5

As he neared the Francis house, Andrew’s thoughts kept returning to his sister in the mirror. He didn’t want to think he was going crazy, but he couldn’t find any other explanation for what had happened to him. The anniversary of her death, June 14th, was only a few weeks away, so maybe that’s why he imagined she appeared. Though if he had to manifest her, why did his mind choose to do so in such a grisly manner?

He had been trying to push thoughts of his sister out of his mind for years, but they always managed to linger within probing range, just in case he got too content. If he made a sandwich, he would cut it diagonally because that’s how she liked it. He always sat on the left side of his couch because she always sat on the right. When he bought soap, it was always lavender scented, because that was the scent of the incense she burned. All of these unintentional actions would bring back memories that would stab at his heart for a time, before fading away into an opaque afterthought that rested in his mind

Pulling into the driveway of the Francis home, Andrew saw Nick Petulo already examining the porch, looking for any signs of possible break-in. Andrew slammed the door of his Accord shut, startling his partner, and asked, “You know what you’re doing there?”

Nick jumped and spun around, nearly dropping his flashlight. He smoothed back his pitch black hair with one hand and put on a youthful smile that never seemed to fade, even while being occasionally reprimanded for not maintaining his uniform properly. He stood tall and straight, making the most out of his 5’6” height before saying, “Just waiting for you sir! Figured I should start examining the scene until you got here.”

“Did you find anything interesting?” Andrew said with a slight hint of sarcasm, walking towards the house.

“No, not yet. All the doors and windows are locked, no signs of damage or forced entry on any of them.”

“Does this place have a Crawl space?”

“That! That’s what I forgot to check!” He smiled and slowly shook his head. “I don’t think I’d make it out here very long without you as my coach Whitman.”

“You’re just getting started kid, don’t worry about it. Knowledge comes from experience, which you don’t have much of yet.” Nick was only 24, but he had spirit. Like most young recruits, he came into the job expecting action and heroics, though unlike most other young recruits, that spirit didn’t fade when he found out the job was mostly clerical work. Nobody ever thinks about all the field and paperwork that comes with the job when they enter, and tha’ts what gets them. Nicky seemed to enjoy all of it though. He was very passionate about the job and wanted to do the best that he could, and Andrew liked him for that.

The entrance to the crawl space was on the side of the house, and the crisscrossing plywood cover that should have been covering it was lying on the ground beside the opening. Andrew brought out his flashlight and shone it through the mouth of the opening, slowly sweeping it through the space. He observed mostly emptiness until he saw the light reflect off two golden eyes encasing black vertical slits. The animal quickly took off away from Andrew’s light, further into the darkness.

“What was that?” Nick asked, looking over his partner’s shoulder.

“Cat. Probably down here for shelter. If it’s female, it might have settled in this place to eventually give birth.”

“Well that thing definitely couldn’t have ripped off the covering.”

“Nope,” As Andrew continued examining the crawlspace, he noticed a few pipes of varying size laying next to a support beam. Above the beam were some exposed pipes which looked similar to the ones on the ground. Further back he could see more pipes, these ones covered with dirt and rust. “But I don’t think some bandit did either. See those pipes over there?” He motioned with his light and Nick nodded. “Probably left by some plumber. See the ones that are already placed? He probably left them there knowing he’d have to come back to finish the job.”

Nick was astonished. “You’re sure about all that?” he asked

“No, but I feel like it’s a pretty damn good guess. Plus, If I was breaking into a house to commit a murder, I sure as hell wouldn’t go through a crawl space. Not too many places to pop up through besides some ventilation shafts, most of which are probably only small enough for the cat to fit if it wanted.”

“Anything else of note?”

“Nope.” But he did see something. Something black and shiny near where the older pipes were placed. Its jagged edge was stuck out at a point that felt almost threatening to Andrew, but he quickly dismissed it as an out of place rock. He turned off his flashlight and re-placed the plywood covering.

Back at the front door, Andrew put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Now when we go in there, we’re gonna split up to cover the most ground. If you see anything that you think is out of the ordinary, or maybe even too ordinary, you check it out and let me know what you think. This is the hardest part of the job Nicky, and probably the most important.”

Nick looked up at his partner. Andrew was only 5’11”, but the difference in height made Nick happy, in a strange way. As an only child, he often found himself wondering what it would have been like to have a brother growing up. He thought of all the awkward moments and lost fights that could have been different if only he had someone to guide and stand by him. He imagined the experiences he could have had, the lives they could have lived, the love and sense of camaraderie that they could have felt. In the short time they had been paired together, Nick had come to think of Andrew as that brother. “I won’t let you down,” he said with a smile.

Andrew slid the key into the lock and turned, slowly pushing the door open. As he did, a shaft of sunlight filled the entryway and illuminated a staircase. To the left was the kitchen, which was lit only by the window looking out into the side-yard, the same window through which Earle Hatche had seen Angeline’s last moments alive. To the right was the living room; the shades were drawn closed, leaving the room in a cloak of shadow. “I’ll start in the kitchen, you search the living room. There’s a switch there.” He motioned to the end of the wall that separated the entryway from the living room. There were two switches, and Nick flipped them both. One turned on a ceiling fan and lights in the living room, and the other lit up a light fixture hanging from the ceiling in the entryway.

As Nick began his search, Andrew looked up the stairs. He could see three doors, one slightly ajar. Pure blackness peeked out from the gap in the door, and he felt as if something was staring at him from within. He averted his gaze to the dimly lit kitchen and proceeded inside.

