Page 130 of Babalon

“Fat chance. I’m staying out here at my desk and letting the others handle that hot-hormonal mess in there.”

I laugh.

Jaz is probably one of the kindest guards I have ever met. She was even nice enough to make sure my belongings, especially my clothes, were clean prior to today.

My release day.

“If I see you out in the free world, we don’t know each other. Capeesh?”

“Bet. You take care, Nadia. I hope you find your little girl.”

“Me too.”

Grabbing the paper bag, along with the papers I have accumulated over the years, I spin and head straight for the exit. A pair of double doors with glass panes that block me from a dreary Michigan day, raindrops trickling down the window, obscuring my vision. Turning, I used my back to push through the doors.

The chilly fall temperature force goosebumps to creep down my arms, the thin windbreaker I managed to be gifted, barely keeps the chill at bay. I may have spent a lot of time in the yard during rec, but this feels completely different. Perhaps it’s because walls and fences are no longer blocking the wind.

The air crisper, cleaner.

Making my way over to the Uber that was purchased for me, I open the door and hunker inside. Not saying a word to the driver as he already knows my destination. I just have to make several stops along the way.

Shuffling through the paperwork, I haul out the piece of paper my lawyer helped me obtain. The document listing the address Sadie’s adoptive parents stated that they live. I’m not going to wait, I need to see her now, see how she has grown. If she is anything like Kace and I, or if she was something… I don’t know, better?

The next thing I stare down at is a missing person’s report. It popped up a few weeks ago. I may have already been set up for release, but when the lawyer handed this over at my last visit, my blood ran cold.

A few hours later, the Uber driver and I drive up to a small, single story craftsman style home. The grass, though stunted by the fall weather, is still long. The truck sitting in the driveway, cold and unbothered. Overall, it feels like nothing, and no one, has been here for a while. I can even make out the pile of mail on the front porch. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the mailman that had called in the suspicious activity.

After saying goodbye to Carl, the Uber driver who said about four words to me during the whole trip, I slowly make my way up the concrete path that divides the front yard. Everything feels wrong and not in a ‘I shouldn’t be here’ type of way. It’s hard to explain, but when you become a guard, or any type of law enforcement for that matter, you develop this sense in your gut that lets you know to be on alert. It’s something I didn’t pay near enough attention to when I was at Darkwater.

That’s how I felt now, though.

Uneasy.

My sneakers makes very little sound as I ascended the steps to the porch. The ceiling painted a haint blue to keep the bad spirits out. Luckily, I wasn’t one of them, but from the looks of things, one of the bastards may have gotten in already.

Approaching the door, I decide that knocking for pleasantries' sake is unnecessary, seeing as though the whole family is missing. So, I check the door knob.

Locked, fucking great.

Grunting, I shove the door hard, anger welling up in me. Part of me knows I am still so far away from Sadie, yet the other part, begs for her to be just on the other side of the door, waiting for me. Eyes bright, arms open, ready to be together.

With another ram, out of frustration mostly, the door jolts, making me stop. Looking at the threshold, I noticed it did budge. Again, I shoulder the door, and it swings open this time, crashing back against the wall.

No one can truly prepare you for certain things in life—kids, marriage, losing a loved one. They’re all inevitable events that exist, but getting slapped in the face with the scent of death isn’t something you can ever truly be prepared for.

Doubling over, my hands shoot to my face and over my nose and mouth.

The stench is overwhelming.

A need to gag settles in my stomach.

Fuck me, I have not smelt anything like this since my days at the men’s prison.

I can hear flies buzzing around, some trying to escape the now-open door. While others swarm and crawl around the two figures I finally spot. One faced down at the opening of the hallway to the right, wearing a pair of white shoes, blue jeans, and a cream-colored t-shirt, beginning to stain with the decaying fluids of who I assumed is Sadie’s adoptive mom.

Across the room to the left, a heftier body, wearing a black... no... tan button up shirt and black slacks. Bloated and ready to pop— her adoptive dad.

“Jesus,” I finally gag. Talking to no one but the dead bodies.

---