Arrived (Book One)

Chapter 10: Decisions, Decisions

"What do you mean he got bailed out?" I asked. "That crook doesn't deserve to live!" "I know," Dad replied sternly. "That man has been on my radar for almost a decade. But what we found out is that someone paid his bail for at least forty thousand dollars and bribed others to keep it quiet."

"My only guess is his wife." The woman that was killed in the mansion. "Does that mean," I said slowly. "That whoever killed Goodman's wife and son, is related to the trafficking ring?"

Dad shook his head, but smiled. "You're thinking like your mother," he said sadly. "That is what I have always liked about you." "Other than my stubborness?" I joked. He ruffled my hair then rolled his eyes. "I guess so," he snickered.

It was actually nice working together with Dad. "Was it cool, traveling around the world?" I whispered. "Yeah," he answered. "It became a reason why I wanted to become an FBI agent."

He rummaged into his pocket then pulled out an old photo. It was a picture of my parents sitting on a chair with me draped on my mother's lap. "It was your ninth birthday," Dad recalled. "You were wearing your favorite blue plaid dress. You cringed onto your mother like she was a doll."

I smiled at that memory, but then I noticed something on the photo. It was bent and out of shape like a puzzle piece. He has been carrying this for a long time.

"You kept this in your pants pocket," I said. "Didn't you?" He nodded in an unsurprised way. "You got it," he answered. "Whenever I am in a far away mission, I put it in my pocket."

"I thought you have a photographic memory," I said. "I do," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean, I can't keep the photo."As soon as we were finished eating with our food, we happily washed the dishes until Abuela interrupted us.

"Go and get settled in," Abuela insisted. "I will take care of the dishes. Cleo, right?" She looked at my dirty clothes with her black eyes then gazed at me. "Yes ma'am," I answered embarassed. "The bathtub is just down the hallway."

Abuela raised her eyebrow at me, but didn't say a word. "Alright then," she replied. I marched upstairs and headed to my bedroom until Pedro stood there with his back up against the wall.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked slowly. Pedro's face turned bright red as he shook his head furiously. "I wasn't listening," he said, getting flustered. "I was just waiting-" His voice was squeaky and his entire face is sweaty.

He's an absolute liar. "Look," I began, interrupting him. "It's not okay that you eavesdrop, I just want to know why." He let out a loud sigh then said an apology. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I can get a bit curious sometimes."

"Okay," I sighed. "But that doesn't mean that you can eavesdrop on people's conversations." "How old are you anyway?" Pedro asked, changing the subject. "Sixteen," I answered. "When I was younger, I skipped a couple of grades at school. Right now, I am in eleventh grade."

"Cool," he beamed. "You're the smartest one in your class?" "I'm not the only one," I answered. "My best friend, Paige is." "Oh," Pedro said. "That's fine," I insisted with a shrug. "To be honest, I look up to my parents, because they are both geniuses."

I was about to open my bedroom door until Pedro asked me one more question: So, what's your dad's story?" I looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I don't know," he shrugged. "Your dad looks like he has been traumatized or something."

My face went stiff for a moment. I didn't like it when people are into Dad's business. Especially, when it comes to make fun of him. "I don't know," I answered sternly. "But if it is something extremely private, then I can't tell you. Goodnight."

I closed the door behind me with a quiet slam then got out my sleepwear out of my suitcase. Meanwhile, I took a nice, long bath, put on my soft pajamas, and finally slept peacefully on my new bed, which was a lot comfortable than my old one.

Just then, I heard something in my walls. I hopped out of bed then decided to check it out. I got out a metal cup from my luggage then pressed the rim against the wall. It was an old trick that I used to do whenever I wanted to eavesdrop on my parents' conversations.

A distant ringtone came from the other end. It sounded like my father's cellphone. A Harry Potter theme song kept playing over and over again until my dad picked it up. "What?" Dad grumbled. "Ben, I need your help," said a familiar voice.

"Senior Goodman?" Dad asked. "Why are you calling-" "There is no time for questions," Goodman interrupted. "My son has been missing for two weeks now. I want you and your daughter to come and find my son."

"And why should I help you?" Dad snorted. "The last time I checked, you had something to do with that trafficking ring ten years ago." "Forgive me," he begged. "I was foolish and stupid, but not this time. Please, save my son and I will pay you a fortune."

"I am not one of your goons," Dad snarled. "And, neither is my daughter." "Save my son, Ben." Goodman said. "Please." "Goodnight," Dad replied sharply as he ended the call.

I lowered the cup and let it sit on the pink carpet. Maybe we should help him, I thought to myself. But then another decision came to me: Are you kidding? That guy is a crook, you said so yourself, Genius!

That is true, but what if Senior Goodman's son is dead? Seventy percent of me thinks that Goodman will blame us constantly if we didn't save him, but thirty percent of me thinks that Goodman needs to call the police instead of outcast nerds, like us.

Throwing a blanket over my body, I have finally decided to help Goodman with his case. Although it was reckless, I desperately wanted to find the kidnapper and/or the assassin who killed Goodman's friends and family, and have confidence that my father and I can make it all in one piece...I hope.