Evil Origins

  chapter TEN

  Mike

  It hadn’t been a good morning, that's all I could say. Haunted by the faces of the dead, I felt cursed to carry all of their sins and not one of them was my own. No longer did my dreams bring me back to my childhood where everything fit together like delicate puzzle pieces skillfully crafted to hug each other softly. I was going to miss those moments. My dreams were my safe haven from the real world.

  I didn't bother checking my messages. Jenny, Irene, and an unknown number popped up, but these would undoubtedly be more troubles and bad news. Jenny would be fighting with Wilson over sex and money, Irene would be looking for validation that William wasn't an asshole, which he was and who knew who the voice was on the unknown number. I just didn't have the energy or pure heart today to save the people in my world. I needed to save myself for a change. My own soul seemed darker today and I needed an escape.

  I decided to wander through my old neighborhood. To get lost in the way things used to be before I saw the darkness in people. The neighborhood was boarded up like an old western ghost town. Like most people in Windsor, I realized that we needed a new bridge, but all the history in this little section of town was going to be lost when it came. The doors and windows on every house might be boarded up and decay seemed to be slowly choking the beauty and life from my childhood world, but the life I knew still existed. Each house in the row had its own special memories and charm attached to it. Each one still had life as long as one could take the time to look. Squirrels chattered and bounced around every tree, bees lived off the land as they dashed through the coloured flowers on the weeds, and even rodents scurried contentedly through the walls. It was easy to think of such a place as memory lane, because all of my carefree childhood days were spent here desperately trying to escape, yet it was only as an adult that I truly realized it was not just a memory, but had become a part of me.

  I didn’t know why I always stopped to sit on the steps of the Barthélémy house. I used to think that it was because it reminded me of my youthful innocence, or all those lostdays that I happily wasted here, but I always ended up here at least a few times a year. I spent some time letting my memory recreate the ugly white wicker chair and the matching swing that gracefully hung on the porch. I could almost hear the constant creaking sound that the rope made as it scraped across the pine beam when we would sit there discussing our futures. It seemed to me now that Renaud and Harrow never dreamed of the future that the world would bring them. It was always me and Jenny that still believed we would find our fame and fortune. I guess even then the twins saw darkness in their later lives. Even Renaud's first kiss seemed to scare him. I remember the way he blushed and whispered, "This isn't going to end well for me." Little did he know how right he was, or how the aftershock of his heart breaking would affect those around him.

  A loud echoing noise emanated from the loose plywood covering the door. Even here, street kids find a reason to break in, though there isn't anything of value left anymore. The priceless parts were recycled into the new house and I knew for sure that the sentimental value cost much more than it was worth. Nathanial wouldn't have it any other way though. He kept insisting that he was bringing the heart of the old home into his new one. He even had Renaud's bedroom rebuilt exactly as he left it. He had always thought that one day his brother would return home just the way he’d left it. I had always hoped that the broken man who ran away into the night would be return with a wife, kids, and hopefully as a better man. Nathanial had even kept all those stupid little hiding places that Renaud thought nobody knew about and hid all his treasures in. Of course, we had all known about them.

  I looked at the crack in the doorway and thought I saw a shadow moving past the opening. Slowly, I turned my head to get a better view, but I couldn’t see anything. Like a coward, I carefully moved closer to the thin plywood that time had weathered to the point of being almost paper-thin. My hands trembled as I leaned in closer to the opening. I was too nervous, I thought as I moved inch by inch trying to see what was just out of my view. I knew that curiosity killed the cat and I was quickly running out of lives. Last night made sure that I would never forget that fact.

  “Is anybody there?” I asked. I waited for a minute and heard nothing so I moved a little closer before shouting again, “This is private property and these houses can be dangerous. If anyone is in there, please leave now. You won’t get in any trouble.” Like an idiot, I walked closer to the doorway. I was still talking, but I wasn’t sure if it was to calm the person inside the house or myself. Either way, I didn’t think it was working for either of us. I rubbed my finger across my nose instinctively, realizing that there was a horrible odor in the air. Old houses like this always had their own smells; rotting boards, mold, and dead things that had gotten stuck in the walls, but this was something different. I wouldn’t exactly call it evil or supernatural, but it certainly wasn’t a flowery smell. I had never been lost in a sewer, but I was sure if I was that this was what one would smell like.

