ABERRATION
By Randy Romero
The house was in desperate need
of repair. But if anyone could pull it off, Eddy Vallen was the man for the
job.
Apply a little elbow grease,
work fast and hard, and he could wrap this project up in a month, maybe less.
All the house needed was some tender loving care, a little TLC as his mom used
to say. Though Eddy was never a fan of acronyms, especially ones like TLC. But
he supposed it wasn’t as bad as some of his mom’s infamous mispronunciations.
But if there was ever a house
that needed a little TLC, it was Eddy’s childhood home. The house he grew up in
was a dilapidated money pit just waiting to implode.
The tires of Eddy’s red Dodge
pickup kicked up dirt and gravel as he drove down the long, narrow driveway. He
stopped near the front of the house, cut the engine, and got out. Ross Schaffer
opened the passenger door and followed behind him.
The front door jammed up and
Eddy had to ram it with his shoulder. It opened with a rusty, hellish screech.
“A little WD-40 will fix that
right up,” Ross quipped. Ross was Eddy’s best friend. He insisted on tagging
along and helping Eddy assess the damage to the property and estimate how much
it would cost to fix up.
They took a look around when the
dust finally settled, literally. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust
or debris. Every surface, every fixture, every countertop or rotting piece of
furniture was clouded with dust.
They checked the bathrooms
first. Cracked black-and-white honeycomb patterned tiles that would have to be
replaced. Eddy tested out the sinks. No hot water, and no water pressure
either. The upstairs sink shot out sludge. When he flushed the upstairs toilet,
it caused a backup in the downstairs tub.
The whole house needed to be
rewired. There were shorts and blown fuses and broken fixtures in most rooms.
The lights that actually did work still flickered occasionally as a result of
faulty wiring. That’s where Ross really came in. Ross was an electrician, and
as a friend, he’d offered to help with the wiring.
Paint bubbled from the ceiling
and peeled from the walls in thick, uneven stirps. In the kitchen, Eddy spotted
a pattern of yellow birds along the walls where the old wallpaper had started
bleeding through the new wallpaper. Cracked linoleum tiles. Formica countertops
covered in dust and sagging brown cupboard doors, barely clinging to their
rotted hinges. In one corner, he noticed a brighter square of linoleum where
the oven had been before it was removed. His father had never gotten around to
replacing it, and as many times as Eddy offered, his mother refused to let him
buy a new one for her. She didn’t have a reason to cook without his father
around. She lived on takeout's, soups and salads and microwavable dinners when
she felt like eating.
The halls were dark and reeked
of mold and mildew. The brown carpets were threadbare and frayed. Eddy took
another survey and thought to himself this may take longer than a month after
all. Maybe two months. He had his work cut out for him.
“Jeez,” Ross exclaimed. “You
definitely have your work cut out for you.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Eddy said,
grimacing. “Well, you’re the electrician. Tell me how much the wiring is going
to run me.”
“I could do it for a few grand.
Normally, it would cost more, but I’m giving you the friend’s discount.”
“Lucky me.”
“Probably three or four grand
total when I’m done. As for the rest of the house…”
“I know, I know. But it’ll be
worth it. Trust me.”
Eddy’s father, Mitch Vallen,
passed away in the fall of 2009. Complications from a fall off a ladder when he
was cleaning out the gutters.
Doris had pleaded with him to be
more careful in his tender age. But Mitch could never stay retired. He wasn’t
accustomed to a sedentary lifestyle. He always had to busy himself with one
project or another, find something to fix or clean or tidy up. It was in his
blood.
Doris followed him in the summer
of 2011. It was a heart attack that got her in her sleep, but Eddy truly
believed she died of a broken heart.
It was 2012 now. And the house
and a few thousand dollars were all his parents had left behind. The money
covered the cost of his mother’s funeral, but it didn’t stretch far enough to
fix this place up. Eddy would have to dip into his own personal savings to pay
for the repairs, but he would be reimbursed handsomely when he turned around
and sold it.
Eddy had the knowledge and
ability to transform this dump into a dream home for some lucky family. He had
followed in his dad’s footsteps and become a carpenter. His old man got him
into the union after he turned 18, and rest was history, as they say. Eddy, now
at 38, had even worked his way up to foreman like his father. He enjoyed
calling the shots, teaching the younger generation, and giving directions. He
kind of enjoyed the power and control that came with being a boss, too.
“The avocado don’t fall far from
the tree,” Ross had said once.
