Page 49 of Unraveling an Enigma
Hugo’s playful banter dampens the thick stench of despair plaguing the car. With a cheeky wink, he climbs out of the driver’s door and briskly strides around the car. Brandon follows his departure.There is no way in hell I'm staying out here by myself. Even the outside of this place is giving me the creeps.After gathering my pistol from my satchel on the floor, I scuttle out of the car and closely shadow Hugo and Brandon onto the leaf-covered veranda. The old wood creaks under my feet as I quickly pad across it to stand between them.
“Stay behind me,” Hugo suggests, his tone conveying it is not a request.
I nod, acknowledging his suggestion before moving to stand behind his left shoulder.Now is not the time to argue protocol.My eyes assess the situation. No sounds come out of the house but the whistling of wind bellowing through the cracks in the floorboards. The frayed, torn curtains on the grime-covered windows are open. The old paint-peeled screen door is hanging open by the one hinge still attached to the doorframe.
My pupils widen when Hugo pulls out a gun from the back of his jeans.I didn’t know he carried a weapon.He takes on an active stance with his gun drawn in front of his body before his gaze shifts to Brandon. With a single nod of his head, he instructs Brandon to knock on the glass-paneled wooden door. A loud creak screeches through the air when the door swings open from Brandon’s firm tap. A foul stench invades my nostrils. It’s the smell of trash, rotten food and something else that makes my stomach churn.
“I'm an FBI field agent; is anyone home?” Brandon questions, his loud voice rumbling through the desolate house.
Hugo’s eyes snap to Brandon for the quickest second, making me realize I failed to mention the fact Brandon is also an agent.Oops!I was under the assumption he was aware of that fact.
When the tenant fails to respond to Brandon’s question, he turns to face me. “Did you hear that?”
I eye him curiously.
A smile curls on Brandon’s lips. “I think I heard someone yelling for help inside.”
A broad grin carves on Hugo’s mouth. “Yeah, I heard it too,” he confirms, playing along with Brandon’s ruse.
Since wehearpleas for help, we make our way into the house. The potent aroma of rotting food scraps amplifies the further we walk in. The house is as desolate on the inside as it is on the outside. There is a square box television in one corner sitting on an old milk crate. A recliner has been dragged over to sit in front of it. The remaining lounge chairs are set up under the small stairwell, covered in the plastic they were originally delivered in, but from the material comprising the setting and design, I'd say they were purchased quite a few years ago.
Scary shadows dance around the room since the sun has become hidden by a hill at the side of the property. I reach over and flick on a dirty light switch at my side. After the tube light on the ceiling flickers on and off a handful of times, the room illuminates with an unnatural yellow light.
Hugo gestures with a nod of his head and a silent signal with his eyes for Brandon to clear the lower level of the property. Brandon acknowledges with a nod. He paces toward the kitchen in the bottom right-hand corner. Most of the corkwood floor is covered with trash and rotten food scraps. Brandon’s gun is drawn in front of his body as he scans the space. Hugo tilts in close and motions his head to the stairwell.
“Follow me,” he says in a hushed whisper. I nod.
Every step we take is met with a loud creak of the frail wood. A squeal emits from my lips when Hugo’s boot-covered foot falls through one of the steps. Slapping my hand over my mouth, my eyes dart up to the landing to make sure my squeal didn’t gain us any unwanted attention.
“Are you okay?” I whisper once my hardy gaze comes up empty. Hugo pulls his foot out of the hole, sending splinters of wood falling onto the plastic-covered sofa below the stairwell. No words seep from Hugo’s lips, but he does nod his head.
My heart thrashes more with every step we take. The smell of unwashed laundry and another scent I can’t quite work out becomes more apparent when we finalize the last few steps.
“You clear the left, I’ll clear the right,” I instruct, my voice surprisingly strong considering how shaky my hands are. Hugo’s eyes bug as he glares at me.
Ignoring Hugo’s furious glare, I pace to the first door on my right. My heart freezes in my chest when sloshing filters through my ears. Peering down, I notice the old, frayed, red and black hall runner is saturated with water.Well, I hope it’s water.My gaze drifts across the hall to the door. There is a steady flow of clear liquid seeping from underneath the door. Through trembling hands, I twist the white porcelain knob and push open the warped, paint-peeled door. My gun is drawn in front of me as my frantic eyes absorb the basic but spotlessly clean bathroom. The peach vanity sink has the cold-water tap turned on full blast, so water topples over the edge like a rapid-flowing waterfall.
“Hello?” I call out.
When no one returns my greeting, I walk into the room. My pulse is shrilling so loud, it is ringing in my ears.
While turning the tap off, I skim my dilated eyes around the space. The bathroom is terribly outdated, but compared to downstairs, every surface is sparkling clean. Once I’ve checked behind the shower curtain and in the bathtub, I head back to the hallway in preparation to check the next room at the end of the corridor.
My heart leaps into my chest when Hugo steps in front of me. I clench my mouth shut and snap my eyes closed, suffocating the urge to scream. After inhaling a shaky breath to settle my nerves, I flutter my eyes back open.
“Sorry,” Hugo mutters. “There is nothing but a bedroom with a double bed on the left. All the closets and drawers are full of clothes, but the bed hasn’t been slept in recently.”
“Okay.” I shift my gaze to the last door. “That just leaves one room.”
My gaze lifts and locks with Brandon as his giant strides climb the stairs two at a time, narrowly missing the hole Hugo’s boot left. Brandon shakes his head to my silent questioning.
“There is nothing down there but a whole heap of rubbish and rats,” he informs us, his face scrunching up when he mentions the vermin.
In sync, we turn our heads to the one remaining room that has yet to be searched. A bead of sweat runs down my back as I strengthen my stance. After adjusting the grip on my gun, I follow Brandon and Hugo to the end of the hall. Hugo wraps his hand around the doorknob as he cranks his head to look back at Brandon and me.
“One, two, three,” he says in a hushed whisper.
On three, Hugo flings open the door for Brandon and me to rush in with our guns drawn. My eyes eagerly roam around the room, absorbing every detail while also making sure the room is secure. When my avid gaze comes up empty for potential threats, I lower my gun and turn my fretful gaze to stare at Brandon.
