3 // The Covert
"Chloe Elena Serrano, baja ahora mismo {come down right now} or we're not visiting the new neighbors today," a lady in a dark blue dress bellows, arms crossed while standing near the dark front door.
45-year-old Isadora Serrano dons her coat, directing her grey eyes from the narrow staircase before her to the gallery wall.
"Coming, Mama," a distant voice responds from the above floor. "Just give me one more minute."
Isadora sighs, now glancing at the array of framed photos spread across the wall, each displaying a happy family of three. "Need to add Milo's photos," she notes to herself, smoothening her coat.
A hurried sound of footsteps are heard from the above floor, breaking the lingering silence of No. 61 Claremond Street. A petite girl rushes down the staircase, her curly brown hair tied into a bushy ponytail, her grey shirt hastily tucked in her flowery skirt. The wrapped hamper of homemade chocolates and biscuits wobbles in her hands.
"Cuidadosa {Careful}," Isadora says, seeing her daughter almost skid when she steps off the last stair. She takes the basket away from her.
17-year-old Chloe Serrano huffs out a sigh, making her irregular fringes fly up for a second. She places her hands on her hips, "You know, Mama. I would've come fifteen minutes earlier, if you didn't ban me from using my powers."
"Then who told you to sneak out last night?" her mother replies, checking her watch. "Ray, estamos retrasados. {Ray, we're running late}."
Chloe rolls her eyes when a huge gush of wind blows past her, marking her dad's entrance.
"Lo siento, Dora {Sorry, Dora}," the 48-year-old man who appears beside Chloe says, adjusting his coat that covers his wrinkle-free shirt and trousers.
Raymon Serrano slicks back the few strands of hair he has on his head. "Just had a brief meeting with the folks."
Dora nods, shifting her gaze to her daughter, "Tienes todo, Chloe? {Got everything, Chloe?}"
"Sí Mama," Chloe replies, taking the basket away from her.
Dora opens the front door, brows furrowed when she meets a shallow, dry breeze. She gazes over at the few trees that line either end of Claremond Street, fanning herself, "It just gets hotter and hotter."
She steps onto the porch, shaking her head, "If only the committee allowed me to set more trees. At least, we'd attract some rain."
"Dora," Ray calls, standing beside her. He watches Chloe descend down the porch, and enter the parched frontyard. "The committee said they'll plant them soon. You don't have to waste your powers over this."
He looks away when he meets his wife's stern gaze. "Let's go visit our new neighbors, Chloe. Before anyone else comes and showers them with their welcome gifts."
Chloe nods, though she's definitely certain that nobody else would visit the new residents of No. 62. Even her dear brother Milo found an excuse not to come.
"No puedo creer que {I can't believe that} Jasper and Pearl's sons have moved in here," Dora says, stepping into the frontyard. "After what all happened. I thought they're living with..." She stops, fumbling on the name.
"What's his name again?"
"Diselhock. Keith Diselhock," Ray answers. "No sé {I don't know}, but I heard he was the one who wanted the boys to get a home of their own."
Dora shakes her head, "How can he do this? He's their guardian. And, they're still so joven {young} -"
"No te preocupes por ellos, Mamá {Don't worry about them, Mama}," Chloe replies. "I've been in the same classes as Tom this past year, and he's perfectly fine. He's taking good care of his brother too."
Chloe's grip on the basket tightens as she glances at the disheveled house on the other side of the street. Her classmate-friend's disguises don't seem to change either.
She casts a small smile.
...
"The what?" Tony asks, baffled. He's seated on the only chair in the dining room, a few rooms away from Ivy Man. His brother stands beside him, holding the bronze mirror their grandma's in.
"The Covert," Grandma Sue repeats. "It is an investigative agency founded by the ICJ, but it operates independently. Similar to the Fifth Regiment."
She crosses her arms, "Look, if you don't want to move out, but want to find out who murdered that man, then this is the only safe option."
She sighs when she sees a wide question mark on both of her grandsons' faces.
Suddenly, the silver spectacles appear before Sue's face, and sit on top of her nose. She pushes it up, clearing her throat, "Boys, the ICJ wanted to make sure that everyone like you and me gets easy access to help, whether it is a medical emergency, ration supply or in rare occasions, what you both have experienced."
"So the Covert," Tom says. "Operates independently of the ICJ?"
"That's correct," Sue replies.
Tony scratches his forehead, unable to figure out how the 'Cobert' is going to help them. His brain tingles as various crumbled and semi-burned pamphlets of superhumans and the ICJ flash before it, a blank space arising when he whispers, "Cobert?"
"They'll keep your anonymity in exchange for a small service," Sue says.
"And Anthony, it's called the Co - vert. There's no B."
Tony looks down at his sneakers, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Tom nods, "How much do we have to pay, Grandma Sue?" Multiple calculations storm into his head, $15000 for the house, $1000 for travel, $200 for food these past three days. We still need to get groceries and the new Serum-
"It's not money," Sue chimes in. "Don't worry, Thomas. You don't have to do much. That's how everyone's been able to afford it."