“Apple,” Eddy had corrected him.
Adjacent to the living room and
kitchen was a small den. They walked to the glass sliding doors and stared in
awe at the backyard. Eddy had forgotten how big it truly was. It must’ve
stretched back at least four or five acres. And beyond the fence, a vast wooded
area. Perfect for hunting, Ross thought.
“Too bad I didn’t bring my
rifle,” Ross said. “But check out that yard. Not bad at all. Well, you lose
some, you win some.”
“It’s actually the other way
around, but it doesn’t matter,” Eddy said, shaking his head.
Dust kicked up with every step
they took. But Eddy was glad to finally be home.
The old house had opened the floodgates
of his memory. Every room, every distinct smell, every chip in the paint, every
dent in the moldings or plaster, every scuff mark on the linoleum brought the
past back to the present. These marks were a personal record for anyone to
behold, like a living photograph. Each mark or dent or bruise told its own
story.
As they continued to explore,
they came across some of Mitch Vallen’s paintings. As talented as he was with
his hands, Eddy never shared his dad’s passion or skill for painting.
Mitch loved working with his
hands. But as Mitch’s age progressed, and his mind slowly deteriorated, his
artwork had devolved to madness.
When he was a boy, his dad used
to take him to the track. Eddy was quite fond of the races. He never understood
the gambling aspect, was too young at the time. He just enjoyed the fun and the
time he got to spend with his dad, and he loved seeing the horses. That was his
favorite part.
One horse in particular was
simply named Storm. A big, beautiful, majestic, white-as-snow stallion that
stood out the most to Eddy for some reason. His dad had painted him a picture
of Storm for his seventh birthday. He still had the painting in storage. It
meant the world to him at the time.
That was back when his dad was
still painting things like beaches and sunsets and baskets of fruit. His later
work was reminiscent of Frank Frazetta on acid. His work become manic, bizarre,
quixotic, dark, and rashly impulsive.
Terrifying serpents and
arachnids. Barbarians and axe-wielding warriors in the midst of bloody battle.
Mountains of skulls and bones. Mutated or malformed creatures.
The most bizarre piece that
stood out to Eddy was one he had titled himself. He called it The Urchin.
It depicted a half man, half
fish hybrid. Bulbous eyes, ink black skin, its body adorned with tiny but sharp
spines. In place of hands, it had two appendages that resembled hooks. For
Eddy, that painting was the stuff of nightmares. God only knows what was going
through his dad’s mind when he conjured it up.
“Your dad was…an interesting
fellow, to say the least,” Ross said. “Come on, let’s check out the basement.”
They descended the creaking
wooden staircase that his dad had assembled himself ages ago. There was a work
bench, a red toolchest, a burgundy area rug that seemed oddly out of place in
the center of the floor. Tools and extension cords hung from wall-mounted
hooks. And there were tons of boxes stacked up in corners that contained
everything from family photo albums to Halloween and Christmas decorations.
Ross pinched his nose between
two fingertips. “Man, this place stinks something awful. You’re going to have
air this place out, maybe get some incest.”
“I really hope you mean
incenses,” Eddy said. Correcting Ross’s misquotes was exasperating. But it put
a smile on his face from time to time, reminded him of his mother. Doris used
to do the same thing with certain words. Instead of scenario, she would say
scenarials. Irregardless instead of regardless. So on and so forth.
She thought truthly was a word
and used it in place of truthfully. That one always had Eddy and Mitch
snickering behind her back. Doris even pronounced the L in salmon.
But Ross Schaffer was ten times
worse. He even thought a GIF was pronounced JIF. Even with his loathing from
acronyms, Eddy knew the correct meaning and pronunciation. But he let it slide
because it reminded Ross of peanut butter and always made him smile. Maybe what it really reminded him of
was childhood, a simpler time, an easier time when things weren’t so confusing
or complicated.
Ross was always good for a
laugh, whether you were laughing with him or at him. But he was a hell of a
friend. Eddy couldn’t deny that. He’d even shown up for both of his parent’s
funerals. He wasn’t smart or clever, but he was a stand-up guy, nonetheless.
“It’s getting late,” Eddy
pointed out. “I should probably drive you back. Unless you want to take a cab
back or catch the train. I think there’s one leaving in half an hour.”
“You sure you’re going to be
okay out here by yourself in the middle of nowhere? I could crash if you wanted
me to.”
