Page 73 of Unexpected Danger
The foul odor of feces, urine, and burned food assaulted him as he stepped up on the lone step and rang the bell. Nothing happened, so he knocked, then knocked a second time. Dogs barked, and he thought he heard one scratching at the door.
Unfortunately, Renee Corker either wasn’t home or she wasn't answering. It would necessitate a return visit. As he turned to leave, he thought he heard some light thudding from somewhere in the home. He investigated briefly, but neither saw nor heard anything further.
Brodie walked around to the side of the house. He cocked his ear toward a window. Was that someone talking?
Dogs barked again, drowning out whatever voices he may or may not have heard. A horse in a derelict corral caught his attention. He returned to the porch one more time, knocked, and when he heard nothing but dogs, he climbed back into his truck. If that was the stolen horse in the yard, Renee Corker wouldn’t be keeping it forever.
He’d be back.
Dustin flicked a dog hair off his shirt. “I heard something thump in here. Was that you?”
Londyn shook her head and attempted to speak, but her words came out as warbled. Dustin untied and yanked the handkerchief from her mouth. The residual taste caused her to dry heave. “Pheh,” she said, slightly pushing her tongue forward while attempting to rid her mouth of the offensive taste.
Dustin smirked. “Did you need to say something?”
“Could I please use the restroom? I've been here for several hours.”
Dustin worked his jaw in a tight circle as if contemplating her request. What happened to wanting to rescue her? Would he fall for probably the oldest trick in the book?
“All right,” he finally said. “You'll need to make it quick.”
“Thank you.”
“You won’t thank me when you see the bathroom.” He blanched and made a gagging noise. “Just ignore the defecation on the toilet seat, the mold in every corner, the rabbit in the bathtub, and the clothes and mile-high piles of trash, and you’ll be fine.”
Londyn cringed. “That bad?”
“Worse. Let’s just say Renee is not the housecleaning type. You’ll need a biohazard outfit.” He snorted and peered around him. “Nothing like a hoarder’s paradise.” Dustin removed the binding from her hands and her feet. “You have two minutes to take care of business.” He took a step back, and Londyn struggled to her feet. Weakness threatened from having nothing to eat for so long, and her eyes burned from the allergies. Determination and the will to survive emboldened her to achieve the goal she had in mind.
Her adversary watched her every move. How could she defer his attention from her? An idea percolated in her racing mind. “There is so much in here that Renee could sell and make good money on. Vintage items are all the rage,” she said, slowly trudging over the piles of junk.
“I don't think Renee cares if she makes money or not.”
“But, still, look at that old record player over there. That's like something that's even before our parents’ time.”
A shadow fell across Dustin’s face, and Londyn wondered about the relationship between him and his family. He'd neverbeen forthright with information about them. Not even during their “friendship” in Rowland. “I wonder if that even still has a needle in it?”
“If you're so interested in it, why don't you walk over and look?” The record player was on the way to the door, stacked on top of several boxes and right beside the desk that held the bird cage and the darts, in addition to about three feet of other garbage. She narrowly avoided stepping in fossilized dog feces as she tiptoed to the desk. She nudged the record player.
“This even has a record on it!”
“When did you become interested in old stuff?”
“I don't know, I just find it fascinating.” Londyn’s dry throat made it difficult to speak, and the places on her wrists and ankles where the rope had been were rubbed raw. She shoved her concerns aside. She needed her ruse to be successful.
Dustin had come to stand beside her as she inspected the record player. “I wonder if it works.”
“Who cares?”
She shrugged, then, mustering all of her strength and tenacity, Londyn grabbed the old bird cage, swung it around, and connected it with Dustin’s head.
“Owwwww!” He planted a hand on the desk and seethed. “You're going to pay for that, Londyn.”
Dustin was quick, but Londyn was quicker. She stabbed him in the web of his hand with a dart before hitting him again with what appeared to be some sort of paperweight. She scrambled from the room. There was no easy way to rush down the hall and to the front door, not with stacks and piles of debris, cardboard boxes, garbage, and an unusable toilet sitting in the middle of the room. The dogs bounded toward her as she attempted to sidestep them.
Dustin sprinted after her. She stepped over a pile of old magazines and a bucket that had been used as a trash can. “Get back here, Londyn!”
She glanced back to see Dustin gaining on her as blood spurted from the wound on his head where she’d hit him with the paperweight.
