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I switched the car back into drive and pulled ahead, stopping in another cloud of dust. This time, Tristan didn’t think twice about pushing open the door and stepping out, the dust still settling.
“Hold on,” I said, my hand going down to the concealed pistol I had brought with me. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance today. “Let me go first.”
“After you,” Tristan said with a flourished bow. He wore that easy smile of his again. It made me like him even more, seeing how courageous and positive he could be in the face of such darkness. We were steps away from a place that could have easily been Tristan’s gravesite, and yet he was smiling at me, his honey-warm brown eyes glittering even with the thick cloud that sat directly above us.
I took him in for a brief moment. He would be my pillar of strength. I always liked to think about pillars that held me up; it was how I got through the brutal years as a Marine. I thought about my best friend, I thought about my mom, I thought about myself. All three pillars kept me standing when bullets were flying and blood spraying.
Today, my pillar would be Tristan. Today and tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.
Taking the lead, I stepped in front of Tristan. The place had already been searched by the cops, but all they found for evidence were a few incomplete fingerprints, a mixture of toxic chemicals, and some strands of hair that didn’t pull up any matches in the database.
Basically, they found nothing. Which didn’t necessarily mean there was nothing inside.
The door, unlocked, opened on creaking hinges, slanting so that it scraped against the already scratched wooden floor. Like dented scars never meant to heal, never meant to scab over. The smell of wet and musty air hit me first. I went to turn on the lights, but nothing came on, so instead, I went for the drapes, opening each one. “Stick close to me,” I said, going toward the first closed door. “I’m going to clear this place.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Tristan teased behind me. I smirked before throwing open the door, revealing a dirty (and empty) bedroom. There was a mattress with no bed frame sitting on the floor, the bedsheets having been torn off and processed into evidence already. Fingerprint dust still clung to the dingy bedside table. A tiny window was boarded up with thin planks of wood, making this room darker than the living room.
I went to the next door and the next. Each room was empty, our footsteps seeming to echo as if we had entered into a cavernous expanse. The house was quiet.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Tristan as we reached the entrance to the basement.
“A little light-headed. But fine.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to spot any kind of sign to turn around.
It was all I saw. Everything screamed at me to push him right back through the front door and get him in the car, far from this literal hellhole we were about to climb down into.
But I had to trust him. Wasn’t that what created the foundation for a solid relationship?
The door to the basement opened with a loud yawn, the wood hitting the floor with a clatter. I went down first, Tristan’s hand falling between my shoulders as he followed. I didn’t want to pull out my gun and worry Tristan any more than he already was, but my hand did hover over it, ready for anything.
The basement itself had been mostly emptied. There was nothing, or no one, to be ready for. The aquariums were gone, the tables that held them still there, covered in a dark black tablecloth. The restraints that had tied Tristan down were also gone, along with the tray of chemicals and used syringes next to it. It smelled clean, too. Like Pine-Sol, as if the police had cleaned the place up after they left.
Or maybe it wasn’t the police? They weren’t exactly known for their homely manners.
“Fuck, this is weird.” Tristan stood with his hands in the pocket of his jeans. He wore a pearl necklace intermittently set with sapphires—something he’d spotted in an Instagram ad and mentioned he wanted. I liked surprises, so I’d ordered it the second he wasn’t looking at my phone. He went to fiddle with one of the bright blue balls.
“Looks like the cops took everything,” I said, scanning the small space. I went to the tables and lifted the cloth, seeing only dirt and dust bunnies. “Nothing.”
I didn’t want to prolong this. I could come back later in the day and do a more thorough search, but for now, this would have to be enough.
“Come on. Let’s go get some lunch and walk Piedmont.”
I started toward the steps when Tristan grabbed my elbow.
“Wait… while I was here, I remember hearing something. It sounded like a door. A heavy door, not like the one that leads into the basement.” Tristan looked around, doing a spin. He moved to the center of the room. There, he stood with his eyes closed, the wrinkles on his forehead multiplying. I didn’t even breathe. I watched him as the memory slowly started to resurface. “It sounded like it had come from this direction.”
Tristan took a few steps forward, toward the wall. The table that held the row of aquariums was now missing its aquatic inhabitants. The thin black drape hung down to the floor, pooling by Tristan’s feet. He cocked his head, stretched out his hand, fingers running over the smooth brick.
“Wait a second…” Tristan leaned forward. “Look at this.”
I went over to his side, leaned over the table. Tristan’s finger traced a clear line in the brick, one that I had completely missed. I followed it up, to the left, back down, disappearing behind the table.
“Holy fuck,” I said. “Help me with this.”
Tristan grabbed one end of the table, and I grabbed the other. We moved it to the center of the room and went back to the wall. The seam was so obvious to me now. How the hell did I miss it?
“You’re good, Trist.” I grabbed his face in my hands and kissed him. Hard. “Just don’t come for my job, alright?”