Tom crinkles his forehead, "What is the task-"
"How do we contact them?" Tony asks, coming a step closer to the mirror. He catches a glimpse of his stunned brother. "I don't want to see that again," he says, pointing to the corridor, rubbing his eyes when the image of the Ivy Man flashes before it.
He's definitely going to pass out if he visits him again.
Sue smiles, "Give me one moment."
"Wait," Tom cuts in. "Will the investigation be reported to the ICJ?"
"No, it wouldn't," Sue replies. "Don't worry. Diselhock won't know."
Tom takes in a deep breath. They'll not fall into trouble, and they won't have to move out of here and go to another one of Diselhock's recommended orphanages.
He clenches his jaw, thinking about this. If he hadn't done what he did five years ago, then maybe he can get Diselhock reported. And he could've prevented what happened to Tony since then.
"Should I connect to the Covert?" Sue asks, her voice laced with concern.
Tom finds himself under Tony's silent stare.
"Y-yes," he answers. "Please contact the Covert, Grandma Sue."
"Okay then."
And with that, she disappears, leaving a black screen behind.
Tom shakes his head. "We don't know what we have to do, and whether they'll help us in the first place."
Tony, on the other hand, tightens his grip to the handheld mirror. I don't want to leave this place. The mirror vibrates in response.
I'll make sure you both will live peacefully and happily. Sue's voice chimes in his head.
The dark background displayed on the mirror ripples to a snow white, a shiny number pad displayed in the middle.
"Thomas, dial in the numbers 345 - ALP - BET - GAM," Sue's voice instructs.
Tom scrunches his brows, "But there aren't any alphabets here."
"Too much uncertainty," Sue's voice grumbles. "Anthony, can you read what's on the number pad?"
"Of course I can, Grandma Sue," Tony answers. He can't believe that his grandma still thinks he can't read at the age of 12. A soft trumpet tune plays out as he dials in the first three digits.
Tom exhales slowly when he sees the keys in the dial pad change from digits to letters. He heads toward the handbag, pretending to check if all its contents are present.
A blaring honk makes him turn over his shoulder.
"Now wait for two minutes," Sue's voice says. "The service might take a moment to connect-"
Her voice is cut off by a stern one.
"To continue, please press on the most appropriate option to further state your issue or query."
Tony's eyes widen when the mirror disappears from his hand. He glances at his brother who now holds it.
"Press 1 for Provision Renewals," the automated female voice says.
"I dialed in the number," Tony whines but grumbles when Tom shushes him.
"Press 2 for Damage Control."
Tom holds his gaze on the mirror, this can't be damage control. He taps his foot as the automated voice proceeds.
"Press 8 if you are a victim or witness of a crime."
Tom taps the number 8. He clears his throat, ready to explain his first meeting with Ivy Man. I bumped into the wall- no. I saw this when we moved in-
"Thank you for using our services. Two of our agents will arrive at the location shortly."
The call ends with an abrupt beep.
"What?" Tom asks, astounded. He explained zilch. "That's it?"
"They'll investigate once they come in here," Tony replies. "Now return the mirror."
Tom raises the mirror way above his head when Tony tries to snatch it away. His forehead remains creased. "But how did they track us?"
"From this, obviously," Tony says, pointing to the mirror. "It's an ICJ approved device. What's wrong with you today?"
Tom shakes his head, lowering the mirror. He takes it behind his back, away from his younger brother's reach. "I'll give it back later. How are you feeling now? Do you still feel nauseous?"
Tony looks down for a moment, then shakes his head in every possible direction. "Nope, I'm good." He smiles slowly. "Can I please get Grandma Sue's mirror back?"
His half-grin disappears when his brother refuses with a slight shake of his head.
...
Chloe waits by the gate as her dad takes his due diligence in securing the front door lock.
"We'll just be there for 15 minutes," her mom says, glancing at her watch every now and then.
"It's better to be safe than sorry, Dora," he responds.
"It's just across the street, right opposite to ours."
Chloe exhales sharply, tracing her fingers along the wooden frame of the gate. She looks at the old, wretched house in front of her, the wide road the only thing separating them. "What is your real reason of moving in, Tom?" she whispers.
Just then, a familiar jingle is heard in the distance, causing a faint chill to ravel down her spine. Chloe grits her teeth. "No!"
She turns back to see her parents frozen. She whispers under her breath, "Por favor {please}, not now."
"Rápida {Quick}," her mom hisses, rushing to her while scanning the currently empty street, and grabbing her hand.
Chloe bites her lip as she watches her dad frantically open the door and hurry inside, softly calling out to her brother Milo. She turns over her shoulder, barely able to see the silhouette of the ice cream truck.
The same truck that made her friends and neighbors disappear.
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