7. Loren

7

LOREN

I found a path that runs behind some of the houses yesterday. While Oakley was at school and Daniel was being tracked by Imry, I wandered the Rolling Green Estates, which is the HOA for half a dozen cul-de-sacs and a few winding neighborhoods between them.

I followed Daniel like a dutiful little killer the day before with Avory and Ellory. I was absolutely furious when he picked up Oakley and while watching them at the fair. The possessive rage that coursed through me had me nearly delirious and ready to tie Daniel to the railroad tracks to listen to him scream and beg.

In fact, that particular death isn't off the table.

It was probably a good thing that two-thirds of the triplets were with me. I was so enraged this slimy fuck was touching Oakley that I was ready to say fuck being invisible and kill him right then and there. Especially when it became obvious Oakley wanted to get away.

There was no way he couldn't read Oakley and see that. None. Those passing by could see it. Daniel wasn't oblivious; he was calculating. If he pretended everything was fine, maybe Oakley might believe it.

Thankfully, Oakley's friends showed up and dragged him away. The bafflement on Daniel's face was entirely fake. And when his friends dragged him off, that expression turned into irritation and anger. I watched as his hands fisted.

Once again, Avory and Ellory kept me rooted to the spot. We followed Daniel out of the fair, my brothers dragging me with them. It was their force alone that kept me there instead of following Oakley. I needed to see him. I needed to be sure he was all right.

Later that night, the memory of that particular emotion in me kept me awake as I tried to work it out. Have I ever felt that way about anyone?

I suppose I could say I have for Avory and Ellory. Mom was always a bitch to them. Always trying to split them up and force them to play with others. To be in separate classes. To play separate sports. At one point, she tried to make them have separate bedrooms.

For as long as I can remember, my brothers and I have always had a group chat. We use it for random things. Voss likes to send memes he finds and since he spends a lot of his time online, sometimes that's all that goes on in the chat.

But we also communicate when we need something. Over the years, we've come up with code words we've never actually discussed, but somehow just innately knew what it meant. The one other time I've felt an overwhelming need to make sure someone was okay was the afternoon we received twin S.O.S. ‘stickers' in the chat from Avory and Ellory.

I don't remember what I was doing, but I know that the cold dread that swept through me had me dropping whatever it was and running home. Hell, I hadn't even known for sure where to find them. Home was simply the place that I thought to look first.

Myro was already there, using his big frame to block two-thirds of my triplet brothers, who were sitting at the edge of one of their beds. I could tell by their expressions that they were trying really hard not to be upset. Their jaws were set, eyes filled with hurt and frustration, red as if they'd been crying. Their shoulders were pressed together, and Ellory was breathing heavily.

I may be the youngest, but I'm the only one who has my particular ‘affliction,' as our mother called it. Which meant, at that moment, I had absolutely no issues laying my hands on a girl. With all the strength in my sixteen-year-old body, I forcefully shoved our mother out of the room.

She stumbled, crashing her back into the hall wall before tripping and falling. When she looked up at me with shock, horror, and fear, I slammed the door in her face.

I'm pretty sure that moment might have shocked my brothers as well. No one had moved, and when I turned to face them with my hands over my chest, all three brothers stared at me with wide eyes and their mouths open.

I only shrugged; someone needed to do something.

So yeah, the need to protect Oakley was reminiscent of the need to get the aggressor away from my brothers. Those same brothers wouldn't let me go back. Citing that he's with his friends and they'll take care of him. No matter how many times they said as much, I needed to see it for myself.

We followed Daniel home, then they took me home.

I sat in the living room window until our neighbors across the road returned. I stayed there until it got dark, then went outside to examine their windows, looking for Oakley's. He was on the second floor, which meant it wasn't easy seeing in his room. I could see the light on and movement. I only knew it was his room because he stopped in front of the window.

He was looking down, so I imagined there was a desk there or something. Especially considering the length of time he paused. With the cloak of darkness, I examined the corners of the house, the doors, the windows—checking it over to see what kind of security system they had.

There was one, but it didn't appear to be functional once I used the program Voss created to hack… I mean monitor security systems. Not even the video doorbells were on. Seems a little irresponsible, but the neighborhood seemed peaceful enough, so it might be their sense of security that's lulled them into not using it.

Definitely irresponsible, but it also meant I could access their house easier.

Yesterday, in the daylight, I moved around the neighborhood to explore what there was to find. Thus, the path. And today, I wait for everyone in Oakley's house to leave before meandering across the road and heading for the path, following it until I'm out of sight of the surrounding houses.

Just as casually, I approach the back of the house and the sliding door. Honestly, sliding doors are tacky. The owner should replace it with a double door or something more fitting with the neighborhood, like those big glass panel doors that folded open like an accordion and combined the outdoor and indoor space into one living area.

These sliding door locks are a joke, really. When there's no bar assuring the slider remains closed, all it takes is a bobby pin and some jiggling for the lock to come undone. The door slides open silently, and the blast of cool air from inside brushes my skin.

I remain still for a minute, listening. I don't think they have pets or guests, but I take several minutes to account for any unexplained and unexpected noises from the inside of an empty house. There are none, so I step inside and slide the door closed behind me.

The room I walk into is a living area. It looks like the typical décor in this kind of neighborhood; not like the college students that live here. Easy enough to explain, it must have come furnished.

There are little personalized touches, though. Blankets that are obviously worn and well used. School books on the table. A pair of shoes, two hoodies, and a T-shirt. The furniture is covered with blankets and sheets, as if to protect them from the wear and tear of use. Or dog fur.

