Page 34 of Olivia

He scanned the street once more then walked up the driveway. The side gate squeaked as he pushed it open. Jackson slid through the small gap and left the gate open to minimize making more noise when he exited. He didn’t plan to stay long, and he shouldn’t be there at all without a warrant. But if there were clues in this house, he needed to see them tonight. If he was right about her identity, his presence would continue to spook her, and anything in this house might be removed. He couldn’t wait for a warrant.

He pulled a flashlight from his back pocket and walked toward the back of the house, keeping his body against the walls of the house for protection.

His pulse was steady, his body alert but not poised for attack.

The backyard was a mirror of the front, with an overgrown lawn and a few plants that looked like they thrived on neglect.

There was no shed in the backyard, Jackson noted as he moved toward the back door.

He pulled a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket, slid them onto his hands, then removed his pistol from its holster, keeping it ready in his right hand.

He’d brought a lock-pick kit with him—but to his surprise, when he turned the door handle, it opened.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he second-guessed if anyone lived in this house.

No utilities were registered to this address, and it looked like no one had done any maintenance.

Jackson slowly pushed open the door, but unlike the side gate, it was silent. He stepped into the sunroom and closed the door behind him, sweeping his flashlight in an arc across the room. The room connected to the kitchen, but Jackson’s eyes were on the floor: a set of footprints were visible. Jackson swept his toe across the floorboards, which were covered in dust, confirming that no one lived here but someone had visited recently. Very recently. And judging by the shoe size, it was likely a male.

Combined with the unlocked door, the footprints could’ve been left as early as tonight.

But what were the chances that he and another man were paying this seemingly abandoned house a visit on the same evening?

Jackson proceeded with caution, creeping forward silently. Until he knew no one else was inside the house he needed to move like a ghost. He looked over his shoulder, comparing his footprints to the other set—they were near identical in size. A chill crept up his spine, but he continued forward.

The kitchen counters were bare. There wasn’t a single dish in the sink nor an item of trash to be seen. A stray utensil pot and a chopping board indicated someone had at least lived here at some point though.

He moved toward the adjoining hallway, sweeping his flashlight over it. The flooring changed to charcoal carpet in the hallway, which was good for moving silently, but it meant he lost the footprints. Five doors led off the hallway, and all were closed. Jackson wanted to get in and out of this house as fast as possible, but this would slow him down.

He took a calming breath as he opened the first door.

His heart sank as he looked over the moving boxes stacked on the floor, the bed, the dresser, and every inch of carpet. This was not going to be as quick as he’d hoped.

His eyes landed on the antique dresser half-hidden behind boxes—it looked like a family heirloom.

Jackson made a mental note of it and continued to the next room. He’d search every inch of the house first for someone else, then once he confirmed no one else was inside, he’d work out how to quickly search for evidence.

The next three rooms were exactly the same: boxes everywhere, beds with mattresses that hadn’t been made up, side tables and lamps pushed into the corners of the rooms.

It was like someone had been in the process of packing up the house, and then decided it was too hard and walked out the door, never coming back.

Or maybe they had died, Jackson thought. Maybe Anna King died, and never had the chance to finish packing her things.

Jackson opened the final door to reveal a simple white bathroom. The shower curtain was drawn so he stepped forward, hesitating for the briefest moment even though the rest of the house appeared to be in order. But, he already knew by the smell of the room that nothing dead was in the shower.

He pulled back the curtain and felt the tension leave his shoulders as he looked at a dusty, white, empty bathtub.

But with the release of tension came disappointment. This house appeared exactly as it should. Abandoned.

He pulled a UV light and shone it over the bathroom, the empty bedrooms, and the hallway as he made his way back to the first bedroom. His mind was on the antique dresser. It wasn’t that it looked out of place, but it was the only thing in this entire house that had character—that didn’t seem discarded. It looked like it would’ve been important to Anna King.

Jackson shook his head... he didn’t know Anna King. He had no idea what was important to her.

Nonetheless, he found himself moving in that direction.

He entered the room and walked through the maze of random towers of boxes, stacked like they might fall over at any time. Whoever had started packing up this house used a very haphazard system. Some of the boxes were taped closed and others were open.

He lifted the flaps of an open box, curious to know if these were Anna King’s belongings or if they belonged to someone else, likely a family member.

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