The Treehouse - Chapter 12

Trying not to breathe too heavily, Brianne made her way down the dark and damp hallway to the instrument of her doom. It was another rainy day, and hardly any lights were on in the house. Chris was at rehearsals, Mrs. Trousdale grocery shopping. Brianne was alone, but nervous sweat still pricked her brow. She shook, turning the doorknob to the room at the end of the dark hallway. It clicked loudly, making Brianne jump, and echoed down the otherwise empty hall. The house was silent, but Brie's heart pounded through her body, her blood rushing through her veins as its temperature rose. Anxiety was getting to her. Brianne hoped she wouldn't go insane as she peered into the dark room, opening the door inch by inch. She spotted the chest of drawers across the floor, and moved slowly toward it, as if the drawers concealed a deadly virus but she had to let it out. Brie opened the top drawer and pulled out the cool, black metal shape.

Escaping the Trousdale's home, she pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt that Chris had let her borrow. Underneath was the navy blue T-shirt from the day they painted. Brie yanked the hood over her head and stuffed her hands and the object into the kangaroo pocket in the front, trudging in the direction of her house through the drizzle. She reached her yard out of breath, and let herself in through the side door. She was still alone because her dad had taken Xavier to see her mom. Brianne picked up; the portable phone and brought it with her, although she wasn't sure why she did. She began the long road from her back porch to the end. Brie climbed the rope ladder to the treehouse, losing her breath again. Reaching the platform, she went to the desk and pulled the drawer open, tears beginning to form.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Alright, you guys are being awesome, you can take a break," Claudia told the guys. Claudia Swan was the dance choreographer for Dream Street, and the five boys often referred to her as the 'slave driver'. Jesse, Matt, Frankie, Greg, and Chris were at a rehearsal, practicing for a big concert they had the next day. The rest of the guys went straight for their water bottles, but Chris wanted to talk to Brie for a minute.

He brought his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed his own number, assuming Brianne was still at his house. When there was no answer, he was going to try her house, but it rang before he could dial.

"Hello?" Chris answered.

"It's negative," Vickie said, guiltily.

"What?"

"The test you made me do. Tyler's not yours."

"Woohoo!" Chris yelled. "I gotta go, bye!" He ended that call and dialed Brianne's number as fast as he could.

"Hello?" she answered, trying to choke down her sobs. This immediately changed Chris's mood.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his happiness turning to genuine worry.

"I'm going to pull the trigger," she wept.

"NO! DON'T! Don't do it Brie! Put it down, please! I'm coming, just put the gun down!" Chris felt like crying as he hurriedly shoved his arms into his jacket and bolted out the door without explanation to Claudia or the other guys.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Brianne pushed the desk drawer back in, tears blurring her vision. She glanced at a picture on the desk that she could hardly see, of her and Chris on vacation in Florida when they were eight. Brie rose from her chair and grabbed the gun off the table in the middle of the room. She sat in the navy blue beanbag, cradling the metal in her hands and observing every feature of it. Brianne closed her eyes, parting her golden-brown hair with the end of the barrel.

Chris parked the car terribly in font of Brie's house and ran across the lawn. He tried the door first, which was still unlocked from when Brianne had entered.

"BRIE!" he called, frantically searching the house for her. BANG!