I don't wake up until 6 PM.

I blink awake slowly, brain still rebooting, my whole body sore from sleeping like I was recovering from an assassination attempt. The first thing I notice is that the sun's already going down, leaking a faint orange through the blinds. I glance at the clock.

6:04 PM.

Awesome. I slept like a corpse.

Something crashes across the room.

That's enough to instantly throw me into fight or flight mode.

I jolt up, feeling under my pillow for the machete I keep between my mattress and the wall. My eyes adjust to the lighting of the room pretty quick, and I hear these strange skittering noises. I don't actually look for the source of the racket until I have my weapon in hand.

Where did I put my gun? Fuck, I think it's in my bag. On the other side of my apartment, which honestly isn't saying much but still. How could I be so stupid?

Then, I see it.

A blur of black and grey, scurrying out from under my bed and across the floor like it's escaping a crime scene. It has an old bag of chips in its clutches, and they are definitely stale. They might even be moldy. They're also spilling all over the linoleum floor.

Then, the animal reaches in front of my fridge and stops. It starts sniffing around, but I can't see its face. I can see its tail, though. I can see the stripes.

And its back.

The blood sporadically caked into the fur.

The injury is what tips me off. This isn't just a random raccoon, it's the one I helped last night. I glance over at my window and find it still open, though the gap is a bit wider now. Did the raccoon push it open enough for it to fit through?

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

"What the hell?" I whisper.

The raccoon immediately jumps, looking at me like I set off fireworks or something instead of whispering a sentence. It immediately lets out this hissing noise, and I take note that it's smaller than I remember it being. Last night, I recall thinking the raccoon must be pretty well fed. It was a good size.

Now? Now it's unmistakably thin. Noticeably smaller. It's the same one, though. I'm positive of that, it has the exact same injuries on its back from where it was stuck.

It skitters across the floor, eventually finding its way to my closet after grabbing the chips bag again and spilling even more. Then, the animal disappears into the small, half empty closet. It's probably full of dirty clothes.

Shit, I was gonna do laundry today!

Well, too late now. Clearly my closet has been taken over. It's also already 6 PM. I'm fucked.

I immediately set the machete on my nightstand and feel around for my phone, finding it next to the charger but not plugged in, standing at about 3% battery. Whatever.

I call Winter.

It honestly takes her a while to answer, comparatively. She always has her phone on her, even when she's doing her homework she keeps it face up. Still, it's at least four rings before I hear her familiar voice come through.

"What is it?" She asks, voice sounding like some sort of whisper-yell. I hear a loud noise in the background. A voice. Then another voice.

"There is a raccoon in my house."

"Des, I'm busy." She tells me, sounding exasperated but notably not surprised. There's a hint of humor in it, though. She definitely finds my raccoon situation comical. That's fucked up.

"Okay, well you're the smart one!" I defend, and I'm being serious. She's the nerd out of the two of us, I have no fucking idea what to do. I know nothing about raccoons. I always thought they were just larger, more feral cats. With hands. Basically just cats but worse, I don't know. "How do I get it out?"

"I don't know!" She snaps, but she doesn't sound genuinely angry. Just irritated and mildly stressed. Clearly I'm interrupting something, I just have no idea what she's doing so I have no gauge on how much I should care. "A raccoon... maybe seal off your apartment and try to trap it? You'd probably be better off playing loud music and flashing lights at it, though. I think that's the most humane way to scare it off."

That won't work. I don't have a speaker. Or a flashlight. Unless my phone counts? I guess I could try that...

"Or you could come over here and help me."

"Des, I'm at the movies with my dad!" She hisses, which explains all the fucking noise. I still don't find that to be more important than my raccoon predicament. That's the last time I'm helping an animal in need, Jesus fucking Christ.

"So have him drop you off after." I supply, even though it's a stretch. Getting Vaughn to contribute to me corrupting his daughter in any way is not easy. At least, I'm pretty sure that's how he views me hanging out with her. It's only been a handful of times I've successfully convinced him to bring her to my location instead of going there. Also, I was never technically the one convincing him.

"I'll see what I can do, okay?" She tells me, pretending to be way more annoyed than she actually is. Then, "but if I come there, we're talking about last night. You can't just go around shooting people at 2 AM—"

My phone dies.

Yikes.

Guess Pierce already got to her. Motherfucker. I roll my eyes, trying not to think violent thoughts about him as I find the cord and plug my phone into the charger. It lights up a battery symbol a second later, telling me it's charging. I notice a new crack in its already fucked up screen and wonder what caused it.

Then, I remember the raccoon.

What did she say again? Scare it with lights or something? I don't see how that could possibly work. I can hear it moving around in my closet, though, and I really need to fucking do laundry. Especially if Winter comes here, she deep cleaned my apartment like a month ago so she'll be pissed at the state it is now. I need to fix what I can. Maybe I can blame the raccoon?

