181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 61: Cry for Help

Wearing a pair of sneakers as Mickey instructed, I walked toward the gate of our house, still worried and shocked about Mom's attitude during dinnertime. Even Suzie was surprised. Mom often looked empty when she would face me, and the times she would show emotions were rare. But this year, in a short span of time, I had seen her smile, cry . . . and get annoyed.

I would count that as a win.

I was with Troy and another bodyguard, waiting by the gates of our residence, when a motorcycle stopped in front of us. My guardians were on high alert, positioning themselves in front of me. But as soon as rider took off her helmet, I stepped forward.

"You don't have to show off," I told Mickey as I walked toward her.

"I'm not," Mickey replied with a smile and reached for the other helmet. "Were they about to shoot me?"

I laughed. "No, silly."

It took me a while to move on from her appearance. All-black outfit. Newly trimmed layered hair. Ankle boots. A V-neck sleeveless top whose armholes seemed to have been purposefully ripped off. She looked so damn gorgeous. Everything was in place.

I hopped in onto her motorcycle. My words got lost inside the helmet when I asked her where she borrowed the ride, so I had to open the protective visor to speak. But instead of talking to Mickey, I spoke to Troy and the other bodyguard instead, who seemed hesitant to let me go.

"I'm going to be fine," I assured them. "She has a license to drive."

They looked at each other before Troy patted my helmet. "Madam told us to look after you."

"M-mom?"

Troy nodded. "She was worried you'd do reckless things today because, in her own words, she made you upset yesterday."

I bit my lip. She was clearly the one who got upset, not me. Maybe she reflected on her own reactions, but it would have been better if she were here to tell me to take care instead of them.

"I'm going to be fine. I'll be back home before dinner."

"Take care, Ms. Maddie," the guards said in unison before Mickey drove off.

The streets were familiar, and only until when we passed by a basketball court did I realize it was where Mickey lived. However, we drove past their place. It took us another fifteen minutes from there before we arrive at an old abandoned house in a secluded street.

"And where are we?" I asked, removing the helmet. "Is this your idea of a date now?"

"The Madeline Jesty Jacobs loves the bizarre," Mickey replied, "so I brought you here."

"This is not bizarre. More like haunting."

"They say they hear howling sounds from here," Mickey murmured. I hit her shoulder, which she laughed at. "But I've been here too many times, and I can confidently say the howling sound came from there," she continued as she pointed at the window. "Why, are you afraid of ghosts? Don't tell me you believe in superstitions?"

"I don't believe in superstitions, but in ghosts . . . I'm not sure. I haven't seen one." Then, I thought of Dad. I wish—if here were dead, though I would rather not—he would show up to me. "I'd love to see one, though. If they were real."

Mickey held my hand and invited me to come inside the abandoned house. The exterior and interior had no much difference—they both looked haunted. The ceiling was dilapidated, windows and tiles broken. The rickety wooden stairs that led to nowhere made me conclude that this was unfinished. The walls were unpainted, but because they were made of cement, they were the only structure that seemed sturdy enough. Cobwebs and dust filled the venue.