He fumbled for a light switch along the wall, found it, and flipped it on. This light was much dimmer than the one in the living room and gave the room an ambient romantic feeling. Next to the light switch was a small vertical slot with a plastic piece jutting out from the bottom. Andrew placed his index finger on the plastic and slid it upwards, causing the bulb to glow much brighter.

It was a small kitchen; a table and two chairs were placed against the left wall, overlooked by a hanging cross. To Andrew’s right was a refrigerator, and opposite of that was a long countertop that spanned most of the wall; it featured a built-in oven, stovetop, and dishwasher. A column of drawers made up the end of the counter, and a row of cabinets hung above it, a towel hanging from one of their handles. As he walked in, he noticed the sink on the other side of the fridge. Evidence markers were placed throughout the kitchen: one on the floor next to the dining table (presumably where Angeline had died) and one on the counter, next to a wooden block holding many knives. One was missing.

He glanced out the window and saw into the Hatche residence next-door. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a brown leather couch facing a mounted flatscreen. A wooden coffee table was placed between them, which was covered on magazines and coasters. Placing his back to the window, he tried to imagine the scene that had taken place here the previous night: Angeline Francis standing in front of him, facing away from him, in front of her was a faceless shadow. She walks to the counter and pulls a knife from the block. Then she walks back to stand next to the table.

In front of the shadow.

Then she stabs herself in the throat and falls to the floor, dead. Donald comes down later, screams, then the police are called.

But why?

He examined the knife block, which held various knives of various sizes used for cutting various things. But one was missing: the chef’s knife. The long and sharp blade was being held in an evidence depository back at the station. He walked back to the marker on the floor and crouched down. A crime scene cleanup crew came the previous night and cleaned the place, though not very deeply it seemed; there were still a few dark splotches of blood on the tile and in the grout around where the woman had fallen. He kneeled further down and noticed a vent in the wall under the table, close to the ground. A few more faded dark splotches were present under the table as well. As he looked into the vent, he felt as if something somewhere was staring back at him, and the hair on his neck stood on end.

“Hey,” a voice said somewhere behind him. Andrew shot up and knocked his head on the table, then crouched back down and held his throbbing skull. Looking up, he saw the face of Nick. He carefully backed up and stood, rubbing the top of his head. “Sorry I scared you. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the living room, or anything too ordinary either. A few books and magazines, a box of knitting supplies, and a scarf or something the wife must have been making.” The thought of knitting brought back memories of Andrew’s mother, unweaving the threads of her latest work. “Should we move upstairs?”

“Yeah, I’ll lead the way. Stay close to me”

“Why, you think something might be up there?” Nick’s hand hovered over his pistol holster.

“No, I just don’t like the look of it.” The two began to ascend the stairs, Andrew first with Nick following close behind. At the top of the stairs, Andrew opened the closed door directly to his right, revealing a neat bedroom lit by an open window. He closed the door and turned his attention to the remaining two doors: one closed at the end of the hall, and one slightly ajar in the middle, revealing pitch darkness. Andrew slowly walked to the middle of the hallway and pushed open the door, revealing a dark study. He motioned to the other door, “That’s probably the bathroom, you check it out. I’m going to look around here.” Nick walked down the hall and opened the door; it was indeed a bathroom. He flicked on the light and began examining the medicine cabinet.

Andrew stood outside the study and peered into the darkness. He reached in and felt along the wall for a light switch. He couldn’t find it. He tried the other side and failed to find it there as well. Looking around the dark room, he noticed a string hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. He couldn’t see where the string began, but he assumed it was at a light fixture. He took a few careful steps into the room, looking around for anything that might be waiting for him in the darkness. “Just like one of my fucking dreams,” he said quietly under his breath. He finally reached the string and pulled. The light clicked on, revealing a mahogany desk and a dark brown carpet accentuated by lighter brown walls. Behind the desk was a comfy looking chair that sat facing a typewriter. Andrew thought to himself that Donald Francis might be the only person in the county, no, the whole state, who was still used a typewriter. A picture of Don and his wife stood on the desk; it showed a much younger version of them standing on a boat docked in the ocean. On the side of the boat, ‘The Bond’ was written out in golden letters..

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from Native American History books to Stephen King. None of it seemed suspicious though, Andrew didn’t think Don had any secret passages that could be opened by pulling a special book on the shelf. Nevertheless, he pulled a few anyways before realizing how ridiculous he must have looked. He stepped behind the desk to take a closer look at the typewriter and saw that it contained an unfinished note. Andrew pulled out the rolling chair and sat at the desk. He removed the unfinished letter from the typewriter and began to read:

My Friend,

I’m not sure what has been going on lately. My wife has been looking haggard these past few days and says that she feels weak in the evenings. You may say that it is the onset of old age, but I tell you that cannot be. My wife and I are fit as horses; we take a walk every afternoon, eat healthy, and our checkups reveal nothing out of the ordinary. I believe we may have a problem. I’d like to meet somet-

The writing stopped abruptly. What had cut him off from finishing? The sound of his wife collapsing, or maybe something else? But how could that be, he was in the bedroom when his wife had died.

Or was he?

The thought had never occurred to him. Could the old man have been lying? What was this problem that he had been trying to hide? The letter was addressed to, “My friend.” Who’s identity could he be trying to protect? Did he have ties to the mafia or some other shady organization? Surely not. Donald Francis was an honest mechanic who lived in Burdock his entire life, how would he have any contacts in the mafia? Andrew thought to himself, “I’m going to have a lot of questions for that ma-” but was interrupted when Nick ran into the room with his radio in his hand

“Didn’t you hear the call-in?” Andrew hadn’t, he had been absorbed in the letter and its possible implications. Had his radio even made any noise at all?

“No. What’s going on?”

“Donald Francis was just found dead in his cell.”