  I stood still for a moment, running my finger along the doorframe. It felt smoother than I had expected. I called out again to the person on the other side of the door. Whether they were real or imagined, I wanted to give them plenty of warning that I was coming. I grabbed hold of the thin slat of wood that was flapping in the wind and slowly pried the crack open a little more. Peering through, I saw a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at me. The shock of it made me shriek like a little girl and roll backwards. A skinnier person would have jumped backwards, but as a slightly weightier person, I had to jump and let gravity do the rest. I hit the steps and felt myself tumbling downward, smashing into the rough pebble-like gravel. The force of my aching body sent a cloud of dust floating into the air and tears sprung into my eyes. I turned over onto my back, struggling to lift my head and keep eye contact with the door. As I gasped for air, all I saw was the weathered plywood shaking as the wind kept its control.

  It took me a few minutes to gather myself and pull my ass up off the ground. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but whatever it was nothing happened. It took a few minutes for me to realize that I had just fallen on my ass and someone might be rolling on theirs laughing at me. Embarrassed, I searched the street and thankfully, with the exception of the squirrels, there wasn’t anyone around who could have seen me.

  “Definitely a girl in that house. Certainly a troubled teen, and what kind of man would I be if I just ran away? Damn responsibilities,” I mumbled to myself.

  I walked to towards the house, this time determined that I wouldn’t fall on my ass. I walked up the steps one by one, listening to the groaning sound the boards made with each step. Thank god it wasn’t dark outside, I thought as I made my way to the door and pried it open. I glanced through the opening, expecting to see a young, trampy-looking teen, but I couldn’t see anything as I scanned the inside of the house. It looked empty enough and time hadn’t been fair to the place.

  Sticking my head through, I called out.

  “Is anybody there?” Again, nobody responded, but I did hear a quick series of popping noises. It sounded like a woman’s high-heeled shoes knocking about on the floor as she ran away to safety. “Damn it,” I muttered. Now I had to go in there just to make sure that she wasn’t hurt or a drug abuser.

  I forced my body through the opening. I expected to hear more footsteps but there was nothing. I could see footprints that seem to run in circles all over the place. By the looks of it, there were two people wandering around, lost in the house.

  I was looking up what was left of the stairs, but to climb it I’d have needed to be a monkey. I doubted that they would have been able to climb up faster than I could enter the house. I turned to scan the room and saw something fly towards me. I ducked, covering my face as a black shape came hissing right past me. I could hear a gravelly yowling sound as I tried to curl into a ball. I looked over to see a black object scurrying across the floor towards the door. It stopped at the doo
r for a moment and stared back at me. It as the ugliest damn cat that I had ever seen. It seemed to me that my life had been filled with ugly black felines. First Renaud’s damn cat, and then the one last night. The cat hissed and vanished through the opening.

  There were clothes left scattered across the floor, but they weren’t exactly the type of clothes that I expected to find homeless teens to be wearing. No scruffy torn jeans and faded t-shirts like I would have thought. In my experience, homeless girls do not tended to be princess types like I’d see in church on Sunday. All tattooed and pierced like expressing their individuality was so important that they would trade their futures and sometimes their very freedom to obtain it.

  The smell of Synactif perfume filled the air. I knew the smell quite well, considering it was considered a classic and many women young and old wore it. It certainly wasn't the cheap discount stuff one could buy anywhere. I guess my homeless companion might have stolen it, but that didn't explain the clothes. I bent down and grabbed a pair of red high-heel shoes that seemed to shimmer as I turned them and the light reflected off of the little gold metal specks. I didn’t know a lot about shoes, but these seemed expensive.

  I followed the trail of discarded clothing. There was a longthin red dress that felt silky to the touch and reminded me of lingerie. What the hell was happening in here? It looked like some kind of orgy had occurred, only the clothing seemed to indicate that the owner was some kind of high class escort. I followed my trail of bread crumbs. A pair of fishnet stockings, a black silk bra with small, string-like straps, and a g string that you'd expect to see a hooker wearing. I picked them up and let them dangle from my finger. It looked more like string then underwear and, despite being an upstanding kind of guy, the image of the owner wearing this little thing kept bouncing around my mind.

  "Do those belong to you or have you finally given into the fact you are a dirty old man?" It was followed by a loud laugh and the character added, “Or is this what you wear when nobody is looking!" I saw a pair of shiny black dress shoes and faded black jeans that looked too new to be well-worn jeans, but too faded to be new.

  "How do I know they don't belong to you?" I said, still staring at his feet.

  Laughing a familiar voice responded, "It's not Halloween and those aren’t the clothes I wear when I dress up as a hooker."

  In shock I cried out, "Renaud!"