Chapter 72 The Poor Child
On the way home, Alistair kept a close eye on Caroline, noting
with relief that she showed no further signs of discomfort.
Still, he couldn't completely relax. He wasn't fooled. The low blood sugar was clearly just an excuse. But since Caroline didn't want to talk about it, he didn't press the issue.
What's the deal with that house in front of my place? Is something wrong with it?
Alistair racked his brain.
When he first started going to and from school after the new residents moved in, he hadn't paid much attention to the place.
Whoever lived there was fine by him as long as they didn't mess
with his life.
Most households in the neighborhood consisted of a married couple with one kid, but this one was different, with two women who, according to local gossip, were sisters taking care of a sick child who needed privacy to recover.
Ever since word got out that the kid had some illness-someone had started a rumor it was contagious-the other children stopped coming to Alistair's house, which was closest to theirs.
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Chapter 72 The Poor Child
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He couldn't really blame people for jumping to conclusions, though. The two women barely left home and avoided talking to locals unless absolutely necessary. They always wore face masks coming and going, so nobody knew what they looked like. All that mystery made people's imaginations run wild.
Alistair, being naturally quiet, didn't mind the lack of visitors. The peace and quiet meant he could focus on his studies.
Truth be told, Alistair wasn't actually that into studying. He'd never been the model child others thought he was. It was Robert who always pushed him to hit the books, saying that getting smart was the only way he'd eventually be able to buy Robert good liquor.
Robert's only real pleasure in life was enjoying a few drinks now
and then.
Alistair had taken this to heart, always trying to grow up exactly the way Robert wanted him to.
After school, Alistair would grab his folding wooden table and set it up in the yard before sunset. He'd perch on his little stool to do homework while the light was still good.
Once finished, he'd spend time playing with Robert's dog.
Their yard wasn't huge, but Robert had created a small vegetable
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nearly all
going crazy, barking at some random
went to check it out and,
toy. Being the good kid he was, he
stream not far behind
the
back
his eye.
paper lay in the
Weird.
like most older men-he was meticulous, kept
spotless. And Alistair definitely
the wind blew it
he picked it up,
was a line scrawled across it in uneven handwriting: [Don't
dirty?]
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72 The
him like a
straight to the toad he'd
had to
But from whom?
imagination took off,
in the mulberry tree? Messing with
scanned the branches
Nothing. No one.
he caught a slight movement in
the narrow gap between the drapes, Alistair froze for a second
from those new
They wouldn't waste time
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The
meant... It was
(→ 20 min left
disease, Alistair's hand trembled slightly
it immediately, aware the kid might
they were sick. He didn't have to be overly sympathetic, but he didn't have to be a total
ball, but just before tossing it in the trash, a thought struck him. He dug out a small plastic bag, dropped the paper ball inside,
keep any germs
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