.
I sat on the floor, the note still in my hands.
I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I had to think fast—if they smashed the door in, I would be the first thing they saw.
And I sure as hell wasn't taking that risk.
I moved to the side, out of sight. The only thing I could grab was a piece of our broken stool. Then—the knocking stopped.
I've watched enough horror movies to know what that means. They were looking for another way into the house.
I had to think fast.
I stood up and decided to go for the front door. Since they weren't knocking on it anymore, they had probably gone for the back. I might be wrong, but I'd rather take that chance than stay here and be killed like a rodent.
Worst-case scenario? They'd shoot me the moment I passed through that door.
I gripped the stick tighter and darted out of the room, the door swinging wide. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me—until something grabbed me by the shoulder and yanked me back.
Without thinking, I spun and—boom—I smacked the person with the broken stool arm before I even saw who it was.
It was Maxwell.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Freddy?!"
He clutched his head, blood dripping down like a fountain.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you do that?!"
"Shit… Maxwell?" I said, stunned, my voice shaking. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were… a hitman."
"The hell, Freddy? You need to cut down on your movies—you almost killed me, you know!"
I apologized over and over as I carried him into my house to treat his wound.
"What in the Batcave happened here?" he asked, looking around at the wreckage.
"Oh, that…"
Should I tell him? His parents were rich. I bet they could find my mom in no time. But would he help me—or would he think I was just using him for his money?
The police said they could only declare someone missing after 24 hours. By then, my mom might already be dead.
I would do anything to help her. Anything at all.
Dodging the question, I asked, "Why were you here, anyway?"
"We wanted to see if you'd be interested in karaoke, maybe a little arcade game, and dinner. Don't worry, it's on me."
I looked at him and smiled faintly. Maybe I should tell him.
"Umm… hey, Maxwell?"
"Yes?" He still held the blood-stained cloth to his head.
"Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Sure. What is it?"
"I need you to help me find my mom. She's missing. The only thing I got from her was this note. And before you say anything—I understand if you don't want to help. After all, this means me using your family fortune for my own selfish reasons. I understand if you say—"
SLAP.
I staggered, my cheek stinging. Maxwell glared at me, rage burning in his eyes.
"Is that what you see in me? Is that what you actually think?" His voice shook. "A rich kid who loves his family's wealth more than anything? Your mom is in trouble, Freddy—and not only are you wasting time here, you're acting like a coward."
He grabbed my shirt, pulling me close.
"I don't know your mom personally, but you love her. You care for her. That's all that matters. Let's go find her. Don't tell the police, either—and I don't think I need to explain why. Unless you're ready to be detained, questioned, and risk your mom's pursuers finding out she has a weakness back here. They'll exploit it. Just… stay safe for now."
I had to admit—staying safe and quiet was the best thing I could do right now.
I followed Maxwell to his house to continue the investigation and give him as much information as possible.
Ring ring.
"Hey Bieber, bad time. Yeah, about the plans—we'll have to cancel. It's about Freddy."
Maxwell looked at me, silently asking if I wanted Sammy to know.
I nodded. The more hands on deck, the better.
Thirty minutes later, we were all together. I stood close to the board where we tried mapping out what could have happened. We were just supporting the real detectives Maxwell's dad had hired, but who knew—we might get lucky and find something they missed.
Maxwell sat backward in a rotating chair, Emily perched modestly on the bed, and Sammy sprawled across it, chewing on pretzels and a bag of chips.
"How do you even get the time to get this?" Emily asked.
"I always carry snacks with me," Sammy said, stuffing another handful into his mouth.
We laughed.
I touched the note in my pocket. My throat tightened, but I whispered anyway.
"Don't worry, Ma… I'll find you."