School lurched into a distorted version of reality. Laughter from classmates sounded tinny and forced, the rhythmic scratching of chalk on the blackboard a grating soundtrack to my escalating anxiety. The N.B.P.I. agent's pronouncement echoed in my head: "Mr. Kyle Montes, we need to speak with you."
My nonchalant facade had held, but the walk to the designated interview room felt like a trek through a minefield. Each creak of the floorboards sounded like an accusation, every passing student a potential witness.
The room itself was sterile and windowless, illuminated only by a harsh fluorescent light. The agent, devoid of any humanizing features behind his black helmet, gestured to a metal chair across from him.
"Please, sit," his voice boomed through a hidden speaker, devoid of inflection.
I sank into the cold metal, my back ramrod straight, trying to project an air of calm despite the frantic hammering of my heart.
"Mr. Montes," the agent began, "you spent the night at the Rosario estate last night. We'd like to inquire about any unusual activity you may have witnessed."
There it was. The question that hung heavy in the air, the unspoken suspicion. "Unusual activity?" I feigned ignorance, hoping to buy some time. "The only unusual thing was the late-night commotion in the garden."
The agent tilted his head, a gesture I could only imagine given the helmet. "And what can you tell us about this commotion?"
My mind raced. Should I stick to the "lost cat rescuer" story? It felt flimsy now, especially with the N.B.P.I. involved. "There was a woman," I began cautiously, "and a large man. They seemed to be arguing, and then…" I trailed off, unsure how much to reveal.
"And then?" the agent pressed, his voice devoid of patience.
"And then," I decided to hedge my bets, "security arrived and things settled down." It wasn't a complete lie, technically.
A flicker of something, perhaps doubt, crossed the agent's voice. "You mentioned security. Did you see anyone else on the property? Anyone acting suspiciously?"
Desperation clawed at me. Was it time to come clean with Isabella's story? Before I could answer, the agent spoke again.
"Actually," he said, a hint of something akin to amusement filtering through the speaker, "we believe we have the person we're looking for. Please hold on a moment."
He reached for a device clipped to his belt and spoke into it, his voice low and clipped. A moment later, he looked back at me, a smirk playing on his lips beneath the helmet.
"Miss Isabella Rosario is on her way. She seems quite eager to vouch for you."
A wave of relief washed over me, so intense it almost felt like betrayal. Isabella was coming to my rescue, but the agent's parting words hung in the air, a chilling reminder: they weren't done with me yet. And the real mystery, the one that had brought the N.B.P.I. to the Rosario mansion, was far from solved.
The metal chair dug into my back, the harsh fluorescent light turning my skin a sickly shade of green. Relief battled with a gnawing suspicion. Isabella vouching for me felt like a lifeline, but the amusement in the agent's voice sent shivers down my spine. What did they know? What was their real endgame?
The door creaked open, momentarily distracting me. Isabella hurried in, her face flushed and a determined glint in her eyes. Relief washed over me again, genuine this time.
"Kyle!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with concern as she rushed to my side. "They told me you were being… questioned."
She cast a wary glance at the N.B.P.I. agent, who remained silent, his form an imposing silhouette in the sterile room. The air crackled with unspoken tension.
"Mr. Montes simply assisted me with a… situation at the estate last night," Isabella declared, her voice firm despite a tremor that betrayed her nervousness. "He had nothing to do with any unusual activity."
The agent tilted his head, the movement somehow menacing despite the lack of facial expression. "Unusual activity, Miss Rosario? Is that what you call a violent struggle and a reported sighting of a spectral figure?"
A gasp escaped Isabella's lips. Her carefully constructed facade faltered, replaced by a mixture of fear and defiance. "Spectral figure?" she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. "What are you talking about?"
The agent leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. "We have reason to believe the Rosario estate is harboring a paranormal entity," he said. "And Mr. Montes here might be more involved than he's letting on."
Isabella and I exchanged a panicked glance. Paranormal entity? Was that the reason for the strange occurrences? And if so, how was I "involved"?
Before I could formulate a response, the agent continued, his voice laced with a chilling finality. "However, since Miss Rosario vouches for you, Mr. Montes, we'll consider this a misunderstanding for now. But be warned, we're keeping a close eye on both of you."
He gestured towards the door, a metallic rasp against the silence. "You're free to go. But remember, the N.B.P.I. doesn't believe in coincidences."
We walked out of the sterile room in a daze, the weight of the agent's words hanging heavy in the air. The facade of normalcy school offered felt utterly shattered. A paranormal entity at the Rosario mansion? And the N.B.P.I. suspecting me of involvement? The line between student and suspect had blurred entirely, replaced by a terrifying truth – we were on the precipice of something far more dangerous than a high school rivalry. And the only way to clear my name, and perhaps uncover the truth about the Rosarios, was to delve deeper into the heart of the mystery – the forbidden West Wing.