Jonathan was driven to the back of the estate where there stood dozens of rows of small bungalows. Narrow, paved pathways separated each home from the next like a small neighborhood. Each had it's yard and backyard from the looks of it. And many residents.
The driver dropped Jonathan off in front of a blue one store home, no bigger than the apartment he had when he got out of college. Inside was already furnished, albeit plainly. There were two bedrooms, one with an ensuite bathroom the other was made up perfectly for a child. There was no tv, only a bookcase stocked with good, though outdated, novels. Jonathan checked every closet, and cupboard to find cleaning supplies. Going over everything the Fabuloso. There wasn't much to clean or much to do but wait.
Brenda didn't tell him what she was planning on doing. She only told him to trust her and her girls. For the most part, Jonathan did trust her. He trusted Brenda to handle his ex better than he could ever during their whole marriage. What he didn't trust... was himself.
As he sat at the small dining table, he scrolled through the pictures and videos of Milla on his phone. It's been so long since he's been with her, he wasn't sure if everything was going to be... right. He'd like to think of himself as quite sensible. He'd have to be being a detective. But those rules don't apply to the world of parenthood. At times being a father can be a thrill. Especially when Milla was a toddler. Chasing after her, fishing coins and toys and other tiny things out of her mouth with fierce urgency. But then, there were the moments of mundane. Watching her color, listening to Milla tell her stories with such enthusiasm, Jonathan often forgets she's talking about a cartoon, or a dream she can't quite remember but still wants to share it with him.
Before the divorce, Jonathan was good at the mundane part. The icky parts when she couldn't make it to that bathroom or got sick, everything was fine. Just another part of being a father. Looking down at his hands, the trembled. His heart thumped aggressively in his chest.
From the moment he became a father he pushed through life using his heart. This time is no different.
Unable to contain his anxiousness he walked about the small bungalow. Counting all the windows. Five in total. How many steps it takes to get from the his bedroom to Milla's. Seven walking normally, three if he takes long strides. Jonathan cracked opened one of the books, only reading a page before he swapped it out for something that looked mysterious. But he didn't give that book much of a chance either. Every five seconds checking the time, and checking his messages.
In his pocket is the napkin Brenda gave him.
His phone buzzed making his heart jump into his chest. It was from an unknown number.
-Daddy's little girl coming home? How nice...-
Jonathan stared at his phone. His body overcome by coldness as if stepping out into the wintery night.
-Who is this?-
He got another message, this time from Brenda. -You'll see your daughter soon-
Jonathan's body was rigid and cold. Hands of despair wrapped around his neck, squeezing until all the air was trapped in his lungs.
Another message from unknown came through. It was a picture. The picture was of the bungalow he was in. He zoomed in, and could see him. Staring at his phone just as he is now. Jonathan snapped his head out the window.
Miles away, stood a tall figure cloaked in black. He couldn't tell if it was a male or female. A flash came from with in its hand. Seconds later, another picture came through. Of him staring back. With shaky fingers he replied.
-What do you want?-
Jonathan wanted to confront this figure. But the terror in him kept him right where he stood. He was desperate for a simple response, a simple request and maybe he can figure out how to fix everything. But the only thing that figure sent was a simple three worded message.
-I'm watching you.-
The figure began to walk off. Without thinking, Jonathan went after it.
"Hey! HEY!!" Jonathan was quickly gaining the attention of the others. The witches and their families. "What do you want!" Jonathan was gaining on the figure as it strolled down the path towards the estate. And when he got close, he grabbed their shoulder and spun them around.
But as if chasing a mirage, nothing was there. He was surrounded by curious and even frightened eyes. Jonathan stared at his empty,shaking hands, not even a scrap of clothing.
"Wha-"
"Daddy?" Jonathan turned to face Brenda holding Milla in her arms. "What's wrong?" Seeing his daughter brought on something strange. The twisted mixture of happiness and the purest most authentic form a terror that snaked around his entire body. Jonathan plastered on a big, fake smile and said, "Nothing, baby. Just… nerves." He took Milla from Brenda's arms.
"Thank you." He said robotically. Brenda only nodded, watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. Jonathan couldn't bother himself with Brenda now. He had his daughter in his arms. That should be all that mattered.
But it wasn't.
It was fascinating how a child couldn't quite see danger, but can ultimately feel it. Like feeling around in dark murky water. Unsure if your fingers will curl around something precious, or be snapped off.
Milla could sense something was off with her father. She watched him, with her big brown eyes as he made them dinner. And stayed close to him while she played with her toys. She wasn't speaking as much, she hardly wanted to take off her jacket or shoes.
When it was bed time, Jonathan made sure she was snuggled up with her favorite stuffed animal. A rainbow colored sloth she named Mary, after his mother. Jonathan read her two stories for her eyes to become heavy, but she wasn't quite sleepy.
"Daddy?" Milla said sheepishly.
"Yes?"
"When are we going home?" Jonathan paused.
"I'm not sure. There are something's I have to do before we can go back home." Milla took in what he said. She wasn't happy about it. Jonathan kissed her on her forehead. "Get some sleep, I'll be right here." Jonathan sat in an bear shaped chair and tried to work on the book he was reading earlier. Though his nerves were still on edge.
But when his phone buzzed, again, they were only heightened. Jonathan stared at his phone on the night stand. It was notifications. But the uneasiness in him didn't go away. Jonathan got his phone. It was a Facebook notification. He was tagged in a post.
It was a picture of his ex, June. The only thing the post said was; I'm so sorry, Jon.
He fumbled to his contacts and called June. The phone was answered on the first ring. But it wasn't June. The person on the other end of the phone was a older man.
"Where's, June?"
"I'm sorry to be the one to inform you, sir. But June… she's passed on."