Burnington Gaol

F O R T Y - O N E | Adeline

"I told you I'd make you a rebel."

"Shut up and unlock the door."

Billy crouched down, hairpin jammed in the lock. My sharp eyes grazed over the backyard. Everything was still and quiet, from the white stone pathway headed down to the rickety clothesline, to the neatened grass, trimmed, running along to the rusted back fence. I flicked my hair out of my eyes, tapped my foot impatiently.

"Come on, Billy."

"I'm going as fast as I can."

He narrowed his eyes, steadying his hands.

"Ad," he said quietly. "Don't get me wrong – I love this new-found rebelliousness in you – but why exactly are we breaking in? There's no one here."

"Frank said he'd be here, but that was before Dad put us under house arrest." I raked my hand through my hair. "We need something to go on. If he's not here, then maybe something is that can point us in the right direction."

"So you're hoping that something inside will point us towards Seth?"

"I'm hoping to find something in there that can tell me if he's guilty or not."

Billy's mouth twitched.

"Seems like a bit of a stretch."

"Well, it's all we have," I snapped.

The tone in my voice caught me by surprise. I immediately paused, my eyes slightly widening.

"Sorry," I mumbled, looking down at my shoes. "It's just... we only have a few days left now. I just need something to go on. A lead. Evidence."

Billy looked up at me, his eyes soft and understanding.

"I know," he said, his hand finding mine.

I breathed out a sigh, nodded, and Billy went back to work on the lock.

"You're not in love with him, are you?" He asked, amusement in his voice.

"God, no," I exclaimed, disgusted. "He's older than Dad."

"Just making sure."

I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smiling.

The back door popped open and Billy got to his feet. I peered inside, breathing in the scent of old smoke and mothballs.

"Ready?" I asked him as he dusted off his knees.

"I guess."

The two of us took a deep breath, then stepped across the threshold.

The home itself was of modest size, big enough for two people. I looked into the kitchen and dining table area. A small table with four leather chairs, but two were more weathered than the others. The kitchen was neat but not impeccable, like the ones you see in magazines. It was lived in, comfortable. More importantly, it was quiet. Deserted. It made me feel safer.

"Are you sure about this?" Billy asked.

I smiled.

"You losing your edge, little brother?"

"Never," he said quickly, straightening up.

I followed him down the hallway, passing the living room, where two large armchairs and a long leather couch sat. I eyed the television, off, rabbit ears standing tall, before moving along.

"We should find his bedroom," I said.

Billy nodded.

Continuing down the hallway, we came to the front door. Through the windows either side of the wood, I saw the reporters camped out on the grass, their voices floating under the door and into our ears.