The double dark oak door opened. Ciema stepped in, shaken, shutting the door behind her.
Jada and Laila, who were in the middle of a board game, looked up in concern. Chi-Chi, nestled in Jada's lap, whined at the sight of her.
"Sweetheart," Jada said, her brows knitted together. "Are you okay?"
"You look like you've seen a catastrophe," Laila added, bluntly. "You good?"
Ciema didn't respond. She just nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. She walked over to the pit and sank into the couch, slouching into the cushions.
Her breathing was shallow and uneven.
T.I.F.F.A.N.Y. popped in, her blue screen dull in color.
"Ciema was snooping around in his room," The Ai explained. "She saw Jaiden..."
The women gasped, scooting back on their couches. "What did he look like?" Jada asked, almost excited.
"I didn't see," Ciema replied, turning away. "I didn't see him fully. Sorry to disappoint, Jada."
Laila scooted closer. "What's wrong, Ciema? Seriously. You look like you saw a demon."
"Yes, Laila," T.I.F.F.A.N.Y replied, her tone sorrowful. "You have no idea how many demons he has."
Laila eyed Ciema carefully. "You sure you're alright? Cause it seems to me you're lying. What did you see in there that you won't tell us?"
Ciema turned to her. "Laila. Like I said before. I saw nothing important."
The tension was broken when Mr. Mace walked in. He carted a tray in front of him. "Anyone in the mood for Garlic Shrimp Pasta?"
He uncovered the dish, revealing the pasta smeared in garlic sauce. It was decorated with golden shrimp.
The girls oohed, enraptured by the shrimp.
Ciema oohed with them, but Jaiden's brokenness in his voice echoed in her mind.
She hugged herself, feeling the burden of the information she knows now.
Yet she hid her worry, putting a joyful smile. "Keep some away from Jada, will you?" Ciema teased.
"Hey!" Jada laughed. "Not nice. It's not my fault I like food!"
Laila eyed Ciema from afar but said nothing.
-
As night approached, Ciema sat on the couch, picking up her plate.
She adjusted her glasses, her mind still racing.
Here she was, burdened with interesting news yet couldn't have the strength to tell anyone. Not even her new friends.
"Mr. Frederick?" Ciema jolted before turning around.
"Oh! Mr. Mace," she sighed, clutching her chest.
"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting beside her. "You seem uptight earlier."
"Yeah well..." she paused, hands clasped together.
"What is it, Ciema?" Mr. Mace asked gently.
Ciema took a deep breath. "I...saw Jaiden. Drunk."
Mr. Mace rubbed her back. "You weren't supposed to see him that way."
"I know," she replied. "I was curious. I didn't mean to see him like that. He almost ended it all right there. But T.I.F.F.A.N.Y. stopped him."
"He has his bouts of depression," Mr. Mace replied, gently. "We've always been able to deal with it before."
"Mr. Mace," Ciema cut in. "Are we seriously gonna work for a man who's not even sober? What if he puts us in danger?"
Mr. Mace rested his hands on her shoulder. "I don't want to make excuses for him. I hate to defend his behavior. The truth is he has his vices. And those vices often take over his life."
"We try to be there for him," he continued. "But sometimes love isn't enough. If we're harsh, he becomes combative. But if we're soft, we enable his addiction. There is no winning."
Ciema nodded understandably.
Mr. Mace smiled. "On the bright side, he isn't taking drugs."
Ciema let out a soft laugh. "That's not comforting."
"I thought so," he said, rising to his feet. He bowed to her.
"Good night, Ms. Frederick."
Ciema bowed her head. "Good night, Mr. Mace."
He turned, heading for the door. Ciema sighed and stood up as he closed the door.
She felt he was right, but at the same time he was wrong.
Yet, she'll keep her thoughts to herself.
Jada and Laila shouldn't know the truth just yet. Laila would quit. Jada would be lost.
And she'd lose her friends. The only ones who'd get her.
So she'll be quiet.
The next morning, Mr. Mace led them down into the basement. It was different than before. There were five shooting targets set up.
Four humans and a cow.
Jada laughed, pointing at the bizarre target. "Oh my..." she bent over, shaking her head.
