After making sure that Chris had made it all the way upstairs, Claire began the trek across the mansion to the kitchen. Every single light in the house had been turned off, but she could still navigate the empty corridors with ease.

For several months, she had taken amidnightstole from her bedroom on the second floor to the kitchen to meet Mr. Furta, another musician who was currently losing much of his fans and money due to the popularity of the Evens.

On the wall of the last hall to the kitchen, the shadow of an extremely plump man was shown taking a knife from its sheath. Claire took note of the shadow, but still continued down the hall and turned into the kitchen.

“Ah, welcome Claire. And how does this evening find you.”

“Did you bring the documents?” Claire demanded shakily.

Mr. Furta chuckled. “Of course my dear.”

Claire snatched the manila folder from the man’s thick hands, unclipped the envelope with her gloved ones and inspected the papers carefully. “Okay, this is good.”

“Now, do you know what to do my dear?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I’ll leave it to you,” the man whispered, then cupped his hand around her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Claire immediately moved her head to bite Mr. Furta’s hand. He let out a small grunt as blood seeped through the teeth marks on his skin.

“I told you if you ever did that again I’d kill you.”

“You wouldn’t,” he laughed again.

“I might.”

Mr. Furta scowled, and then handed the knife to Claire. “Just do your job.”   

The End

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