Chapter Text
The entire drive from Washington to California was a blur.
There were trees, bridges, traffic. More trees and more traffic. Honestly, I slept most of the time. When the car stopped for the last time, dad had to shake my shoulders to wake me up.
“Malia, baby, we’re here.”
Groggily, I looked at the dashboard clock. 11:49 pm.
“I lost the bet,” I said with a yawn, stretching my arms wide, nearly hitting dad in the jaw as I did so.
“I’ll cash in the credit later. We’ll unpack the car tomorrow. Are you awake enough to walk upstairs? Derek said the elevator was broke.” He smirked as he clicked the button of my seatbelt like he used to when I was younger and too in a hurry to leave the car to remember to do so myself.
“You talk about Derek as if he was a real person. I’ve never seen him or spoken to him on the phone. I think he’s just some imaginary nephew you created out of sheer boredom. What type of person refuses to Skype?” I mumbled as I searched the floor for my backpack. I was not leaving my laptop and the change of clothes I had in the car overnight.
“You can ask him yourself when we get to his loft.”
Getting out of the car, I noticed the scarcity of the parking garage. There was only one other vehicle, a sweet looking Camaro which seemed out of place in a dump like this. It was parked next to a cement support beam that had seen better days. It looked like the Incredible Hulk had punched it. I’m surprised it was even still standing, much less supporting the cement roof of the parking garage. The place looked abandoned and run down. I hugged my bag close to my chest. I was not getting mugged, nope.
Dad just laughed at me as he clicked the button for the SUV’s alarm system. “Come on, I’m tired. It’s time for bed.”
The further we got into the building, the worse it got. It was extremely dark. Only a few bulbs here and there worked and they were constantly blinking. It was enough to give an epileptic a seizure. I had come to the conclusion that my cousin Derek lived in a horror film. If he really existed, that is.
The fucking stairs were the worst.
This murder house of an abandoned building had five flights of steep, cracked, cement steps leading up to the only loft. If I wasn’t awake before then I sure as hell was now.
“Didn’t you tell me . . . Derek bought the building . . . with the fire insurance money?” I said in between heavy breaths. I wasn’t an athlete by any means; even if I was, I’d still have difficulties keeping up with dad’s steady stride up the stairs.
“Yes.”
“Then why does it look like… shit?” I gestured to the wall ahead of us. It looked like there was blood splatter on it. Old blood splatter. “It also smells like piss.”
“Cat urine yes.”
“You can tell the difference between human and cat pee?” I said, raising one eyebrow in question.
Dad raised his own in response. “Our family has a great sense of smell, Malia.”
I just rolled my eyes in response, trudged my way ahead of him, and continued stomping up the final flight of stairs to the only freaking loft in the building.
“Hurry up, old man, I thought you were tired.”
“Malia, knock on the door when you reach it please,” was his only response.
“Yea, sure,” I sarcastically responded, rolling my eyes as I reached the final landing.
The door was a very large metal door; it looked like it slid open. Why would someone have such a large door? Placing my backpack on the floor next to my feet, I rolled up my sleeves before raising my hand to knock on the door. It opened before I could.
“Holy shit!” I grabbed my backpack with record speed and ran to hide behind my dad who had just reached the landing. Dad laughed. Well, it was more of a cackle but for dad that was his usual laugh.
“Hi, Derek.”
“That,” I pointed at the shirtless man who was scowling at us looking like he was contemplating how he would marinate our flesh after he murdered us gruesomely, “is my cousin?”
Derek just raised his eyebrows in response. I tilted my head as I took in his face. Dad and I had a habit of using our eyebrows as a way to communicate and this guy seemed to have the language down to a T. It was eerie.
“Great. I meet my imaginary cousin for the first time, and I immediately jump to the conclusion that he is a cannibalistic murderer.” That got a smirk from Derek. Progress.
“This is my daughter Malia,” Dad said, ignoring my verbal vomit.
“Hi,” Derek deadpanned in response as he slid the massive metal door open more before walking back into the loft.
Dad followed him in. “Coming, Malia?”
“Sure.”