I didn't see him in school for the next three days and believe me, I was going nuts about his whereabouts. Not that I cared, but an unconscious suspense roared inside me. All lessons seemed to get boring. Everything got dull.
I didn't know what got inside me, but I started researching about him. I searched on the Internet, but matches were found. It said that the family lived aeons ago in
Birmingham. I chose to ignore it. The one day, I chose to consult the best man over
social networks and issues, my stepfather, Rick Stephens.
He had a great day and just entered the house, embraced my mother and was about to have dinner when I poked in.
"Rick! Welcome home!" I said with great enthusiasm.
He looked at me, grinned and went back to take his bite of pork ribs and cheddar.
"Hey, sweetie. Yes, you can take my credit card for shopping tomorrow."
Mark Hannigal went back of my mind when I heard it. But then again, curiosity is
dangerous.
"Uh, not about that. How did you know I wanted something?"
"Why else would you welcome me in my own house?" a confidence arose in his face.
"No, actually I had to ask you something." A feeble voice escaped my mouth.
"Except from the credit cards?"
"Except from the credit cards."
"Shoot it." He took a sip of soup from his bowl.
"Well, I wonder if you know about the people who moved right at the corner of the
street. The Hannigals, perhaps."
Rick knitted his eyebrows so sharply that I expected them to explode at any time. But I waited patiently. After a long cognitive thinking, he said,
"Oh, yes. The brothers."
"The brothers?" Curiosity level – Zenith.
"Yeah. Interesting story. Father died in a war. Mother died in grief. Brother works while the youngest one is in high school."
"How do you know?"
"They live in the same house Patrick did. He got the story out while they were dealing
the plot off." Patrick was Rick's old friend who shifted to New Hampshire some months ago.
"What does the elder brother do?"
"Why do you care?" he eyed me. I hate it when people do that.
"Curiosity." Was the only right answer in my mental dictionary.
"He works as a client in a company. Bancos & Gator is the name of the company."
"What's his name?"
"Tell me, lady. Are you stalking that guy?" He meant it as a joke, I took it seriously.
I directly said, "You know what, never mind." And I raced up to my bedroom.
I realised that maybe I should not care. Maybe, after the scandal, he decided to change his school. Maybe, he felt massively guilty of his doings and maybe , he realised it was best for him to get away.
But all these thoughts were overpowered by just one decision. I needed to give Mark
Hannigal a visit.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
I stood in front of a big house which deserves to be called a Mansion. But some
characteristics of house were weird. There was no name plate or letter box. No address and the lights seemed to be dim in the evening only. Adrenaline pushed inside me.
Suddenly, I had a certain urge to walk away. But I already realised that my legs were on work. Soon, I caught myself staring at the front door. I took a deep breath and wishing myself luck, knocked at the door. There was no door bell.
A dreadfully muscular man opened the door. He wore a formal suit and his biceps
refluxed when he opened the door. My mouth refused to speak. But the man didn't
even look at me. He was busy with his cellphone, watching some street fighting.
To my amazement, He wore a tank top inside his formal coat. I am not an expert stylist, but I figured out that it was a bit absurd. I decided to step on the conversation first.
"Hi. I am...." But then he saw me.
His expressions were blank. As if he had seen me after a long time. Either that or
something else, but he stared just like his brother, at me. My cheeks got red, I admit.
But then he mouthed the words,
"This is impossible."