Chapter 63 (2/2)

Hoo boy. This was not the foundation of a sound financial decision.

”Did you have a house in mind?” Dan asked tentatively. He couldn't help himself. He'd just look at it, that's all. Just see the thing with his eyeballs. Just to satisfy his curiosity.

That's all!

This had been a huge mistake.

”I love it,” Dan announced, staring in awe at the small Gothic castle in front of him. It was only two stories tall, but the multitude of spires dotted across its broad silhouette gave off an imposing aura. The front door was sheltered by a covered driveway, which led into a broad half-circle paved in smooth gravel. A separate driveway led to a small garage attached to the side of the house.

The property itself was two separate lots, bought and combined into one. The house was centered, from a bystander's perspective, though Dan could tell that it tended closer to the street. The backyard must be truly massive, while the house itself was five-thousand square feet of awesome.

All of this, at about a third of the going rate.

”Okay, what's wrong with it,” Dan asked, turning to Abby.

”Well, let's see,” Abby hummed, leafing through a thick sheaf of papers. She chewed at her lip, peering down with a frown. ”According to the latest inspection, not a lot.”

Dan's head whipped around to face her. ”Really!? Why's it still for sale, then?”

Abby glanced at him, then back to the house. She seemed to be struggling not to laugh. ”Well... it's ugly as sin, Danny.”

”What— You! It's glorious!” Dan exclaimed thrusting both hands at the house for emphasis. ”It looks like a goddamn castle! I thought you people loved themes like this!”

”Hmph,” Abby sniffed disdainfully. She stuck her nose skyward, and spoke as snootily as possible. ”First of all, not everyone is a fan of dorky themes. Second of all, this is a suburban area! A medieval theme doesn't match at all! Look at your neighbors!”

She jabbed a finger across the street. Dan followed the motion, and was greeted by two bog standard, cookie-cutter houses. He stared at them for several moments, before shaking his head.

”Yeah, no. This house is way better.”

Abby threw her hands into the air. ”Whatever. You're the one who has to live in it. Just know that you're wrong.”

”I'll keep it in mind,” Dan replied mildly. ”Let's take a look at the inside, yeah?”

”The realtor gave me the lockbox code,” Abby huffed, stomping towards the front door.

Dan dutifully followed, keeping his laughter to a minimum.

The house was located smack dab in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. The area had a reasonably low crime rate, and was filled with various middle class workers. Old, Normal Dan could've blended in here like some kind of urban ninja. New Dan was a little less subtle.

Though, as Abby pointed out, his power made avoiding the neighbors fairly trivial.

The keys were stuffed inside an old and rusted lockbox, hanging off the doorknob. Abby opened it easily, plucking out the keys, and the front door opened with an ominous creak. Dan glanced around the wide entrance hall, noting its Victorian staircase and high ceiling. The wooden floor groaned slightly as he made his way across it, the sound reverberating off the walls. Small amounts of light filtered in from the open door, but the room remained dimly lit. There was a chill in the air; the ambient temperature was low enough to fog Dan's breath, despite the sunny day outside.

”I take it back,” Abby murmured, her voice perfectly audible in the quiet room. ”Everyone is gonna think you're creepy for owning this house.”

”It's got charm,” Dan decided, not at all bothered by his surroundings. He was fairly immune to environmental horror, having spent hours floating in the infinite abyss of t-space.

Abby shivered, pressing herself against Dan for warmth. ”Yeah, the charm of a serial killer.”

Dan hummed to himself, wiggling his hand in a 'kind of' motion. He stopped at the base of the stairs, running his hand up the wooden handrail. It came away clean, not a speck of dust.

”So what's the story of this place?” Dan queried, following the stairs upwards with his eyes. The second floor landing branched out into a series of hallways, leading further into the house.

”Uh, well,” Abby stuttered slightly, shuffling through her stack of papers, ”the old owner was a vigilante who went by the moniker of Captain Quantum.” She paused, grimacing. ”He actually lasted quite a while. Active from 1953 until 1961, when he presumably retired. So why...?” She flipped through several more pages, muttering to herself.

”Ah! Tracked down by a villain and murdered, five years ago.” She blinked, checking the page once more. ”While in bed. Yikes. They found his old costume and gear in his closet.” Flip flip flip. ”And the villain was never caught. No wonder it's so cheap.”

Dan sighed at this new information. ”People think he'll come back for whoever moves in next?”

”I mean, probably not,” Abby replied, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers, ”but why take the risk, y'know?”

”Why indeed?” Dan grumbled to himself. Oddly, the possible threat to his life didn't sway his opinion very much. It just seemed so unlikely to Dan. Whatever the villain's beef was with the former owner, it was resolved. Why would the villain come back for the next guy?

Then again, crazy people rarely made sense. If Dan did buy the house, he'd be installing some state-of-the-art security. Better safe than sorry, as the saying goes.

Really, the crux of the issue was how owning such a building would impact his social life. Part of the appeal of having his own place was the ability to invite others into it. He couldn't do that if everyone he knew was weirded out by his living arrangements. He, once agian, did a quick mental rundown of who might be bothered.

Abby wouldn't care, clearly. The house might give her the creeps now, but it was nothing a few dozen light fixtures and space heater couldn't fix. It was the rest of his social circle that he had to worry about. His friends, current and future.

The number of which was depressingly low.

Gregoir made the list, much to Dan's chagrin. Unfortunately, the man's thoughts on this particular subject were a mystery to him. It was difficult to imagine the easygoing giant bothered by anything, but this was a potentially tender subject. Police officers weren't known for being sympathetic to vigilantes, in most cases.

Ito was a more relevant example. Dan had not spoken to the scarred Asian officer since the day of the ride along, but the man had given him some decent advice in the aftermath. He could see himself befriending the grizzled veteran some day; it was almost inevitable, really, considering the man's own friendship with Gregoir.

Fred and Freya, too, fell in the same category. Despite Fred's impetuous youth, and Freya's prickly pride, he was slowly coming to like them through sheer repeated exposure. They'd likely mirror whatever the officers felt; despite their vastly different backgrounds, they'd both been raised in a largely police-oriented environment.

And then there was Connor, the pompous butt-monkey. Dan couldn't begin to imagine the kind of reaction he'd have to Dan buying an ex-vigilante's house. One that was possibly being stalked by a villain, to boot. Probably some combination of insulting Dan's intelligence and his competence, followed by a dutiful proclamation to safeguard Dan's squishy little life.

Dan slapped a hand over his face in irritation. Here he was, an interdimensional immigrant, hiding from the law, yet all of his friends were law enforcement, or in training to be. He had to be the dumbest fugitive on the planet.

”Just ask them,” Abby's voice interrupted his thoughts. He met her eyes, watching her watching him. She could read him like a book, as if his internal struggle was written on his face in 72pt bolded font.

”Just ask them,” Abby repeated insistently. ”It's the fastest way to solve the problem. If they're fine with the idea, but not the location, we can look for a different house. If they're fine with neither, then we'll look for a normal, smaller property. If they're fine with both, well, problem solved.”

Dan stared at her as she summarized his options with effortless ease.

”You're amazing,” he blurted out, unable to help himself. He grinned wickedly at the blush his comment elicited, then whipped out his phone to make a call.

Abby was right.

Action was always better than angst.