I don't know. I took off my shirt but I'm still wearing her pants, and they're still spattered with now dried blood. She won't be happy if she sees that either.

I sigh, walking over the small cabinet in my kitchen and grabbing my dustpan. I just take the brush, though. The broom thing. I'm not going at a raccoon with a machete, but I still want it to get the hell out, so that's my best bet.

"If you attack me, I'm calling animal control," I warn it, drawing closer and closer to the ajar closet door. As soon as the threat leaves my mouth I can't help but feel a little... bad, though. It's not like it made the conscious decision to get stuck under a fence and ruin my day. Maybe. Still, animal control is kind of known for sucking in the humane department, right? I don't know if that would be ideal.

Finally, I reach in front of the door, and take a deep breath. Why am I so freaked out? Winter said it herself—I shot someone last night, and now a raccoon is somehow taking over my house? Hell no. I got this. I've handled way worse.

I grab the door and pull it open.

Not super fast, since I don't want to scare it. Just... firm, and I'm immediately met with the sight of the beast itself. Sure enough, it has made a nest in my dirty clothes. They're all torn and fucked up now, and I'm already very late on rent. I don't have money to buy a whole new goddamn wardrobe.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," I state, giving the animal a deadpanned expression. It's not looking at me, though. It's crouching.

Then, it moves.

No—she moves.

And I'm met with the sight of two more, except they're much smaller. Quite literally born yesterday. Or... today, actually.

No way. You've gotta—in my closet? Not only was she evidently pregnant, which makes a lot of things make sense, but she had her babies in my fucking closet. This is ridiculous. How the hell am I supposed to get her out now?

The babies barely have any fur on them, eyes still shut. They remind me a lot of newborn kittens, honestly. I watch the mother cradle them to her, the little things suckling at her stomach while the mom herself occasionally nips at the chip bag like that's her dinner.

She doesn't look like she's going anywhere, any time soon.

And most of my clothes are destroyed.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck—now I basically have to pay my rent, right? I'm not the only one living here, apparently. No, no, they're not staying. Absolutely not.

Why would she choose to have her babies here? Is it because I helped her? That has to be it, but I didn't know she was pregnant. Especially not that pregnant, I just thought she was extremely well fed or something.

I should kick them out. I should go through with exactly what I said and call animal control.

But I'm also still exhausted, and the stress this has caused doesn't help.

So, instead I crack the door again and decide to just wait for Winter to help me figure out what to do about this. I grab some cereal and an almost empty half carton of borderline expired milk, pouring it all into a paper bowl and grabbing a plastic spoon from the pack I store on the counter. It's nearly out of spoons, almost equally as low on forks, but there are a shit ton of plastic knives in there.

Then, I eat. I turn on the TV to a random program I've never seen before and just wait. I assume Winter will call me when she gets out of the theater, so I just lounge on my bed and watch the TV, which is an old box type that I also store on my counter—the lower portion.

Time gets away from me. The raccoons stay pretty quiet, so I get lulled into this false sense of relaxation. At least a few hours go by, and it doesn't click in my mind that I was waiting on something until I realize that Winter definitely should've been out of the movie by now, even if I called her right when it began. It's after 8 now.

My phone buzzes.

It's not Winter, though. Not the familiar, chaotic vibration sequence she set for herself. Someone else messaged me, it was my default, and I frown. I get transfixed in the show for another few minutes before I remember the message again, sighing and sitting up.

I move over, turning toward my nightstand but keeping my eyes on the show. I feel around for the device, making a mental note to call Winter as soon as I deal with whatever this is.

It's dark outside. The noises of the city reach my ears, and it's November now. It's getting colder, cold enough I contemplate closing my window for a second.

But then I'm distracted.

The message is from an unknown number.

I frown, noticing that there's an image attached. First, however, I read the message:

You have twenty minutes.

I feel my stomach drop.

The device instantly has my full attention, and I sit up more, eyebrows furrowing. I tap the message and input my passcode, pulling it up once I've unlocked the device and navigating to the image.

There's a reflective surface on it from what appears to be the side of a bus stop. I can recognize the large build of the person taking the picture, as well as the fact that they are visibly armed. I recognize the man immediately, as well as another figure with him. A female one, engrossed in her phone.

People from last night.

"No," I whisper, as the situation begins to set in. No, no, no—

Then, there's the main focus of the image. In the distance, a tall, broad figure and a shorter one. Far enough that they're not easily recognizable.

Not unless you know them.

Winter and Vaughn. I know immediately, and they appear to be entering a parking garage. I know exactly which parking garage they're at, too.

It's thirty minutes away.

My heart drops. My body seems to process the gravity of the situation before my mind does, breaking out in a cold sweat. My breathing goes haywire. I have tunnel vision.

It happened. It actually fucking happened.

I don't waste another second. I don't sit around a moment longer, because it's not just Winter. Not just her dad. It's both of them, being followed. None the wiser. Because of me.

The raccoons are the furthest thing from my mind as I bolt.