Taylor nodded, heading further into the house. The living room was dark, lines of light creeping through cracks in the plywood over the main window, illuminating the floor.
Something caught her eye on the wall, and she crossed the room, carefully stepping over a pile of cigarette butts. The walls were greasy, the paint in terrible shape, but the black smudge was clear enough. It was a handprint. Taylor recalled her dad’s story about the shadow burning a handprint into the back shed, and she wondered if that mark was still there.
“Is that a handprint?” Brent asked, following her to the side of the room.
“Looks like it,” she said.
Brent was beside her, and he stretched his own hand out, placing it inches in front of the wall. “If that’s a handprint, I don’t want to see the man it belongs to.” The long black fingers were twice the length of Brent’s, the palm three times as wide.
“Neither do I,” Taylor said. She kept moving and was in the hallway now. She passed the bathroom, seeing the toilet tank broken in pieces, sections of the white porcelain lying all over the tile floor.
Her dad’s old room was to her right, and she entered it, feeling a tension she hadn’t experienced in the rest of the house. It was thick inside, even though the room was empty. Here there were only two boards nailed to the inside wall, one over the other, like a cross.
“This was Dad’s room,” Taylor told Brent, who was right behind her.
A bang from outside startled them, and Taylor jumped, swearing as her heart pounded in her chest.
“There’s no attic floor here, I take it?” Brent asked.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t look like it.” Taylor stayed behind her boyfriend as he went over to the hall, looking up to the ceiling.
“There’s the access. Should we try it?” Brent asked.
Taylor wanted to say no, that they should leave, but she was intrigued. Why was the house empty? Was that really a handprint in the living room? If she was going to solve this mystery, she needed clues, and her list might not give her enough of those. Most of the people that could help her were long dead, so she needed remnants of the past to lead her on the right path.
“Let’s do it,” Taylor said.
“I saw a ladder in the shed. I’ll be right back,” Brent said, handing her the bat. “Here, hold on to this.”
Taylor took the heavy wooden bat. The tape on the handle pressed into her palm as she gripped it tightly. For some reason, holding it gave her power, and she watched Brent run down the hall before the screen door slammed shut. She was on edge, breaking into a grungy house trying to scrounge up anything that might point in the direction of the Smiths and their bargain.
It felt like Brent was gone for too long, and Taylor considered going outside to see what the delay was when her cell phone rang, the volume far too loud in the otherwise quiet home.
Her Aunt Beth’s name appeared, and she hit the answer icon. “Hi, Aunt Beth.” She cleared her throat after, the words sticking in her mouth.
“Everything okay? Isabelle said you were in town already,” Beth said.
“We’re fine. I brought Brent with me. I hope that’s cool. He can sleep on the couch in the basement, if you and Uncle Darrel don’t mind.” Taylor wished she hadn’t sprung that news on them, but didn’t want to risk them saying no.
After a brief pause, her aunt answered, “That’s no problem at all. I can’t believe you’re here. Whatever you do, don’t let your dad know you stayed with me. I don’t think he’d ever forgive me.”
Taylor was sure of that too. “Thanks. I won’t tell him. He’d blow a gasket if he knew we were here.”
“And just where is here at this moment?”
Taylor thought about telling the truth but didn’t want to admit they had broken into the house. “We’re cruising around Red Creek. Brent has never seen it, and I’m getting my bearings. What time are you off work?”
“I’m home by five thirty. Be careful, Taylor. This place may have been safer for the last twelve years, but it’s still Red Creek, and the thing your father is afraid of isn’t the only bad part of the town,” Beth said, and Taylor appreciated her concern.
“We’ll be safe. I’ll see you soon.” Taylor hung up before her aunt could hear Brent clanging his way into the house with a stepladder in his hands.
“Here we go.” Brent unfolded the ladder and climbed the rungs, pushing the attic space panel up and to the side. Insulation and dust rained onto him, and he averted his gaze, avoiding the onslaught. “Nasty.”
“See anything?” Taylor knew the house was empty of stuff, but her dad had mentioned that he wished he’d gone into the attic more than once. He said with his mom being so secretive, there was a chance she’d squirreled away something important up there.
Brent was using his phone as a flashlight, and he was in the attic space from his waist up. “I don’t see anything but dust and old insulation. Wait, I think there’s a box. Do you want me to get it?”
Taylor couldn’t believe how gung-ho Brent was being about all of this. He’d come to Red Creek to help her investigate a story, and he was all in. “If you can. Don’t hurt yourself.”
He was already climbing higher on the ladder, and he pulled himself up. She cringed as she saw his legs enter the attic, and for a moment, he disappeared. “Brent?”
His head popped into sight. “Oh, there it is.” He was gone again, and came back seconds later with a box flap showing from above. He clambered onto the ladder, which Taylor stepped on and held firmly in place. Once he was safely planted, he grabbed the box and lowered it to her.
She saw some papers inside, a photo