Laila pointed at the cardboard target, confused. "I don't understand how's that funny."
"Today's lesson," Mr. Mace said, remote in hand. "Is how to use a weapon. Any weapon."
He pressed the button and ten racks rose from the ground. The women oohed in surprise as the racks stilled. They displaying various guns and traditional weapons.
"The hell's that?" Laila asked, pointing at the cane.
"That is a cane sword," Mr. Mace said, carefully picking it off the rack.
"Who would use that?′ Laila asked. "Who has used that?"
Mr. Mace chuckled, setting it back. "You'd be surprised."
"I want that one!" Jada pointed, jumping on the balls of her feet.
Mr. Mace turned then laughed. "You want the Bond Arms Cyclops 45-70?"
Jada froze, her smile disappearing. "I shouldn't?"
"No, no," Mr. Mace shook his head. "But I'm afraid you're not qualified for such a weapon."
"Do we really need this?" Ciema chimed in. "I mean, two of us know hand to hand combat."
"Yes but you don't," Mr. Mace smiled. "This is a counter-measure, in case Mr. Frederick. When hand-to-hand combat is no longer viable."
"Yeah, but we don't need to learn how to wield this," Laila said, plucking a Scimitar from its spot. "I mean, what the hell is this?"
"A scimitar, Ms. Edwards," Mr. Mace smiled.
"Exactly," Laila said, setting it back.
"Yeah. What are we fighting? John Wick level assassins?" Jada joked.
Laila offered a hand, which Jada immediately smacked.
Mr. Mace kept eye contact, his expression unchanged except for a small creeping smile.
Laila leaned back, horrified.
"Wait we're fighting John Wick level assassins?′ Jada said, her tone rising dread.
"My dears," he gestured to the gun racks. "Pick your weapons."
-
Ciema surveyed the rack in front. Her mind calculating which one suited her best. She gingerly reached for the Pistol Auto 9mm 1A.
She froze, her gaze shifting to her feet. She needs to focus. She has no time to dwell on Jaiden's problems.
With new resolve, she snatched the pistol free.
Laila shook her head as Jada picked a Smith & Wesson Model 3000.
"I shoulda known. That your crazy, southern ass would've chosen a shotgun," Laila said, her tone mockingly disappointed.
Jada winked. "Can't go wrong with the classics. What about you?"
Laila surveyed her options, before settling on a mk12 special purpose rifle.
Mr. Mace strolled over, spotting the weapon in her hand.
"Badass huh?" She smirked, wiggling her eyebrows.
He simply plucked it from her, and placed it back. His hand hovered other guns before settling on a Model 1872 Swiss revolver.
Laila gawked at the weapon.
"More appropriate for you," he smiled.
"How come Jada gets to use the shotgun?" Laila protested.
"Because I can trust her with it, Ms. Edwards," he smiled warmly. "I cannot trust an MK 12 with you."
"You know," she said, jabbing a finger in his face. "This is—"
"Not judgment here, Ms. Edwards," he countered. "Merely a lack of skill."
Laila scoffed, shrugging defiantly. "Touché," she spat.
"Yes, Ms. Edwards," Mr. Mace said. "I'm here to help you improve. Not demean you in anyway."
The girl turned, facing the targets. Mr. Mace picked up three headphones and adjusted them over their ears. He placed protective eyewear, adjusting it.
"Soft," Jada giggled, commenting on the headphones. "But why the cow?"
"It was to keep Clementine Smith focused," Mr. Mace said.
Ciema checked her gun's barrel. "You mean Gen IV?"
"Yes," Mr. Mace nodded. "These targets before you are a man, another man, a 1930s housewife, an older man and a cow."
Jada chuckled.
They positioned themselves before their targets. Ciema with the cow, Laila with the older man and Jada with the housewife.
"You may choose which one," he said. He then pointed to the light beside them each.
"When the light goes green," he explained. "You fire. Got it?"
The girls blinked.
"Girls, nod if you understand," he smiled.
They nodded slowly then sped up.
"Good!" He shouted.
"Ok, I heard that," Laila leaned back.
The light flashed red. The girls aimed. Then yellow. Jada smiled readily.
