There was a light on inside, the grass around the house was low, and the windows weren’t boarded up like the majority of the homes near Narcoose Bridge. It obviously wasn’t abandoned, but there weren’t any cars, and there was no sound or movement.
I took a few steps forward and abruptly stopped. “I know you’ve been following me, so you can come out now.”
At my words, Tito pushed his way through a leafy shrub and stared at me with his big brown eyes, looking like a wounded puppy.
“You’ve always been shitty at being stealthy,” I pointed out, cutting off whatever he had opened his mouth to say.
My calf muscles protested with every step I took up the porch stairs. The front door was wide open, so I took that as invitation enough. I strolled right in like I lived there.
“Anybody home?” A heavy silence answered.
The place wasn’t overly large. The word cozy came to mind. Aside from the kitchen also serving as a dining room with atrocious striped wallpaper, the rest of the house had mahogany wood paneled walls and dull hardwood flooring.
I could sense that something was off here. Doing a slow sweep through both rooms, I approached the table and took in four place settings. There were half-eaten sandwiches that still looked relatively fresh, an empty glass on its side, and a dead fly floating in a pink kitten cup full of water.
The million dollar question was what happened to the people?
“Shut the front door and lock it,” I called to Tito just as he stepped inside. He did what I asked for once without any rebuttal.
I walked into the main part of the kitchen and searched the drawers, finding a large cutting knife.
“Coming?” I asked him, making my way back to the foyer and slowly starting up the staircase, taking in the golden framed pictures of a family that lined the walls. The steps creaked behind me from the pressure of Tito’s weight.
At the top landing, I took a moment to survey the hallway. There were two doors on one side and two on the other. All four were closed.
“I don’t think we should be up here. We have no idea what or who could be in one of those rooms,” Tito whispered.
“Then go back downstairs.”
This man needed a testosterone shot in his balls. His fear was driving me bat-shit.
I had no idea he was this emasculating.
Moving forward, I opened the first door on my left, finding an empty room that clearly belonged to a little girl. There were unicorn stickers all over one purple wall.
Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I moved on. The next room was plain with no real character to it. There was an old basketball in the middle of the floor and a weathered desk beside a window. The first door across the hall revealed a small bathroom. The final room was where the bodies were.
A man, a woman, and an adolescent boy lay on the floor. All three had bullet holes in the center of their foreheads.
The little girl from the pictures was missing. I knew she wasn’t inside the house, which meant she was more than likely taken or dead somewhere in the woods.
“Who do you think did this?” Tito asked from behind me.
Crouching down, I reached my hand out and swirled two dirt clad fingers in the blood to get an idea of the texture, ignoring the sound Tito made in his throat. Next, I stroked the man’s face. His skin was taut but rigor mortis hadn’t fully set in yet, and the room was lacking the smell that came with decaying bodies.
“It wasn’t Romero or his people, if that’s what you’re thinking, and they haven’t been dead for very long,” I responded, standing up.
“How do you know any of that?”
“Because I’m an expert when it comes to death, and no one was tortured. There’s also no inverted cross or sigil anywhere, and you know the Savages always leave behind a charming token of their presence.”
Stepping back, I turned around and walked out of the room to head back downstairs.
“And the little girl?” Tito asked, following me.
“She’s obviously not here.”
“Okay, so what do we do about that?”