Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“I’ll find you all a place to live out here,” I tell her as we wind up the conversation. “How’s that sound?”
“I don’t know. The suburbs?”
“It’s just Roland Park. Ten minutes from downtown, tops.”
“More like twenty with traffic.” She sighs, but I can tell she’s thinking about it. “Just come home and visit soon, okay?”
We hang up and I go wandering in search of sustenance. Maud’s in the kitchen and practically insists on cooking me a fancy lunch, even though all I really want is some toast and crackers. “You’re eating for two,” she chides, steering me over to the table. “Just wait a minute. I made soup.”
At least it’s delicious. Chicken noodle, rich and warm. Better than the condensed canned stuff I’ve always eaten, which is all we could ever afford. Maud watches me slurp it down with a little bit of pride.
“Arsen says you’re an explorer.” She lingers at the side of the table. “What’s that like?”
“Urban exploration,” I correct and wave my spoon in the air. A little soup splatters on my shirt, and I rub it off with my hand. “It was just a hobby. I don’t even do it anymore.”
“That’s like crawling around in the dark looking for graffiti, right?”
“Sort of. I was more into looking around in old, abandoned buildings.”
“Lots of those in Baltimore. Not too many out here though.” She pushes her lips together. “Although there is the old post office.”
My eyebrows raise. I try my best not to look too interested, but I’m doing a shitty job. “Where’s that?”
“It was an elementary school twenty years ago. Then they turned it into the post office. But then they moved into a newer and bigger building, and the old post office is sitting there empty.” She shakes her head at me. “Don’t you worry about it though. There’s no way Arsen would ever let you go near that place.”
“It’s dangerous?” I’m practically salivating at the thought.
“Not exactly.” She hesitates and sighs. “Don’t do something stupid, dear, please?”
“I’d never.” I beam at her, puffing up my chest.
And she can see right through me. “Just swear that when he catches you, you won’t mention my name.”
“Never,” I say quickly.
She gives me a disapproving glare, but she says there’s a package waiting for me in the front hall when I’m done eating, then goes back to straightening up. I thank her, throw back the last of my soup, and hurry to grab my box.
Back up in my room, I tear it open and dump out the contents. A small, clear lock, a leather pouch, and a laminated book titled Beginner’s Lockpicking Essentials. I’m practically giddy with excitement as I pick up my tools and flip to the first page.
The problem with having everything is it gets boring very quickly.
I love that I don’t need to stress about daily stuff anymore. No more cooking, no more cleaning, no more scrubbing my own clothes when I get clumsy or careless and get a stain on a pair of white jeans. Now there’s staff to do everything for me.
But that also means I have so much time on my hands and not a whole lot to do.
I explored every inch of the house in the first couple of days. Every room, every weird hallway, all the twisting passages and narrow closets. This place really is like a crazy person’s idea of a mansion.
Everywhere, except the off-limits wing.
That door’s shut solid. I tried a couple of times to jam it open and even used the credit card trick, but no luck. Which is how I ended up watching videos on lockpicking on YouTube and bought some picks and a clear practice lock from one of the influencers.
I know it’s a bad idea. I’m going to do something dumb and get myself in trouble. But the thrill I feel as I figure out how to rake the pins and twist the tumbler makes me ignore all that.
This is what I love. Finding ways to get places I’m not supposed to.
And now at least I have a project.
There’s a big, full moon outside when I slip through the back door. I’m nervous, but I’ve gone over this plan a dozen times in my head. Security is facing outward. They’re on the hunt for people sneaking in, not for someone sneaking out. I hurry through the back garden, reach the tall back fence, and climb over. I drop to the other side, crouch in the bushes for a full minute before hurrying through the underbrush. It takes a few minutes before I reach a main road, but once I orient myself, it’s not hard to figure out where to go.
Roland Park is safe. I stroll along a wide sidewalk and look up at the old houses hidden behind big trees. The air is so clear and crisp out here. Even though it’s still Baltimore, it feels like I’m in a totally different world.