“You saw all the beer in the bed
of my truck, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. Besides, it’ll be
fun. We’ll drink a few beers, order a couple of pizzas, hook up the TV and
watch some movies if we don’t get electrocuted.”
“Ah, what the hell,” Eddy
shrugged. “Why not?”
Before they headed back
upstairs, they sorted through some of the boxes to see what was junk and what
was worth salvaging. They separated things until piles. There were tons of old
clothes, but most of them were stained with mildew and weren’t worth saving.
Eddy put those aside to dispose of later on. He saved any toys or trinkets from
his childhood that he came across. And he made sure to put aside any photo
albums he found.
He even flipped through a couple
of them for nostalgias sake. Most of the photos were old, faded, bent or
creased. But some were still in remarkable condition despite their age. On the
surface, the photos all appeared normal. But Eddy spotted a few with peculiar
white circles or blobs of light in the corners.
“Orbs,” Ross said, looking over
his friend’s shoulder.
“Orbs?”
“Yeah, those little circles of
light. Ghost hunters call them orbs. They’re supposedly spirits trying to make
you aware of their presence.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” Eddy
said.
“It’s not that bad. You’ve heard
of a photo bomb, right? Like when someone walks into the shot when you’re
taking a photo. This is just a ghost photo bomb.”
Eddy put the albums beside his
childhood trinkets and the other items that were worth saving. “That’s enough
for now,” he said. “We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.”
As they were walking upstairs,
Ross’s foot snagged the burgundy carpet and he almost toppled over. The disheveled
rug revealed something rusty and metallic underneath.
A trapdoor.
“Maybe that’s where your dad
kept the lotion and the basket,” Ross quipped. “Did you guys have a dog named
Precious, by chance?”
“Very funny.” Eddy examined the
trapdoor up close.
“Did you know this was here?”
Ross asked.
“No clue.”
He was baffled. There was no
knob, no handle, seemingly no way to open it. There was no release bar or
mechanism. No lock. It was just stuck, set in the ground.
“Hand me that crowbar on the
wall,” Eddy said. Ross passed him the red painted crowbar and he tried to pry
the door open. No such luck.
He searched for a gap, any
opening he could find with the bar. When the bar proved useless, he tried
another prying tool. It snapped in half.
“You’re going to need the jaws
of life to get that open,” Ross said. “Just leave it for now. We’ll figure out
how to get it open later. And maybe we’re better off not knowing what’s down
there right now.”
“Oh, stop. I’m sure my dad just
used it for extra storage space.”
“Sure, if that storage includes
corpses.”
“Hilarious.”
“It’s why you hang out with me.”
“Let’s just order some food and
drink some beers. Tomorrow, we get to work.”
***
The next day, they ripped up the
linoleum in the kitchen and put down shiny new eggshell white tiles. Ross
helped Eddy install a new oven and hook the gas up.
They tore out the old cabinets
and cupboards and Formica countertops.
The day after, they replaced the
cupboards and put in brand new marble countertops.
Then there was the sanding, the
peeling, the priming, and painting. Eddy chose white for the kitchen and living
room, dark blue for the bedrooms, and yellow for the bathrooms. He replaced the
wallpaper entirely with paint in the kitchen. Goodbye yellow birds.
Meanwhile, Ross got to work on
the wiring. Minutes turned into hours, hours turned days. Days turned into
weeks. But Ross stuck by his friend’s side the whole way. He was getting paid,
after all.
They wound up consulting a
plumber about the pipes. He told them a clog was causing the backup. He gave
them an estimate, but little did he know that he told Eddy everything he needed
to do when he gave him that estimate. Clear the clog, replace a few pipes,
adjust the water pressure, and put in new toilets and tubs, and the bathrooms
would be brand new. He could even rip out the tubs and just replace them with
shower stalls if he wanted to go cheap or practical.
Two weeks in, they had already
knocked out half the work.
Eddy used a curved carpet knife
to slice up the frayed carpeting. Then he replaced it with a new light grey material.
Things were really starting to come along…
***
It was early morning, but Ross
was ready to get to work. He had his agenda for the day. He needed to run out
and get some supplies before he could continue his work. He went to inform
Eddy, who was on the landing of the staircase, gazing at one of his father’s
paintings.
The Urchin.
“Hey, Eddy, I need to run out
and get more fuses. I’m going to need your help later with the fixtures.”
Eddy didn’t respond. His eyes
were glazed over.
“Eddy,” he whistled. “Earth to
Eddy.”
Eddy stared vacantly at the
painting on the wall.
