Mission: Underwood

              “Hurry up!” I urge Ethan, nervously looking through the office window blinds at the currently empty driveway.

              “I’m looking!” he responds, rummaging through the bookcase with a flashlight in his mouth.

              “You said you knew where it was” demands Danny from his post at the door, repeatedly looking down the dark staircase to the garage door in the unlit kitchen.

              “I do! It’s supposed to be behind the third shelf, last bookcase” Ethan replies, feeling behind the books for a handle. After a long while of searching, he says, “I can’t find it!” and throws his hands in the air.

              “I’ll find it,” says Danny angrily. He storms over to Ethan and knocks all the books on the ground; all but one. The last book pulls a lever and a trap door opens with a soft ka-chunk. I leave my post at the window and nudge them over to see inside the safe.

              “It’s empty!” Danny yells at Ethan.

              “I can see that!” retorts Ethan, agitated. “He must’ve moved them.”

              “Where would he move the files too?” I ask Ethan encouragingly, shooting Danny a glare. Ethan contemplates this for a moment, pushing up his glasses.

              “It could be in his bedroo-” he is cut off by the whir of the garage door opening and closing. A car door opening and slamming shut. A muted woman’s voice chatting away, then growing louder as she opens the door and drops keys in a bowl with a chinck. We all look at each other, frozen, as the lights in the kitchen flick on. My heart sprints into a rapid beat, pounding my chest from the inside. Hide! my brain shouts. We all crouch behind the big wooden desk in the middle of the room. Ethan starts hyperventilating so Danny elbows him and shushes him. Then the lights in the upstairs hallway outside Underwood’s office flick on and the click-clack of heels on hardwood stairs grows louder as Underwood’s wife approaches.

Not wanting her to find books all over the ground and the safe door ajar, I emerge from hiding and quickly close the safe with another ka-chunk and begin to put the books back on the shelf. Picking up the last book I turn around and trip over the edge of the thick rug, dropping the book. It falls with a too loud thunk, prompting a “Hello?” from the woman. Seeing that hiding under the desk isn’t an option anymore, I run to the window and undo the locks and desperately yank on the window. But it won’t budge. Danny picks up a heavy glass award etched with the a*****e Underwood’s name on it off his wooden desk and throws it at the window, breaking it with a loud smash!

              “Hello?!” yells the woman from down the hall, the click-clack of her high heels coming too quickly. We rush to the window and look down two stories to find nothing but concrete at the bottom to break our fall. Escape via window is now out of the question. We turn and run for the door but it’s already too late. We come face to face in the hallway with the slight, blonde mother, phone still in hand. We stare at each other out of shock and then she screams, shouting into her phone, “Men are in our house! Call 9-1-” BANG-BANG!

Brains splatter on the wall, oozing down a picture of their beautiful family. My ears are ringing and I feel as though I’m in a haze as I watch her face-plant into the ground. Blood splatters everywhere: the walls, the floor, us…

I turn to the find source of the loud noise and destruction: the gun in Danny’s hand. Then he lowers the gun, walks to the woman, grabs her phone, and ends the call with her husband. This seems to snap me out of my trance.

“What the hell!” I scream at him. “You said that was only for emergencies!”

“It was an emergency! She saw our faces. We couldn’t let ‘er jus’ waltz into the police station and identify us. Anyway, her husband called the police. We needa get the files and get out!”

“What about the body?!” I yell back, looking to Ethan to back me up. But he is frozen, blood splatter on his glasses, eyes staring at the body, skin turning a sickly pale color.

Danny notices and shouts, “This is not the time to be having one of your panic attacks Ethan!” He simply responds by vomiting all over the floor and the dead woman and then passing out, falling into his own vomit and the growing pool of blood around the woman’s head.

“Well that’s jus’ great!” Danny sarcastically concludes. “I’m gonna find these files right now and then we’re leaving.”

“We don’t have time! We needa get rid of the body and clean up the blood and vomit with bleach. Ethan’s DNA cannot be found at the crime scene. Oh! and get the bullet out of her brain- they can trace it back to the specific gun. And we needa dissolve the body in acid ‘cuz they’ll find it if we bury it!” I venture deliriously.

“What are you crazy? This isn’t f****n’ Breaking Bad!”

Suddenly defensive and overcome with anger I yell, “This is all your fault! It was you who had the idea to come here. It was you who brought that gun. And It was you who shot that woman!”

“My fault? Ethan said he knew where this s**t was. But obviously he doesn’t. So it’s his fault that we took too long!” He turns on his heel and stalks toward the bedroom, “I’m finding the files with or without you.”

I just stand in the middle of the hallway, paralyzed. How do we fix this? Baby steps I tell myself. I decide to start with putting the woman in a trash bag when I hear the police sirens. F**k. We don’t have time. I shout to Danny, “I’m leaving with Ethan!” I get a loud grunt for a response from Danny in the bedroom and decide to abort this mission with or without him. I grab an unconscious Ethan by the shoulders and drag him down the stairs, leaving a trail of blood and vomit. I just gotta get to our car parked around the block I say to myself, trying to salvage the situation. Danny comes barreling down the stairs as blue and red lights flood in through the windows. I raise my eyebrows at him, well?

“No files. How do we get outta here?” As if to answer his question, loud knocking sounds from the front door.

“Police. Open up!” F**k. There’s no escaping unnoticed. We look at each other and then at the kitchen door to the garage. Car it is. The second the garage door is open enough, we fly through the opening in the woman’s Tesla; swerving around the police cars and onto the open road.