06. like, dead, dead.

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like, dead, dead.

I get out of the van, a cool breeze that hits me is both welcome and slightly eerie. Everything about this place is eerie. I hate graveyards.

"Come on," John B encourages Kie and me, who—shock, horror—don't want to walk into a patch of land with dozens of skeletons in the ground, in the middle of the night.

It's nine pm, but my point still stands. It's creepy as shit.

"We're coming," Kie grumbles, clearly not impressed. "This place is fucking terrifying." She mutters, and she links her arms with me. "What are we even doing here?" She asks John B.

"Okay, so, you know when you're trying to remember a song, and you can't remember who sings it?" John B begins explaining, everyone quietly agrees. "So, Redfield. This whole time, I thought it was a place, right?" Another quiet agreement. "But it's not a place..." He trails off and holds his phone up, the light turned on to showcase a mausoleum with the name Redfield etched into the stone. "It's a person." He states what is now obvious.

"Voi-fucking-la." JJ says sarcastically.

"My great-great-grandmother. Olivia Redfield." He further explains. "That was her maiden name."

Who knows that much information on their great-great-grandma? I barely know my actual grandma's birthday—not that it really matters, they're both dead and even when my Mother's Mum was alive we didn't talk to her.

Now I think about it, I don't think I know anyone's birthday. I just get a text from Robbie, I'm fucked if he forgets.

I should probably write them down.

Snapping back to reality I take in the mausoleum. Dead brush covers the stone door, which seems like it'll be almost impossible to open. Perhaps he hid the next clue on this fucked up treasure hunt somewhere around the granite building?

John B—who apparently isn't deterred by the ridiculous door—walks over to the mausoleum. "Help me with the door." He instructs, no one jumps into action. "Come on." He encourages us to make a move.

Fuck feminism, I'm not getting hernia for this. Sorry, John B's father. I wish him all the best, he's probably a good guy.

Pope looks over at me and hands me the torch in his hand, I take it and he walks over to the door. JJ follows him over to the door and they both try tugging it.

It seems Kie is also temporarily ditching feminism.

You don't want too many cooks in the kitchen, anyway.

"One, two, three," They count down, and all pull again in unison. The crunch of heavy rock rolling makes me cringe. But it barely moves, I think it may have further closed. It's probably a sign from Olivia telling us to fuck off with the cursed compass.

"It's, like, seven-hundred pounds, it's not going to budge," Pope states the obvious.

I stare at the door. Moving my torch around it I notice a crack, not where John B, Pope and JJ managed to move it, it was already there. God forbid I give them credit.

"We didn't come this far to let a seven-hundred-pound door stop us." JJ bites back, gritting his teeth and heaving at the door again. Shockingly, it doesn't budge.

Additionally, I think a seven-hundred-pound door is a valid excuse. But that's just me.

Out of the very crack I was looking at, a snake hisses and flops out the door with all the grace of someone running after a double hip replacement. It hits the floor, and still hisses defensively l. "That's a moccasin. Careful," JJ says. Moving over he stands just in front of me, a little to the side, his hands go out either side of him, his arm brushes against my stomach. As he walks back I can't help but walk with him. I do not appreciate the contact. "Ye' old Dr Cottonmouth." He says with a poorly done, mock Southern accent. After we put distance between us and the snake, he starts barking at the reptile. A lesson from my father appears in my mind. Snakes are scared of dogs, he told me. I ignored him, he begins talking shit after a few whiskey neats.

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