Chapter 1
The house was quite large, white stone climbing up sections of the house, the lawn neatly trimmed and the deck freshly oiled. A tall oak tree sits in the front yard, the branches climbing up to the second story window. The window with a broken fly screen and the windowpane cracked open.
Bingo.
The blindingly white car sitting in the driveway told him the owners were home, but he was concerned. He was looking forward to this actually. Standing across the road, leaning against the neighbour’s high boarded fence, he chews on a toothpick, his other hand fiddling with the pocketknife within his jacket pocket.
Minnie had done all the hard work. Locating the house, sussing out the neighbours and the closet hotel. She’d even gone to the effort to track down the quickest getaway routes, something that was usually left up to Mickey.
He was almost giddy with anticipation, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shouldn’t be so excited; this was serious business. Something that Minnie wouldn’t usually give him the go ahead with, but she was handing him the reigns more often now.
It was definitely going to his head.
Flicking the toothpick to the ground, Mickey saunters across the road to the house, hands in his pockets. He could feel Minnie’s annoyance already at his lack of tactfulness, but he didn’t care. He knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going, and how he was going to do this.
Walking up to the tree, Mickey immediately begins to climb, lean muscles taunt as he flings himself up onto a branch and continues his way across the broad boughs of the tree until he comes up to the window, balancing precariously.
With his pocketknife in one hand, he easily rips open the fly screen with an even bigger hole, humming softly to himself as he pulls at the stuff window, cranking it up enough for him to slip inside.
Easy. Simple.
His feet land on the soft grey carpet with a thud, knees bending as he finishes climbing in through the window with a groan. Looking around it was safe to say he was in a bedroom, perhaps a guest room with the lack of personalization. The whole room is painted in a white grey, the bed dressed in an array of grey textured quilts and blankets.
Was this really the right house?
Stepping quietly through the room, Mickey makes his way into the hallway, eyes curiously taking in every detail. He follows the trail to the left that heads down to the bottom floor, the wall decorated in a mirage of photographs.
Smiling faces greet him as he takes his first few steps, pictures of an older balding man and his family line the wall in simple wooden frames. Children of different ages playing in the very backyard of this house. Did he have a large family? Minnie didn’t mention it. She didn’t even say if he had a wife, Mickey assumed he didn’t.
Stepping onto the ground floor, Mickey takes a peep around the corner, sussing out the layout. The kitchen was off to the right, the lounge room to the left, and if Minnie’s info was right the study should be off of the kitchen. All he had to do was walk around the island bench to the other side and enter the study stealthily. Minnie had been very firm with the stealth part.
Softly stepping through the house, Mickey swipes a hand through his hair, the shaggy brown tickling the back of his neck. He couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face.
Humming, Mickey takes out his pocketknife from his pocket, flicking the blade in and out, in and out, boots hardly making a sound on the floor as he rounds the kitchen, eyes momentarily catching onto the bowl of shiny green apples.
He’d have to snag one of those on his way out.
“Um.”
His head whips to the side, eyes turning to slits and his smile dropping from his face. A teenager is crouched in the corner kitchen, the bottom cupboard open and a packet of chips in hand as he stares up at Mickey with confusion.
“Who’re you?”
Well shit.
Mickey spins on his foot, stepping a little bit closer. He didn’t look like bald guy’s son... not with the red hair a face full of freckles.
“I could ask the same thing.”
The kid stands, his head barely reaching Mickey’s chin as he leans back against the counter, confusion still plastered across his face as well as a bit of good old stranger danger wariness.
“Are you looking for my uncle?”
Ah, uncle. That makes more sense.
“Yeah, yeah, I was. Say, what’s your name kid?”
The packet of chips crinkles in his hand. “Todd.”
Mickey could feel the buzzing in his head getting louder, a whisper trying to push through the fog, but he didn’t appreciate the interruption.
Kill him.
He knew that already, there was no reason to interrupt his train of thought for that. He wanted to argue back, but he knew he was currently standing in the middle of bald guy’s kitchen on the edge of completely spacing out.
“You close with your uncle?”
The Todd kid still seems wary, but at the mention of his uncle he grimaces, lifting a shoulder in half a shrug. “I mean, he’s alright I guess.”
Mickey snorts.
“I’m sorry, but who are you again?”
Mickey grins, charming smile in place as he holds out a hand. “Mickey.”
Todd shakes it gingerly. “Mickey as in... mouse?”
“Yeah, that would be it.”
Todd smiles, the wariness dissipating at the familiar name.
Mickey had that impression on people. The smile, the hair, the friendly greeting, and of course, the Disney name. How could someone called Mickey ever be a danger to anyone?
“So, Todd, what has you here at your uncle’s? He doesn’t seem like the time to have family around.” Mickey leans a hip against the kitchen counter, intently listening and ignoring the incessant buzzing poking at his mind.
Todd sighs, putting the packet of chips down. “My parents dropped me off. They’re on a business trip and didn’t want me home alone or something. I mean, I’m seventeen they don’t need to treat me like a baby.”
