Serial

16. Break

      The night of Halloween wore on over Eastworrow Lake. As the clock struck 9:30 parents begun to break off from the crowds of bachelors and college students, dragging protesting children back into family sized SUVs and driving back into the peaceful neighbourhoods of Bonbury. Those that remained at Eastworrow Lake were young and full of life. The music was turned louder, more drinks were poured, and inhibitions were lost.

      Passed Eastworrow Lake, down the twisting back roads, the feeling at the party at the Swann Manor was an entirely different sort. A general air of confusion still lingered in the air, sprinkled with a foreboding sense of dread.

      One guest, however, strutted through the long halls with a smile on her face and a pep in her step. Millie Baker was having a grand old time wandering the halls with her husband.

     Given no other clue or option, the guests that had met in the dining room had at 9:30 pm on halloween night decided that they need to split up. This gave them the opportunity to cast a wider net over the Swann manor. They were still unsure of what exactly they were searching for, but would settle for finding other guests, more clues, or even the supposed host of the evening, Loretta Swann.

      Millie Baker, however, was doing what she did best. Millie Baker spent this time to push her nose into the secretive and mysterious lifestyle of Loretta Swann. As she walked the halls with her husband, she peaked into every room and closet. She looked at every photograph, opened every drawer, and flipped through any notebook or pad of paper she could find.

      Arthur Baker, on the other hand, walked alongside her much more somber. He looked as best he could in the various rooms, but was often distracted by the painting and other various works of art scattered throughout the house.

     “Oh honey! Can't you just imagine us living in a house this grand! Sometimes I think I was born to the wrong parents. I was supposed to be a high society woman.” Millie held up an ornate fan and wafted it about as she snooped through the room.

       “We can all have dreams, dear, but remember, we have a job to do.”

---

      On the second level of the house, down a different corridor, Aimie Mickiewicz walked slowly and with uncertainty. She trailed behind Annabelle, whom she had been paired up with. Annabelle walked with purpose. She busted through doors without a care, throwing open wardrobes and pulling back shower curtains like the house was her own. Aimie just stood awkwardly at the entry ways.

      “You going to help out?” Annabelle asked, turning around once more to Aimie not moving.

      “It's not my house.” Aimie squeaked out, wrapping her arms around herself to become smaller. Annabelle rolled her eyes and went back to searching the room.

      “You don’t have to act so fake you know.”

      Aimie dropped her arms and starting pulling open drawers.

      “How could you tell?” Aimie's sweet voice was now cold and unwelcoming.

      Annabelle turned to here and put on a fake smile, then spoke in an over-the-top southern style accent. “Because darlin us belles can always smell bull s**t from a mile away.”

      It was Aimie's turn to roll her eyes. She stood up and took one more look around. “This is stupid. What are we even looking for? We should just be trying to bust windows down or some shit.”

      Annabelle walked up to the window and pulled back the curtain, revealing strips of metal that barred the windows in a gothic style.

      “Think you could fit through that? Besides we're on the second floor.”

      “But the first floor didn't have bars on all the windows. We could try down there.”

      Annabelle shrugged. “Find something that can smash it and let's go.”

---

      At the entrance to the manor, Scout and Trey inspected the door. Detective Dauer lent against the wall, keeping one eye on the other two, and the other looking down the hallway. He had mellowed out since first meeting Trey by the entrance earlier in the night, but internally he still seethed, becoming increasingly more irate the longer he was stuck in the house without his sidearm.

      Scout and Trey huddle by the door, trying to figure out the abundance of locks that stretched along its side.

      “Can you pick them or something?” Trey whispered lowly, trying not to let the detective hear their conversation.

      “Nah man. These are all electronic locks. There's not even a proper key hole. They need a combination to open.”

      Trey looked down at the band around his wrist. “Well that weird voice thing said the combinations are on the wristbands. What time does yours say?”

      “9:38. You?”

      “Same… Wait a minute, are there any buttons on yours? There's one on mine.”

      “Oh yeah. It's… a heart rate monitor? What the hell?” Scout looked down and the unmistakable rhythm of his heart beat flashed across the small screen. Trey pointed his watch to Scout, revealing the rhythm of his own beating heart.

      “And if you press it again it just goes back into being a watch. So what the hell is the password supposed to be?”

      “Could it be our heart rates?”

      “I don't think so. Or else it would be changing the whole time, or two people might have the same code. There must be something else. Maybe if we can take them off the code's on the back.”

    “How? It's solid metal. It looks that they were f*****g welded on.”

      “Maybe… Maybe there's a saw or something around here. Let's keep looking.”

      Scout rubbed his wrist where the band lay. He didn't like the idea of sawing it off, but the idea of getting caught was even worse.