5 Entry #5: Storage room

"Oh. My. God."

I attempted to hide the whiteboard I hung on the wall when Roxanne entered, but it was too late.

"What is all that?"

"This... uhh..."

She studied the board, and then she stared at me. "Seriously? Are you playing detective now? You look like you're having fun."

I threw the whiteboard marker at her. "Shut up."

"Is this a real case? Who's Angel?"

"You don't have to know. Get out."

"No, I wanna know."

"At the count of three, Rox." I glared at her. "One..."

"Fine!"

She stomped her feet as she walked out. I looked at the whiteboard and put it down. My mother shouldn't see this.

I went downstairs and looked for my mother.

"Ma, where are the stuff that the former owner of this house left?" I asked my mother, who was sweeping the floor.

"At the storage room. Why?"

"And where is the storage room?"

"At the back of the house. Why?"

I gotta tell you, she was as persistent as I was.

"I just want to check something."

I walked towards the couch where Rox was lying comfortably while watching a romantic movie.

"Rox, come with me."

"Later," she answered, her eyes never deserted the television screen.

I knew why the brat didn't want to be disturbed. She was watching a steamy kissing scene.

‘Why, this wench!’

"I said," I repeated, "come with me."

She stared at me, irritated.

But what choice did she have? I was the older sister!

The dusty storage room was packed with mosquitoes, had lots of different things, and was so dirty. I figured it was probably not a good idea to be there.

But for my peace of mind, I had to.

I saw a disfigured bicycle, a damaged electric fan, tires, a rusty fridge, and a lot of broken things. It was a museum of forgotten and rotten things.

"What are we doing here?" Rox asked as she continuously slapped her arms to kill mosquitoes.

"Did you know? The former owner of my room is named Angel."

"And how did you know?"

I leaned closer to my sister.

"And did you know? She's already dead."

I covered my ears when Roxanne's ear-deafening scream followed.

"Why would you scare me!"

"And oh, remember that case you saw on the whiteboard earlier? That was Angel."

Her face got disfigured by horror. She desperately held on to me in fright. I laughed at how stupid she looked.

I began rummaging through the things inside, and I occasionally coughed when the dust would enter my nose. I should've worn a face mask.

Rox coughed. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

I needed clues, information, or anything that would give me a piece of the puzzle about what happened to Angel. I was sure that she had left some traces.

You might ask, why was I going to such heights for someone I hadn't even seen in person?

I would've answered that I did it to quench my own curiosity, purely. Of all the things I could take from my dad, it was this abnormal fuss for mysteries.

Even I didn't have any control over my curiosity. At one time, I concluded, it was probably a disorder I got from my father. A mental disorder of not being able to stop being curious.

I found a box full of newspapers. Roxanne also came to me bringing a box that had a padlock.

Then we both stopped. We just stopped moving.

I heard a screech somewhere in the room.

A cold breeze of air passed by. Roxanne's grip on me tightened when a cat from outside meowed so loudly it gave us chills.

Then…

*BOOG!*

Something made a loud sound from somewhere, and only God knew what made those things drop on the floor.

Roxanne and I stared at each other in horror.

"What w-was t-that?" Rox stammered.

*BOOG!*

And that was it.

We stared at each other and uttered simultaneously, "Angel?"

"WAAAAAAAAH!"

We both sprinted out of the storage room like our life depended on it. Both panting and sweat dripping on our foreheads, Rox almost cried.

"Is Angel haunting us?"

While catching my breath, I answered her, "Or maybe she's asking for help."

Rox shrieked in horror.

‘But what if that is the case? What if she really wants help?’

**

NICK'S POV

"This is crazy!"

I jerked when the chickens I was feeding frantically flew away when I yelled. I scattered more feed on the ground so they would come back.

I couldn't believe I was actually considering that newbie's crazy deductions to be true. But I also couldn't help but dwell on the fact that murder was more believable than Angel committing suicide.

I found it disturbing how she was found dead inside a drum. If she was going to commit suicide, why did she have to travel to the Garossa factory to do it? Did she not want her mother to know? Then why did she leave a suicide letter to her mother?

And the diary… and that note addressed to the killer… her passcode…

Everything was so confusing.

I carried one of the hens and caressed its feathers, but the jackass flew away. Its claws scratched my skin.

I wiped the blood on the scratches and winced at the tiny pain.

After making sure the chickens were all fed, I went back inside the house. I saw my mother and his boyfriend get out of her room. My mother wore a measly robe, and they kissed each other before the guy left.

"Don’t look at me like that," she told me. "He's way better than your useless father."

"What's his number? I think he's the sixth you brought home this month."

"Shut up. He's eight."

"Ma, why don't you find a long-term boyfriend instead of—"

"What? So you could watch me getting abused again? Why don't you shut up and just watch? That's what you've been doing all this time."

I couldn't say anything more when she left and headed to the kitchen. I sighed.

My father died when I was ten, and I was stunned when I saw my mother laugh like crazy. She laughed as if she had never been that happy.

My father's death signified her freedom. After we were done with his funeral, she brought home as many men as she wanted and played with them like a reckless woman with no son to take care of.

Partly, it was my fault that she ended up like that. Because for years, I watched her getting beaten, and I did nothing. I shut my mouth. I should've protected her from my father no matter what. I should've done something instead of just standing by.

I didn't want to be a watcher anymore. I was sick of it. I hated myself for the things I omitted. If there was something I could do, I ought to do that.

Right... I should stop omitting things I could've done.

I took my phone and dialed Jasmine's number.

"Hey?" she asked on the other line, startled by my call.

"Let's do it."

"Do what?"

"Your investigation, Miss Detective-Wanna-Be."

I heard her scowl. "I'm a detective, you asshole. Not a wanna-be."

I grinned.

‘Yeah, sure… Miss Detective.’