Ah, so he had no choice.
“Do you usually come here when they’re off on trips? I haven’t seen you around.”
Not that he’d seen anyone around.
Kill him!
Todd’s lips move, but the incessant fuzziness clouding his brain is beginning to overwhelm him. Usually Minnie was quieter, less intense, but something was different. It wasn’t just her fighting for attention; fighting to be heard.
He clears his throat, blinking again before grinning and moving towards the study. “Well, I should probably go meet your uncle. I’m guessing he’s in the study?”
Todd’s frowning in confusion again, but Mickey wasn’t about to let an episode happen while he was out in the middle of a stranger’s house.
“Um, he’s not home.”
Shit.
He pauses at the entrance out to the little hallway where the study and bathroom lay. “Oh, well, I’ll wait for him then.”
He moves into the study, opening the dark wood door to a room that smells like paper and take out, the window at the back of the room showing a perfect view into the backyard. The room is painted dark green with a tall bookcase to the right stuffed with books and loose papers. It was a mess, but that was the least of Mickey’s worries right now.
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, letting the coloured spots bleed into his vision for a moment as he tries to make sense of the pressure inside.
What are you doing? He’ll blow our cover! He knows your name! Minnie yells, her tone clipped as she pushes forward, edging forward to take over.
This was Mickey’s moment! She wasn’t going to be taking over just because he wasn’t doing it the way she wanted. He wanted to yell at her, but he was more focused on the other fuzziness in his mind, pushing at Minnie, shoving her backwards with a force that shocked both of them.
No! The yell startles Mickey, his hands moving from his eyes as he blinks furiously.
Was that... who was that?
Minnie hisses in the back of his head, attempting to push forward, but with Mickey so focused on the other voice there’s no room for her.
If you kill him, I’ll– I’ll kill you!
Mickey snorts. As if. That wasn’t possible. Not with Minnie, not with him.
You don’t think I’ll do it? The new voice cracks as waves of pain and determination push through, and Mickey’s fingers switch.
That wasn’t him.
How the f—
I can do it. I—I can take over and end all of this! Just... please Mickey. Don’t take this too far.
It could feel the pain in his voice, the crushing wave of emotion that rolls through his body. Mickey grimaces, snapping back into complete control as the presence disappears and he’s left rubbing at his chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He didn’t think it was even possible, no one had been that present before, other than Minnie. Was this kid really such a big issue? The fact that the presence, the voice had movement, could reach back into their body, and make Mickey’s hands move without consent... it was a reminder. A reminder why he was really here.
“Ah, fuck. Sorry, Minnie, but the plan’s changing.”
He rips open the study door, stepping out and wandering back into the kitchen. Todd isn’t there, his packet of chips gone as well, but he doubted the kid left the house. He doubted the kid even realised he was in danger.
Quickly stepping into the lounge room, he finds Todd on the couch, scrolling through his phone, open chip packet beside him.
“Hey, how long do you think your uncle’s gonna be?”
Todd startles, but relaxes again when he sees it’s just him, and shrugs. “I dunno, he didn’t say.”
Perfect.
There’s a blanket on the back of the couch, thin, tussled on the ends. The coffee table is made of glass, something Mickey would have to try and avoid, but he wasn’t too worried. He had a plan. A plan that would hopefully soothe Minnie’s violence and calm the frazzled voice inside his head.
He steps over and takes a seat on the couch beside Todd, calmly throwing his arms around the back of the couch. Todd shifts awkwardly, but he doesn’t move away. Interesting.
“You mind if we watch some tv while I wait?”
“Uh, sure.”
As Todd leans forward to pick up the tv remote from the coffee table, leaving th perfect opportunity for Mickey to strike. His fingers grasp the throw blanket as he springs forward, roping the blanket around Todd’s neck. He pulls the teen backwards so his back hits his chest, and Todd lets out a chocked gasp before he begins to panic, hands flying to his neck and legs kicking at the floor trying to get traction.
Mickey makes sure that doesn’t happen, leaning backwards, wrapping the blanket around both hands, tightening it against Todd’s airways. He can hear the voices in his head arguing, but he’s quick to shush them, reassuring them that this wasn’t exactly what it looks like.
Todd’s face turns red with the lack of oxygen, his hands attempting to smack at Mickey’s face, arms, body, anything he can reach, but his fight weakens.
Mickey loosens the blanket slowly, carefully as Todd’s body slowly shuts down and falls unconscious. Letting the blanket go, Todd slumps down onto the floor, his upper body crooked and head falling towards his chest.
Easy.
Mickey stands up, throwing the blanket back over the couch and sighing at the now empty chip bag, its remnants crushed into the cushions. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to leave things, but he wasn’t about to clean up another man’s mess. No way. Instead, he bends down and hooks his arms beneath Todd’s armpits, dragging him across the rug, through the kitchen, past the study and all the way to the back door.
Dropping him for a moment to catch his breath, Mickey grins at his genius decision, scrunches up his sleeves and heaves Todd’s lanky body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Oh how he was thankful the old man didn’t bother with security cameras.
