfied, she nodded, catching the steely determination in her eyes before stepping out.

Bounding down the stairs, she whistled under her breath. "Let the hunt begin."

The cab driver gave her a strange look, his expression only brightening when she handed him the fare upon reaching their destination. Once out, she scanned the surroundings until they settled on a mansion, one among many, that loomed imposingly.

Tara fidgeted with her attire, feeling out of place. Clutching the bag tighter, she inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly before circling its perimeters. Finding nothing of note, she dragged her feet to the trash containers, her expression grim but her eyes sharp as she feigned rummaging through this rich neighborhood's filth.

A couple of hours passed before there was any movement. She sprang up, her heart jumping in her chest, and quickly resumed her scavenging. A young man came out with a pounce in his steps as he descended the stairs, heading to the gate.

"Nah, man," he muttered, clicking his tongue. "The old man took the car, so pick me up by the station."

Tara pulled the cap down, ensuring her hair remained concealed, and braced herself as the guy approached. She bent forward, her stomach churning at the sound of his voice. Her legs threatened to buckle, and she dug her nails into her palms as tremors shook her limbs.

"Hell no! I'm not walking there..."

The words faded to the background as ringing filled her ears. It was him. The driver. Same sunglasses, same arrogance, same voice that haunted her restless nights. He passed beside her, and she stiffened, expecting his gaze to meet hers.

Yet, he didn't even spare her a glance.

Anger swelled within her like a relentless fire, threatening to engulf her. Tara wanted to scream and curse, to unleash her fury upon him. She wanted to stab him a thousand times and more for all the pain she went through.

She bit down hard on her lip, fighting the urge to lash out at him right then and there. Her hands trembled as she covered her face, trying to contain the storm of emotions raging within her.

Taking a deep breath, Tara dropped the plastic bag by the containers and started walking home. Each step felt heavy, but she pressed on, hoping that the walk, no matter how long, would help clear her head for the next part of her plan.

Word count: 1312.

Total word count: 9642.

The hunt begins, at last.