Worth The Shot

Flameless Investigation

There was no talking. Nothing Dolores could hear. Only writing.

The only sound from silent meeting was the maddening scribbling of pencils against paper. Writing. Writing. Writing. 

You surveyed the room with horrified fascination. There. Your father. He stood among the circled people you didn't recognize, jumpily glancing at his watch in between anxious bouts of writing. 

Finally, a man cleared his throat and ushered the mob out. Like ghouls, the people noiselessly disappeared out the door, suddenly emptying the room. The last man out narrowed his emerald eyes meaningfully at your father and your heart lurched. It was the serpent man. 

Your father tensely sighed, standing alone in the room with his hands resting far apart on the table. He bent over the spread paper and frowned as if studying it. 

You made a decision.

Projecting lethargic tiredness into your steps, you stumbled down the stairs. 

"(Y/n)!" Your father cried, hurriedly rolling up the paper. Not before you could see its contents, though. It was definitely a diagram of casita. 

"I don't feel well," you lied. If this worked, you would have the day to investigate. The serpent man was now inexorably tied to all of this. You knew exactly where you needed to start. 

Clearly embarrassed and wondering how much you had seen, your father was quick to agree that you could have the day off to stay in bed. He kissed you on the head and rushed down to his workshop to hide the scrolled paper. 

You slipped out the door and jogged to the market. Freedom and sunlight coursed through your veins, and you breathed in the humid morning air with a smile. When did my own house start to feel like a prison?

The serpent man's shoddy, dark house stood a few feet away from you. Heart pounding, you prepared yourself to sneak in. A gentle tug on your sleeve stopped you. 

Antonio gazed up at you with sad, dark eyes. You relaxed your shoulders and gave a friendly smile. 

"Are you still my friend?" Antonio anxiously asked, his small hand still clinging to your sleeve. "Abuela says you want to hurt us all." 

"Of course you're still my friend!" You soothingly assured him, trying not to let your irritation at Alma bleed into your voice. "I would never hurt your family. Ever." 

Antonio seriously considered your words for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. He held out his hand to you. "Pinky promise?" 

"Pinky promise." You linked your pinky in his and shook it. Antonio gave a quiet, conspiratorial smile. 

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," he loudly whispered, his eyes nervously darting around. "Isabella is watching me today." On cue, Isabella strode around the corner, frowning and scanning the market. Antonio suddenly bolted away.

Isabella dramatically sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is why I hate watching children." A chorus of volunteers immediately offered to help at her complaint, but she irritably waved them off. She was definitely having an off day. 

"Antonio!" She shouted. "Don't touch that dog!" She sprouted a flowered tendril that wrapped around Antonio's waist and plucked him off the ground before he could pet one of Signor Alejandro's guard dogs for sale. 

Antonio rebelliously kicked his feet in the air. "But the dogs are my friends!" He cried. Isabella retorted back something you couldn't hear. 

You laughed silently and tore yourself away from Isabella and Antonio's squabble. You had a job to do. The door to the serpent-man's house almost fell off as you yanked it open. Nobody locked their houses in Encanto. Nobody ever needed to. You felt a prickle of guilt for betraying that unspoken trust. 

The scent of decay and dust slammed into your nose as you carefully shut the door behind you. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the dim light. Several floorboards were brokenly uneven, and the minimal, rotting furniture gave off the appearance that nobody had used the house in several years.

But that's not true. You stubbornly thought. My father and the serpent man met in here. There must be something. 

Your hands tumbled through drawers, hoping to find anything. You opened the last one and audibly gasped. Three miracle candles were peacefully nestled inside. One was the stump your father had held; the other two had differing lengths. 

All three had no flame.