Perhaps the most telling thing is that there isn't just one large television but two, right next to each other. Plus there are several game consoles beneath them on the long shelf that houses the electronics.

The rest of the first floor has rooms you'd expect. There is an enormous kitchen with the expected signs of habitation and use —crumbs, liquid rings and drips on the counter, a few dishes in the sink and a dirty pan on the stove.

Hanging on the fridge is a large whiteboard 3-month calendar. I take a minute to study it. It doesn't take me long to determine that Oakley's color is green. His entire schedule is right here.

As my gaze wanders the little blocks, I absently wonder why they don't just do this via a shared electronic calendar. Do they take pictures of this and refer to it? What if there's a change?

After taking a picture of the calendar, I step into the formal dining room to find it's been converted into a study room and the table has been taken over by paper and notebooks. There are four desks in the room too, two of which have laptops on them.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep from touching anything, I continue through. Today is simply recon. I just want to get the lay of the land and confirm that I found Oakley's room last night.

There's a large entryway I meander through that leads to a short hall and two bedrooms that share a bathroom. One room is clearly a guest room. The other is occupied. I haven't taken much note of the others who live here, so I'm not entirely sure which resident this room belongs to.

This brings me to the stairs. The second floor consists of four bedrooms. The largest, which is likely the primary bedroom suite, is occupied by their female companion. She likes flowers, and her room is impressively neat.

The other three rooms are personalized, but again I'm unsure who occupies which except for Oakley's. I find his easily enough—at the far end of the hall, opposite the stairs and next to Jessica Rivera's bedroom suite.

The doors are all left ajar. I take note of exactly where Oakley's bedroom door is so that I can return it to that same exact distance before pushing it open to step inside.

My eyes land immediately on the bed. It's large, pressed against the wall, and stacked high with a plethora of blankets. The headboard and wall that it's pressed against are lined with more than a dozen pillows.

He has a desk under the window, as I suspected he would. There's also a big, rounded cushy chair under a reading light. There's art on his walls that seems to directly contrast with his young-twenties décor, so I guess they were already hanging when they moved in.

On the wall between two more doors is a dresser. Behind one door is the bathroom, and the other is a closet. I stand in front of the desk for a minute and watch out the window, examining where I need to be to see through it unobstructed.

The bedroom isn't messy, though it's not strictly clean either. There's a pile of clothing hanging off the side of the chair. The items on his desk are just as haphazardly strewn around as those in the dining room are. His bed is clearly unmade, though neat enough, and the laundry basket in the bathroom is overflowing.

As much as I'd love to keep snooping, I need to leave soon. I've studied their schedules extensively and I know there's almost always someone coming and going. The most I can ever give myself is an hour. Besides, today's goal was just getting the lay of the land.

Leaving Oakley's bedroom, I make sure to return the door exactly where it had been when I arrived. Just to be thorough, I head to the third floor and peek into the remaining room upstairs. It's one of those large open attic spaces that's been converted into a comfortable and spacious bedroom suite.

Silently taking the stairs down, I listen for sounds, making note of two important things as I go. One, there is only one staircase. Two, there isn't a single creak. I also take note of places to hide if I need to.

What I appreciate is that there are four doors to the outside on the first floor. When I step out the back sliding door again, I note that there are a couple of egress windows from the basement level I didn't explore. As I'm walking back to my house across the street examining their windows as I go, I take note that there are definitely rooms I missed on the first floor. Too anxious to find Oakley's bedroom, I guess.

When I step into the kitchen through the side door, I find my father and two eldest brothers sipping coffee around the counter. Ah. The rest of the clan is here. Three sets of eyes turn to me where I stopped halfway into the house. Maybe I should have entered through the front door instead.

"Where've you been, Loren?" Myro questions.

"Recon," I say, leaving it vague.

"Considering you didn't take your car and all three triplets are here, I'm guessing your recon was close?" Voss says.

Sighing and rolling my eyes, I step further into the house and shut the door. Thankfully, there aren't any tacky sliding doors in this house. I don't even answer. Why bother? They know exactly where I was. If for no other reason, I know the triplets track me and everyone else. Hell, I think they all track each other.

I don't track anyone. I could pretend that it's because it's an invasion of privacy, but since I just broke into a house for no other reason than to learn something about someone who doesn't know me, clearly that's not something that bothers me.

"You didn't need to come," I promise, pushing my hands into my pockets.

"You were always going to be the brother that wandered off," Voss teases, amused. "And we were always going to follow you."

"Because I can't blend in," I deadpan.

"No," Myro says. "Well, maybe partially. But no. We're one of those weird families that likes to stay close. We're going to end up with like four generations under a single roof—just wait."

His chuckle says he's joking and yet, I don't think any of us doubt his words. We probably will turn out that way. I glance around and note that probably not in this particular house. It's a good size, but it's far too small for four generations.

Besides, I'm not sure how I feel about kids. They're fine in passing, I suppose, but how will I feel about them living under the same roof? Always here. Loud. Messy. Stinky and dirty. Crying late at night. Baby things everywhere.

There are horror memes about stepping on Legos barefoot at night. I'm not entirely sure I'm interested in that life.

"You've just freaked him out," Voss says with a smirk as Dad chuckles.

Pressing my lips together, I turn for the hall and the stairs to my room. Unsurprisingly, I chose a bedroom in the front of the house where I can see Oakley's house. Therefore, I can watch when he comes home.

I can also see if someone is there that shouldn't be.