Ross snapped his fingers. “Is
anybody there?” But Eddy wasn’t. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t acknowledge his
friend’s presence. He was in a world of his own.
“Eddy!” Ross screamed, and Eddy
finally snapped out of it.
“What?” he said calmly, quietly.
“Where you been, bro? I’ve been
trying to talk to you for like two minutes. You were zoned out.”
“I…I don’t know. I guess maybe I
was sleepwalking. I don’t even remember getting out of bed.”
Ross eyed him curiously. “You
fucking with me?”
“No, I am not fucking with you. Last thing I remember, I was curling up in bed with my eyes shut. But I used to sleepwalk a lot when I was a kid. It wouldn’t be anything new.”
“Right…so as I was saying when
you were out on your feet, I have to run out and grab a few replacement fuses.
You going to be alright while I’m gone? Maybe you could start by unscrewing or removing
some of the old fixtures while I’m out. Just make sure the power is off before
you mess around with anything.”
“I’m fine,” Eddy assured him. “Just
give me a few minutes to wake up, and then I’ll get straight to work, boss.”
“Sounds good. Later on, you can
help me with the fixtures.”
Ross eyed him again, then The
Urchin painting. He hated that painting, wanted to take that carpet knife of
Eddy’s and slice the canvas in half. But he wouldn’t’ dare disrespect or defile
his dad’s work. So he left it be, though he still worried about Eddy. Losing
his parents, then coming back to his childhood home after all these years to
fix the place up, it couldn’t be easy on him. Ross would have to keep an eye
out for him for the duration of his stay.
***
Ross returned with everything he
needed and two cups of coffee, one for each of them.
“So you used to sleepwalk?” Ross
asked in between sips of coffee.
“Yeah, all the time as a kid. I
thought it was just a phase. I guess not.”
“I don’t ever remember
sleepwalking as a kid. But it’s not uncommon. A lot of people sleepwalk; kids
and adults.”
“I suppose you’re right. I just
hope it doesn’t happen again. I hate sleepwalking. You’re never in control when
you’re sleepwalking. I remember one time, this is actually kind of funny, my
dad found my peeing in their bedroom closet. I was sleepwalking and thought I
had wandered into the bathroom. Instead, I peed all over my old man’s work
boots.”
Ross couldn’t contain his
laughter at that story. “I bet he was pissed. No pun intended.”
“He was slightly perturbed. I
wound up buying him a new pair of boots for Christmas that year. Well,
technically my mom loaned me the money since I didn’t have a job.”
“You know there’s a term for
that.”
“For what?”
“Sleepwalking.
“Yeah, it’s called
sleepwalking.”
“No, no, there’s another word
for it. It just…escapes me at this time.”
They finished their coffee and set
to work replacing the fixtures. Eddy did the fixtures while Ross worked on the
wiring.
“Give it to me nice and slow,”
Ross called out from the other side of the wall.
“That’s what she said.”
Ross laughed. “The wire. I’m
talking about the wire on your end. Feed it through the wall. And hurry it up.
I want to take a lunch break in a few.”
Before Eddy could do anything, the
lights popped and fizzled.
“Fuck!” Ross elegantly
exclaimed.
“What happened?”
“Must’ve popped a fuse. Sit
tight. I’ll fix it.”
Eddy stood in near darkness, waiting
patiently for his friend to resolve the issue. He heard footsteps, but they
sounded too soft to be Ross’s size ten work boots. Eddy peered down the black
hallway that led to the basement door.
“What’s the hold up?” Eddy
called out.
Wet squelching sounds filled the
hall.
Eddy could just make out a
distant silhouette. Tall and lanky. Its curved hands at its side. Sharp spines protruding
from its flesh.
The Urchin.
The lights flickered back on and
the hallway was vacant. He turned in every direction, dizzy and disoriented,
looking for some proof of its presence. But the familiar figure was gone, if it
had ever even been there. All that was left were a set of wet boot prints treading
across the floor.
He heard heavy footsteps, heard
the basement steps creak, and Ross emerged a moment later.
“What the hell was that?” Eddy
asked, a quiver in his voice.
“You’re going to have to be more
pacific.” That line seemed to snap Eddy out of it a little bit.
“Pacific? What am I, a body of
water? I was talking about that wet squishing sound.”
They both looked down at the wet
floor.
“Must’ve been me,” Ross said. “I
must’ve stepped in something wet. Maybe a puddle outside before. Good catch.
