Denzel Flynn ****** I roll the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows. I’ve been staring into the mirror for half an hour, fixing my collar and smoothening the imaginary wrinkles on my shirt. I’ve never known nervousness until today. I always do well at meetings and parties. Yet, dressing up to meet a five-year-old is daunting. I want to look cool yet approachable. I want to look like a superhero in his imagination. But then again, crutch and plasters don’t give a good first impression. I can’t wait to get rid of them. “Are you going on a date?” My little rose is leaning against the doorframe, staring at me with a raised eyebrow. “I get ready like this every morning,” I say defensively. I sneakily follow her reflection in the mirror. Little rose looks timid and exhausted as she sorts the duffle bags. She took a nap on my couch last night, but I guess I was too hard on her yesterday. Feeling mildly guilty, I covered her with a blanket. And I put her phone on silent so Stallon woul

Denzel Flynn ****** When the apartment is dead silent and I’m entirely convinced that little rose and Stallon are asleep, I sneak out of my bedroom. I have to wait until midnight to put my plan into motion. I’ve already given our family doctor a call and he will be outside the door in less than ten minutes. I carry my crutch just in case I’m caught and things go downhill. Making my way stealthily towards Ben’s bedroom, I keep an eye out for Stallon. He’s been suspicious of me and it’s a relief to know he won’t be here to put his nose into my plan starting tomorrow. No sounds are coming from their bedroom. I take it as a sign and twist the doorknob. Little rose has always been a heavy sleeper—I hope that hasn’t changed. I put inside one step after the other cautiously. Ben’s little hand is resting in little rose’s grip. Both of them are in a deep slumber. Without wasting any more of my limited time, I walk up to Ben’s side of the bed. It’s my first time watching him in his sleep

We all accompany the teachers to a new construction house behind the kindergarten. It's a two-storey house with necessary furniture, almost ready to live in but appears way too out of place in this neighbourhood. I still have my doubts about this place. However, the children seem to enjoy the game that hasn't even started yet. Beside me, Naomi is tense as well. "Is it even safe?" One of the parent's questions. "Don't worry, Mrs. Martin. The floors are intact. We have surveillance cameras installed in every corner of the house, so there's an infinitesimal chance of anyone getting lost." The teacher, whose name I've come to know, as Mrs. Peterson, explains. "And if by some unfortunate luck, someone gets hurt, Mrs. Scott here will take good care of them." The teacher gestures towards the lady whose white coat Naomi had borrowed. Hers is the only family to challenge us. "So, let’s discuss the rules. We'll scatter and hide the kids all over the house and the parents will have to loo

Denzel Flynn ****** After little rose's departure, I steady myself and twist the doorknob. The door gets stuck after a push and the cartons on the other side tumble down. Heisha turns around on alert. In her grip, there's a gun, which she points in my direction. I put up my good hand in surrender, easing it behind my head while the other remains before my torso in plaster. With caution, she steps forward and kicks aside the boxes before pulling the door open. Her hands don't tremble as she aims the gun at my head. She's not a rookie. "I've come in peace." I make it clear. Her nose flares and her eyes focus on my face without blinking. "Get inside." I take one step at a time for my safety, behaving as if she's a fragile cat I do not want to startle. She chases me with her gun until I stop feeling an edge of a table poking in my back. The same table with a sharp dagger. If only I could bend my arm a little. "I see you found me. What's your plan now?" She loads the gun, her fin

I freeze on my spot near the couch. Feeling panicky, I try to tear the parcel out of his grip, but he withdraws his hand, curiously going over the details on the box. “Why would anyone send a nameless parcel with no return address?” Denzel gazes at the box like it's a mystery that calls to be solved. “I have no idea.” I try to appear as cool and aloof as best as I can. It’s terrifying to imagine what could be inside the box this time, but it’s more worrying to let Denzel find out about it. My heart is ready to explode out of my broken ribs and my nerves are on edge. I need that parcel in my hand like a drug addict who needs a dose of his favourite cocaine to calm down. But instead of just handing over the parcel like a decent man, Denzel proceeds to make my nightmare come to life when he successfully tears off the tape on the box. Not being able to hold back anymore, I sprint and knock the brown box out of his hand. The parcel flies off and lands in front of the door. I remain