Page 59 of Matteo

Mason shook his head. “It’s temporary, I promise. We’re going to find this motherfucker, I promise.”

“And then what?”

“Well…Carmine just wants to kill him…I was thinking torture. I want information,” Mason took his eyes off the road briefly to look at me.

A sigh left my lips, “I’m a goddamn FBI agent, can we not talk about murder and torture like it’s just an everyday thing.”

That earned Mason a huge grin. “Nope brother, you are now a fugitive.”

Rolling my eyes, I settled back against the seat and stared out the window for the rest of the drive. The moon was outand shining brightly as we finally started to speed towards our destination.

Eventually the old house loomed ahead, and my chest started to feel heavy. Part of me wanted to take my fucking chances with the cops.

I was a cop.

I could do cops.

I didn’t want to do memories.

As Mason parked and got of the car, I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. The memory hit me like a ton of bricks.

Something was moaning, creaking like an old swing. It was low and guttural, filling the air and driving down my spine. It seemed to grow louder, more ominous with every single passing second.

I could hear it from the kitchen, and it was so loud. I’d felt sick during an exam…

The sound was so foreign to my ears. Our house was never this quiet with five boys running around, fighting.

“Mom…” I’d called.

A rap came at the car’s window and I found myself looking up into Mason’s eyes. If he knew I was thinking about one of the single worst days in my life, he didn’t let on.

He had my duffle thrown over his back and I followed him up to the house and around the back. Growing up, we’d always used the back door.

He fiddled for a key and unlocked the door. There was a panel with a code by the back door and slowly, he began to type a code in.

“Eleven, twenty-nine,” he stated and handed me the key. “In case you decided to leave for any reason.

“Mom’s birthday,” I nodded.

The house smelled stuffy and closed off. We didn’t dare turn on the lights until we made it down to the basement. The light bulb swayed overhead as it illuminated the area.

“When’s the last time you came out here?” I asked running my fingers over the old pool table smothered in dust.

“It’s been a long fucking time,” Mason admitted.

“Lot of ghosts in this fucking place,” I shook my head.

“Carmine keeps up the maintenance though,” Mason shrugged. “He comes out here more than I do. He takes care of mom’s little rose garden that she had. They still bloom.”

Walking around the basement, I found the board games we used to play when the power went out. A few of the old gaming consoles were sitting on a stand under an old television. Sadness threatened to overtake me.

I could hear the groaning of something swinging in my head again.

Block that shit out,my dark passenger begged.

“Do you remember how much Carmine hated playing Monopoly with Mom,” I glanced over at Mason.

He sat the duffel bag down on the couch and nodded. “Yeah, Dad was never around then either.”

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