Ciema lowered her gun a bit. She raised it before the last flash of light.
Then green.
They pulled the trigger simultaneously.
For the next five seconds, there was nothing but gunfire.
Then it stopped.
They lowered their weapons.
Mr. Mace eyed each target with scrutiny. "Very good," he said. "You all missed, well Jada actually hit her target."
"I was trying to shoot his head off," Laila frowned. "Which would've been accomplished with a rifle."
"No," Mr. Mace shook his head.
"Keep telling yourself that," she smugly smiled.
"No worries, my dears," he exhaled, retrieving the ammo. "We have all day."
The door creaked open as Jaiden peered inside. His face obscured in shadow.
Chi-Chi pawed the ground beside him, looking up at her master.
Laila clenched her teeth as she fired. Ciema leaned back, then shot. Jada cocked the gun then pulled the trigger.
Mr. Mace clapped his hands. The girls lowered the weapons.
"Impressive," he applauded. "You've improved somewhat."
"Yeah, this isn't so hard," Jada grinned.
"Don't say that," Laila warned.
"What?" Jada turned to her.
"Wise words," Mr. Mace smirked before producing the remote. Pressing a button, three other targets dropped down.
They lurched forward, backwards. Then left and right.
Laila slowly turned to Jada with a scowl.
Jada shrugged, an apologetic grin plastered on her face. Ciema sighed, lips upturned into a frown.
"Multiple targets. Variable speed and vector displacement," Ciema thought internally. "I need to focus on rhythm, not raw speed."
"Now the fun's really begun," Mr. Mace smiled.
"I hate yo ass," Laila sneered.
"I'm sorry," Jada apologized quickly.
"I want you to know that I hate you," Laila spat.
"Focus ladies!" Mr. Mace ordered as the red light flashed.
They immediately raised their weapons.
Jaiden backed, Chi-Chi following close behind. The door slammed as the yellow light blinked.
-
The girls pushed through the double doors. Their shoulders slouched. They plopped down on the couch.
Mr. Mace stood by, hands folded behind him.
"That was exhausting," Laila groaned, cracking her shoulder.
"Ladies," he spoke. "You did well."
"Really?" Jada sat up. "Yee haw!"
"Stop lying," Ciema said. "I know I missed three times."
"At least you tried," Mr. Mace continued. "And your effort is better than none."
He produced the keys to a Chevy Camaro form his pockets. He then smoothly threw it to Laila, who caught it.
"Go crazy girls," he smiled. "Go shopping."
Laila and Jada turned to each other. They squealed excitedly before scrambling to their feet. Hand in hand, they skipped towards their rooms to change.
Ciema stood to her feet. She clasped her hands together. "Thanks," she mouthed.
"Also, is Jaiden alright?" She asked.
Mr. Mace simply smiled. "He's recovered somewhat."
The girls climbed into the car. Jada hopped into the driver's seat. She wore a cropped off shoulder pink shirt. Her denim skirt rode up a little. Her sandals gingerly found the accelerator pedal.
Laila wore a blue baby tee shirt, black jeans and white sneakers.
Ciema simply wore yellow capris jeans and brown flats. She fixed her white floral blouse.
Mr. Mace produced a credit card, handing it to Ciema.
"Use this carefully," he warned. Ciema took it, nodding understandably.
"Please," Laila snorted, fixing her shades. "He's a trillionaire, right? He'll can get us anything, including powerful guns."
Jada nodded, adjusting her identical shades.
"He's a billionaire. He'd rather you not spend too much," Mr. Mace countered. "That's his money, Ms. Edwards."
"I'll keep them in check," Ciema promised.
"Good," Mr. Mace smiled. He handed her a walkie-talkie. "Just in case."
Ciema took it, nodding. "And have fun," he added.
Jada turned the key. The car roared to life, its lights turning on.
"You know how to drive right?" Laila asked as Jada backed out.
"I don't have a license," Jada admitted. "But I have a general idea on how to drive."
Ciema rubbed her temples as Laila stared. She removed her shades, mouth agape.
"General idea?" She repeated as Jada switched to drive. "Oh hell no!"
Her cry was cut short as Jada hit the accelerator, speeding down the empty road.