Trick or Treat?

Part III

Equal parts delight and dismay presented themselves when I left that icy chamber behind. Harsh beams framed a vintage door. Bleach tickled my nostrils. The dining room's languid glow bathed splintered furniture, the table's contents and wrappers carpeting the floor. The ancient speakers did not sputter. Masked forms lay sprawled alongside mannequins, the latter's appendages bent at unnatural angles.

The Superhero stood in the midst of this carnage. Fists on his hips, he smiled. "Hey, you missed watching me kick these villains'... wait, where are you going?"

"I'm leaving! Weird you're not!" I snapped, rushing toward the door through which my companion had barged earlier. While his safety provided some peace of mind, single-handedly beating up multiple adults roused my suspicions for the last time...

"Never! I refuse to doubt my companions! I refuse to abandon them! I refuse to fall for the Darlingtons' trick! Instead, I pledge to recover my phone from the person who chased us into this trap, call the police and rescue everyone! The Darlingtons won't expect that! I've made my decision; you've made yours!" spat the Superhero.

I stood dumbstruck and ashamed as my companion turned his back on me to dash over the debris, masked forms, mannequins and wrappers. He yanked the kitchen door open without a backward glance. Mournfully, the kitchen door squealed closed after him.

Precious moments dragged by while I examined the scrawled features resting on the debris. Considering the babbles and footfalls seeping through the ventilation shaft's distant openings, notable absences came as little surprise...

The wrappers glittering along the corridor had been disturbed... None of my companions possessed or discarded their bags... Had the Darlingtons intended for this trail of doubt and dismay to be followed? Did they await my arrival at the front door, the beginning and end of their yellow-brick-road, alone and defeated by paranoia they had sown?

While I cast off all doubt regarding my companions and the neighbourhood, the Superhero's immediate danger forbid me from seeking the Damsel and Kunoichi. Wrappers crackled as I hurtled toward the kitchen, the single room where the floor did not glitter. Drawing inspiration from the Superhero and Kunoichi's heroics, driven by the Damsel's unwavering stance against abandonment, I thrust open that vintage door, confident the Superhero and I could thwart the Darlingtons' trick together.

"I'll say it one more time, girl! Drop your weapons, return my phone and face justice! Nobody needs to get hurt!" commanded the Superhero.

Nauseating bleach stung my nostrils. Harsh light, bouncing off the chessboard floor, white walls and stainless steel surfaces, seared my retinas. No trace of the scrumptious aroma lingered nor did cookware crowd the spotless countertops. The Superhero's windswept hair, bodysuit and cape shimmered beside me. Fists on his hips, the scales of justice radiant on his chest, he glowered down his nose at Chef Shelby, the fifth person I had mindlessly wished for.

Chef Shelby's carving fork and cleaver clattered onto the central countertop. Pouting her lips, she groaned, folded her arms and approached.

Clunk...

Clunk...

Clunk...

An icy shockwave bolted down my spine despite the rising warmth. I wrestled the urge to flee. Crimson handprints, clawing toward that apron's insignia, drew closer and closer. Chef Shelby ignored the Superhero's defensive stance. Her large eyes stared at me. Slowly, her head tilted and a tiny grin adorned her lips. "Trick or treat?"

Emboldened by the Superhero's presence, empowered by resurrected trust in my other companions and the neighbourhood, I stood unwavering before her. By the time I mustered the courage to answer the single question Chef Shelby posed throughout the evening, she stood just an arm's length away.