Emma could see that gaze again. It was the same gaze she had seen in the eyes of the boys earlier when they had seen her for the first time; and she got really curious.

“Can’t you talk, or what?” the woman queried, her voice edged with impatience, seemingly getting tired of seconds ticking by without words following.

“I’m Emma, and I live down the street,” Emma replied finally. She couldn’t, however,  keep eye contact with the woman for long. Her hands rubbed nervously against each other as her gaze drifted elsewhere, toward the tall gmelina trees. Uncomfortable was what she felt under the woman’s piercing gaze.

“You live here??” the woman’s voice was tinted with confusion and surprise.

Emma, grasping the tone, looked at the stranger. She noticed the widening of the woman’s eyes—first in surprise, then in a swirl of conflicting emotions.

“Yes, that’s what I said the first time,” Emma concurred, albeit sharply. Why the strange emphasis on where she lived?

The woman scoffed then, and Emma slapped herself inwardly for sounding rude. She sensed, somehow, that she could learn a lot from the stranger—if only she managed to worm her way into the latter’s heart.

“I’m sorry for sounding so rude,” she apologized quickly, softening her face into the wide-eyed, puppy-eyed look that had never once failed her—not even on her father.

The woman’s lips curved into a smile, though Emma could still catch flickers of conflict in those deep brown eyes. A mixture of surprise, confusion, and awe.

“Could you adjust, let me sit?” the woman pointed toward Emma’s purse.

“Sure,” Emma’s voice perked up with excitement. She nudged to the left side of the row chair and lifted her purse onto her lap.

The woman sat gracefully, her hands folding neatly on her lap, her posture erect as her eyebrows knit in thought. She stared straight ahead, as though lost in a private world.

Trailing her gaze over the stranger, Emma thought the woman looked and acted like royalty. Yet when she thought back, she realized she hadn’t seen any castle while driving down here in the taxi.

The taxi driver had even acted strangely when she mentioned the address of her father’s place. She had dismissed it as nothing—probably the distance—and simply paid the fare, though it had been on the high side.

“Tell me about you. How did you get here?” the woman asked suddenly, breaking into Emma’s thoughts.

Emma hesitated. She didn’t know why, but she felt she could tell the lady anything. And she didn’t like it. Still, one thing came first.

“Okay, but you have to tell me your name first,” she said, this time holding the woman’s gaze with determination.

The woman smiled again, and Emma concluded she had the most beautiful smile she had ever seen—warm, motherly.

“Okay, if you wish so. My name is Melvina.”

“Melvina?! Wow, that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman like you,” Emma blurted out with a grin. Then she caught herself and quickly clamped her hand over her mouth, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Melvina laughed aloud, her voice rich and genuine. She found the girl interesting—too beautiful, too fiery. A worthy opponent for her rude son.

“So I’ve told you my name. Now tell me about you. How did you come to be here? I’ve never seen your face around,” she pressed gently, laughter fading away.

At her words, Emma wondered if everyone here knew each other. She hoped not. Though she was social enough, she still liked her privacy.

“Okay, I’m Emma,”

“Yeah, you’ve already told me that,” Melvina chuckled softly at the expression on the teenager’s face.

“Okay, okay… I’m from Florida,” Emma admitted, fanning her face with her palm, drying away invisible sweat.

“Florida?? So what are you doing here?” Melvina asked, her curiosity deepening.

“My father sent me here.” 

“Your father???” Melvina’s brows arched.

“No, my mother,” Emma quipped, stopping herself from snapping at the woman for her constant repetition.

Melvina, sensing the girl’s irritation, tempered her voice. “I’m sorry. But I still don’t understand how your father could send you here—from Florida. That’s quite unheard of. Did you ask him to?”

“No!” Emma burst out, her voice echoing louder than she intended as the weight of her predicament fell on her shoulders again.

“So what happened?” Melvina asked softly.

“A punishment,” Emma muttered, shutting down. She didn’t want to elaborate.

Sensing her reluctance, Melvina shifted topics. “Okay, it’s alright. Where do you stay?”

“Two blocks down the street,” 

“No name?” Melvina asked carefully.

“13 Moonway Street, I think,” Emma said, rubbing her forehead as she tried recalling. Yes—it was written on a silver plate by the front door.

Melvina gasped, her face stiffening. That was Sheila’s house—her closest friend who had vanished mysteriously after the last pack war.

“You mean the white house?” Her voice was tight with apprehension.

“Yes, yes! Do you know about it?” Emma asked eagerly. She had been right—the woman knew something. Maybe now she could finally understand why the place looked abandoned, like an old drug house.

“Not really. Who’s your father?” Melvina inquired quickly.

“Mr. Jason,” Emma replied tiredly. She had hoped for stories, not questions.

Melvina racked her memory for a Mr. Jason, but the name rang hollow. Who was he, and what tie did he have to Sheila? Humans couldn’t buy that house—couldn’t even live there. They could only visit.

“Tell me about your father,” she urged.

Emma bit her lip, debating. She knew she had to give something if she wanted answers. “My father is a businessman. He deals with construction issues.”

“Okay. Do you know who Sheila is?”

“Sheila?” Emma repeated, blinking. The only Sheila she knew was her neighbor’s baby back in Florida—and she was certain that wasn’t who Melvina meant. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay, well…” Melvina began, but Emma cut in.

“Why are you asking all these questions? Is the house haunted?” Emma blurted, her voice trembling as fear crept in. The thought made her shiver. After all, the house stood close to the forest.

But so do the others, her mind argued.

Yeah, but mine is the last house on the street, she countered silently. There was always something eerie about the last house on a street.

“Not at all, dear. It’s just that this area is reserved for… special people,” Melvina said with a soft smile.

“Oh? What kind of special people? Is Sheila special?” Emma pressed, her curiosity flaring. Is she not special? Is it money-special or something else?

“Yeah, she is,” Melvina admitted, sidestepping the first question. “But she’s been missing for more than sixteen years now.”

“Sixteen years??!” Emma gasped, her mouth falling open.

“Yes,” Melvina said quietly.

Emma noticed the sadness clouding the woman’s eyes and concluded that Sheila must have been someone very dear to her.

“Who is she to you?” she asked gently.

“My closest friend.” 

A pause. “So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your place?” Melvina asked, quickly changing the subject. The young girl’s questions were too sharp, too inquisitive.

“I was resting… took a stroll,” Emma swung her legs lightly.

“A stroll?” Melvina repeated absentmindedly, forgetting the teenager’s aversion to repetition.

“Yeah. Some people are cleaning up my house. I just arrived today,” Emma explained.

“Oh,” Melvina murmured. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was the same house her son had complained about earlier. He had mentioned cleaning a place on Moonway Park.

“Uhmm…” Emma stuttered, fingers tangling with her hair.

“What is it, dear?”

Emma looked up at the woman she had quickly come to like. She felt she could confide in her without shame.

“Is there a place I could get something to eat?” Her tone was hopeful. Hunger gnawed at her; she hadn’t eaten since leaving home. 

Besides, she wanted to buy something for the boys as well. Her mother had given her a bundle of cash “for upkeep.”

“Yes, of course. Follow me,” Melvina said warmly as she rose to her feet.