Pitbabe S2, Chapter 9 pg9

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 9 pg9

   “Go in and lock the door right away. Don’t leave it open. Before you leave, double-check that it’s locked. If you’re worried you’ll forget, just think about how many hundreds of millions the cars in the showroom are worth. You’d still be paying off the debt in hell, Kim.”

   Alan kept repeating himself until I started wondering if he even knows me. If it was North or Sonic, I’d get it—those two are scatterbrained, so it’s not weird to worry about them. But this is me we’re talking about. Honestly, I think I’m more level-headed than him. The old man’s getting more forgetful by the day; it won’t be long before the great captain’s on his way down for real.

   I tap my card on the scanner at the door, and in a few seconds, I hear the unlock sound. Once I’m inside, I don’t forget to press the lock button from the inside again. This place is pretty big, and even though there’s a security guard out front 24/7, mistakes can happen. Someone could slip in during a moment when no one’s watching, especially while I’m busy looking for something. Today’s a holiday, so there are even fewer people around to keep an eye out. That’s why the old man kept stressing to lock the door at all times.

   The reason I’m at the showroom alone on a holiday like this isn’t anything complicated. I lost my car keys.

   Here’s the deal: this morning, Phii Alan (and Jeff) brought me to the showroom to check out some cars because I’d mentioned a few days ago that I wanted to switch cars. Today was an auspicious day, so the two garage owners took me to visit the showroom. Normally, this place isn’t open for casual browsing. Regular or walk-in customers have to make an appointment first, and only when it’s their turn do they get to come in one by one. It’s for order, safety, and, of course, to give customers that special feeling. So, for me to get a chance to see these pricey babies, I had to wait my turn like everyone else. No special privileges for being a racer or the garage owner’s little brother.

   The thing is, I still couldn’t pick a car I liked, so I came home empty-handed today—truly “empty-handed.” Not only did I not get a new car, but I also lost the keys to my old one. I spent the whole day searching, retracing my steps everywhere, but there’s no sign of them. This place is the only spot I haven’t checked, so I had to beg Alan for the keycard to reopen the showroom. At first, he was going to come with me, but then he remembered he had a dinner date with his girlfriend and couldn’t be late. So, the captain reluctantly handed me the keycard, drilling me with eight rounds of warnings and instructions.

   I flicked on more lights because the ones already on weren’t bright enough to spot something small like car keys. I scanned the room, walking the same path I took this morning, all while praying to God in my head that the keys didn’t fall into one of the cars. I can’t open any of them, so even if I knew they were in a car, I’d have to wait for Alan to unlock it tomorrow. And I’d definitely get an earful—not from Alan, mind you, because there’s someone way scarier pulling the strings behind that old man.

   It’s dead silent here, so quiet I can hear my own footsteps echoing. Even the slightest movement makes the rustle of my clothes crystal clear. And because of that, I quickly realized… I’m not alone.

   If this were North, Sonic, or Dean, the first thing they’d say in a situation like this would be, “Is it… is it that?”—code for “Is it a ghost?” But as someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, or anything supernatural, the only word in my head right now is “thief.”

   I froze for a moment, listening to the sounds around me. Just a second ago, I was pretty sure I heard something like a pencil hitting the floor. I don’t know where it came from, but a sound like that out of nowhere is definitely not normal. With that in mind, I pulled my phone out of my pants pocket, slowly backing toward where I came from, eyes darting around cautiously. First thing I’m doing is calling the police. Then I’ll find the security guard outside and call Alan.

   Creak!

   Another strange sound rang out. This time, I whipped around toward it, and my eyes locked onto a figure standing just a few meters away.

   And honestly, this person scared me more than any ghost or thief ever could.

   “I’m not here to steal.”

   They spoke first, raising both hands to shoulder level to prove their innocence.

   But that’s not what I was worried about.

   “You… when did you get out?”

   Because what’s way more concerning than someone breaking into the showroom is that he’s here.

   “Not long,” he replied flatly, his gaze unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous, scared, sad, or just feeling nothing at all. “Didn’t really want to come out.”

   “What’s that supposed to mean?”

   He didn’t answer.

   Just stood there, still. Not running, not talking, and no sign of wanting to harm me.

   “What are you doing here… Ken?”

   

Previous

Next