The Mystery Fighter

The Mystery Fighter (3)

I zipped my bag up and looked around the near vacant house. We had managed to sell some of the decent-looking furniture but had to leave the rest as we couldn't waste any money on hiring professionals to move them.

I slung the big backpack with my dearest possessions over my shoulders.

"Celine, it's time to go."

I heard her running down the stairs and held the door open for her. She wore her school backpack over one shoulder and her jacket over the other. I smiled and helped her properly put on the jacket before placing the bag on her back.

"There you go. Just wait by the motorcycle, I'll be there in a minute." She nodded and walked over to the driveway, fastening her bag around her waist.

I took the keys out of my pocket and hung them up on the wall by the door. I had managed to sell the house through the gray market, an unauthorized sale that was quite common in the Range Lake area as the government often chose to look past the less industrial cities. The new owners of the house would be here soon, and the money transaction had already been done. We had no reason to stay any longer.

My eyes skimmed over the front porch before I finally retreated to the motorcycle that would carry us over the next 500 miles westwards.

After fastening the helmet over my sister's head and making sure she was positioned safely in front of me, I started the engine. We raced just before sundown toward our cheap, but livable, apartment located on the outskirts of the neighboring city. I stared blankly ahead as the sound of the motorcycle engine cut through the otherwise silent neighborhood.

This was going to be eight long hours.

We stopped at a gas station four hours later.

I stared blankly at the growing numbers on the screen as the tank got filled up. It was ironic to think that just a few days back, I actually was a little happy. Just yesterday, I found myself crying yet again by mother's grave. Now, I found it difficult to show any emotion at all.

We reached our new apartment a couple of hours before midnight.

It was the only apartment that had a price we could afford, and fortunately, it looked decent enough. I looked up at the building as I parked. There was graffiti painted on the front and corner of the building which, combined with the darkness of the late hour, made it look abandoned. The windows were stained and the paint around the front door was ebbing off.

It didn't matter. I wouldn't bring people here anyway.

I parked the motorcycle in the public parking lot and slowly lifted a sleeping Celine into my arms. I was breathing heavily when I reached the door to our apartment on the third floor. Finding the keys the landlord had hidden for me under the doormat, I opened the door and slid through the opening, careful not to hit Celine's head on the way in.

Before doing anything else, I quickly found the bedroom and placed my sister on the bed, tucking her in with a blanket I had brought.

The kitchen and living room were connected, making the small individual rooms seem bigger. After closing the door to the bedroom, I dropped my bag on the battered couch in the living room before making my way to the open kitchen.

The kitchen consisted of a couple of cabinets, a dirty microwave and a small island in the middle. The living room offered a small couch, an outdated cable television sitting atop the coffee table and a window with a view to the brick wall of the neighbouring apartment complex. A nightstand, a single bed and a slender closet occupied the bedroom.