September walked a very peculiar way - setting the outsides of her feet onto the ground before shifting her weight to her heels and the rest of her feet. It made for a soundless and steady step.
The first few miles of her walk revealed nothing of interest, as this was her neighborhood and she had parkoured over every wall and white-picket fence in the area. She knew which houses had dogs, which families had what kind of cars, and even what sort of alarm system and video recorder scoured the front lawns.
Indeed, if September ever decided to be a crook, she would have the easiest time.
The girl picked up her pace and pushed her hands deeper into her pants pockets. It was way too easy to think bad thoughts like these.
Suddenly, cat. There was an orange tabby, nothing too spectacular, in the middle of the road racing away from her. September couldn’t recall any family that had gotten a new animal, and her curiosity flared. Not just her curiosity though, as that cat had practically appeared out of nowhere.
She clipped backpack straps around her chest and waist and followed the cat with a quick jog, determined to quell the uneasiness that came with it. It was an endurance run, though September had no problem with endurance.
A large building unfolded in front of her and the cat streaked inside, turned a corner, and vanished. Crap. It was a hospital where… Ah? Where Dallas Johnson was staying at. He was in an accident a few months ago and nobody’s really heard of him since.
September steadied her breath before heading inside to talk to the receptionist. “Dallas Johnson… May I see him?” The lady nodded and gave her the floor and room number, and September carefully made her way to the elevator. September, since when did you start caring for Dallas Johnson? She twisted her head to the left to stare at the blinking floor numbers. How ironic that her inner self, bullies liked to call it “schizophrenia,” decided to be so verbal today of all days, when she felt unexplainably drawn to a hospital. Don’t be silly, this isn’t even a mental hospital.
The doors opened and September stepped out, quickly averting her eyes to the ground before walking in the direction of Dallas Johnson’s room. What would you even say to his family there? You’ve never talked to Dallas Johnson before. “Yes but I’ve always thought about it,” she murmured, pausing in front of the door. There were voices coming from the room, and September’s first instinct was to eavesdrop. Now would be a crappy time to eavesdrop, you know.
So instead, September raised her hand, knocked four times, and twisted the doorknob.