That could’ve been dangerous. I’ll dry that up and wipe off my boots.”
***
Ross kept a close eye on Eddy in
the days that passed. He hadn’t had any more sleepwalking incidents. But he had
caught Eddy perusing that painting on several occasions when he thought Ross
wasn’t paying attention to him. But Ross was always watching at that point. He
was concerned for Eddy’s mental health and stability, and his physical health.
He knew Eddy would do the same and look out for him if the roles were reversed.
Ross finished the wiring,
repaired all the fuses. Eddy helped with all the fixtures. All the lights were
working again, all the outlets had power. They could watch TV without the risk
of electrocution.
Things were really coming along.
The work was almost complete. They had painted. The floors were pretty much
done. All Eddy needed to do was put new carpeting in the bedrooms. But first,
he wanted to focus on the plumbing. He’d managed to unclog the pipes and
resolve the backup issue. But he still needed to work on replacing a few other pipes,
as well as the sinks, toilets, and bathtubs.
They stopped for a quick lunch.
“What have you got there?” Eddy
asked.
“PB and J.”
“PB and J?”
“Yeah, it’s short for peanut
butter and jelly.”
“I know what it’s short for.
What are you, five?”
“Mentally, yes.”
Eddy chuckled and went back to
his ham, turkey, and cheese on rye with mustard. As childish as Ross was, that
was what Eddy admired about him. His friend was still a kid at heart in so many
ways. He enjoyed the simple things in life like peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches. Ross was the kind of guy who orders off the kids’ menu at restaurants.
Chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks or pizza. Eddy wished he could be like
him sometimes. And he wished he could have his diet and still maintain his
physique.
“What’s next?”
“Well, seeing as how there’s
only one working toilet we’ve been sharing, and we’ve been going back and forth
to your place to shower since there’s no hot water, I figured it’s time we
tackle the bathrooms. Once that’s out of the way, I’ll finish the carpets. Then
it’s just a matter of inspecting and clearing out the rest of my parent’s
things.”
“What are you going to do with
all their stuff?”
“I’ll probably take all of my
dad’s tools and supplies. And I’m obviously going to keep any photo albums or
family heirlooms. The furniture and the rest can go. As for his paintings, I
don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”
“I think you should burn some of
them,” Ross suggested. “Or at least have a priest bless them once a month.”
“What’s your problem with my
dad’s paintings?”
“They give me the creeps, man.
Especially that street urchin painting.”
“Sea urchin. A street urchin is
like a disobedient child. And I don’t even think people use that term anymore.
Maybe in the UK.”
“Street urchin, sea urchin.
Tomato, tamato. It still gives me the willies. Those things don’t freak you
out?”
“I prefer to focus on the man my
father was, not the man he became,” Eddy said and left it at that.
The room fell silent.
“Somnambulism,” Ross blurted
out.
“What?”
“The term for sleepwalking. I
just remembered it. It’s somnambulism.”
“Where did you learn a word like
somnambulism?”
“I think I read it in a book
somewhere.”
“A comic or a picture book?”
***
THUMP.
Eddy sat up in bed. He didn’t
even think it was possible. He thought it was a bodily function only reserved
for the movies. When you first wake up, you’re normally too exhausted or
disoriented to sit straight up. But not this time. The noise was so loud it not
only woke him from his sleep, it caused him to spring awake.
Eddy rolled out of bed,
stretched, and tried to shake off the cobwebs. He heard footsteps in the
hallway.
“Did you hear that?” Ross called
out.
“How could I not?”
“What the hell was that?”
“I have no idea. Did it come
from outside?”
“I don’t know. I was sound
asleep. It woke me from the dead.”
THUD.
Another loud bang. It sounded
like it emanated from the basement. They looked at one another, then
downstairs. Ross grabbed a crowbar from a pile of tools. Eddy, half asleep,
twisted around in circles looking for some object to defend himself, settling
on the curved carpet knife. The blade was sharp but lightweight, easy to handle
and easy to defend yourself with at short range.
They crept downstairs, checking
the halls, the living room, the bathroom, and kitchen along their way until
they found themselves at the basement door. Ross went first, flicking the lights
on. The banging continued until they reached the bottom step, then it suddenly
ceased.
“It sounded like it was coming
from the trapdoor,” Eddy observed.
“Whatever it was, it’s quiet
now.”
“I don’t think I want to know
what it was.”
“Yeah, well I do.”
