“You ready?” he asked.
“Not even a little,” I said.
We walked to Jack’s together.
Murray knocked. Firm, not aggressive.
After a moment, the door opened a crack.
I saw one eye, a slice of his face.
“Jack?” Murray said. “Hi.
I’m Officer Murray. Your neighbor was worried.”
Jack’s gaze jumped to me, then back.
“Is your mom home?” Murray asked.
“Okay,” Murray said. “Mind if I step in and talk for a minute?
You’re not in trouble. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Do you have a warrant?” he asked.
I almost snorted. Twelve going on 40.
Murray’s mouth twitched.
“No warrant,” he said.
Jack hesitated.
Then, from somewhere deeper inside the house, we heard a loud crack. Like something heavy had snapped or fallen.
I jumped.
Murray stiffened.
“What was that?” he asked.
“The house is old,” Jack said quickly. “It does that.”
“Jack,” Murray said, calm but firmer now, “step back, please.”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
But he moved.
We walked inside.
The place felt wrong.
There was one ancient couch. A wobbly table.
A couple of boxes. No pictures. No lamps.
No sign of grown-up life.
“Police!” Murray called. “Anyone home?”
The kitchen sink was full of dishes. Trash overflowing. Continue reading…