Ross attempted to pry the door
open with a crowbar, to no success. When the crowbar didn’t work, he tried with
a claw hammer. Then he took a sledgehammer and wailed on it, whacked the
corners, the edges, the center.
There was no noise, no thuds or
bangs in response to Ross’s noisy yet futile attempts to open the trapdoor.
“Stop! Just stop before you wake
up the dead! I’ll call a locksmith tomorrow and they’ll figure out how to get
it open. Then we’ll find out what’s down there. It’s probably just a possum or
a raccoon or something.”
“That must be one pretty big
fucking possum.”
***
Eddy didn’t expect an immediate
response. He assumed he would make an appointment, schedule a time and date. But
the first locksmith he called was available that morning.
“Wow, old school,” the locksmith
said, admiring the trapdoor. “Haven’t seen one like this in a long time. Looks
almost like the door to a bomb shelter. Was your dad a doomsday prepper by any
chance?”
“Not to my knowledge. So, can
you get it open?”
“I’m going to be honest, I’m
stumped. There’s no lock, no knob, no handle. My guess is there’s got to be
some hidden mechanism that springs the door open. Either that or it was set on
a timer. Whoever installed it, they really wanted to protect or hide whatever’s
down there.”
Ross glared at Eddy.
“Shut up,” Eddy said, almost
reading his mind. He wanted to make another Silence of the Lambs reference or
serial killer joke about Eddy’s dad. It was all in jest, but Eddy wasn’t in the
mood for it. At first, he didn’t want to know what was down there. Now it
gnawed away at him. He had an itch that needed to be scratched.
***
Eddy dreamed of the sea that
night. Dreamed of a wrecked ship washed up on shore. Of a bipedal creature
stumbling onto the beach, tangled in seaweed. Razor sharp hooks for hands,
round bulging eyes, pointy spikes protruding from its dark, scaly flesh. The
wet squelching sounds as it stepped forward echoed through his dreams. And then
there was another noise that invaded his slumber, and he was awake once again.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The air left Eddy’s lungs. The
house shook from its eaves to its foundation. Ross sprang from the guest
bedroom and bolted down the stairs with Eddy not too far behind. They made a
run for the basement, but stopped halfway down the stairs.
The trapdoor hung open, wet
footprints on the ground…
***
The cops formed a semi-circle
outside the house, standing in stunned silence until one of them finally broke
the ice.
“I’ve never seen that much blood
before at a crime scene,” one of them said.
“I’ve never seen that many stab
wounds,” another officer said.
“Sick fuck,” a third officer
said.
The four of them stared through
the window of the cop car. They had Eddy Vallen in the backseat, hands cuffed,
waiting for the detectives to wrap up before they hauled him away. They had the
body, they had Eddy’s prints everywhere, including the murder weapon, a curved
blade used for cutting carpet. But Eddy still pled his innocence. The officers
assumed he was aiming for an insanity plea, and he might actually get one.
Detectives Hall and Vanzetti
finished up with the coroner inside and watched the paramedics haul Ross’s
body, riddled with innumerable wounds, out on a stretcher.
“This is a bloody mess,”
Vanzetti said. Then he added, “No pun intended.”
“Yeah, but it’s an open and shut
case,” Hall said. “Easy work for us. We’ve got the body, the murder weapon, the
fingerprints. We just need a confession. What else did the boys find?”
“They found some bloody
footprints in the basement, the stairs leading up, and the hallway. No doubt
they’ll match Eddy Vallen’s shoe size. And they spoke to a family member, found
out this guy Vallen lost both his parents and his been working day and night on
fixing their old house up. I guess the pressure finally got to him.”
“Or maybe him and his buddy had
some sort of dispute. Could have been money related. Or just a fight that
escalated, got out of hand. But with all the evidence they’ve found, we have
our guy.”
“Now I just need to find
something with caffeine in it, and maybe something with sprinkles,” Vanzetti said.
“One dozen or two?” Hall asked.
“Just half a dozen. You know I’m
on a diet.”
“By the way, what else did they
find in the basement?”
“Just a lot of tools and junk,
family items, and photographs. And there was a trapdoor that was left open.
Looks like an old bunker that was being used for storage. We didn’t find
anything useful down there.”
Vanzetti excused himself. Hall
said he would catch up. Just wanted to take one final look around, make sure
they didn’t miss anything. He was halfway to the basement door when he heard
the wet squelching sounds, accompanied by the tiny patter of footsteps coming
up the basement stairs…
