“Rey.” He chuckled. “Not everyone has a junk drawer. I didn’t,” Finch said.
“I think you’re the only one. Anyhow, they have two sets of dishes, two sets of silverware…like maybe they took a tenant. It’s just a really small house to do that.”
“I’m trying to figure that out,” Finch replied. “Everything in here was boxed up. Like the person died or something.”
“Maybe they were moving in.”
“I don’t think so.” Finch lifted up a wallet. It was covered in a thick layer of dirt. He flipped it open and showed Rey. “Look at the license.”
“William Kramer…thirty-two,” Rey said. “What about him?”
“Look at the state on the license.”
“Virginia. I would say a relative, but why divide everything up?”
“I think he died,” Finch said. “They were packing up his stuff whenever what happened, happened. It’s just strange that someone from Virginia would be sharing a tiny two-bedroom house with someone all the way in Colorado.”
“An internet love affair?” Rey guessed.
Finch laughed. “You’re funny.”
“Hey, guys.” Nate poked his head into the room. “Check this out.” He handed Finch an envelope. “It’s a letter. No stamp, but like Tucker said, some weird courier name.”
“Where did you find it?” Rey asked.
“Oh, they had a junk drawer in the dining-room buffet table.”
“Damn it,” Rey said. “Who does that? Who has a junk drawer in the dining room?”
Finish looked at the letter. “It’s pretty preserved.”
“It was in the drawer pretty good,” Nate said. “Look at the date. Forty-five years after we left. Twenty years after Tucker and Sam left, five years before the ARCs.”
“What is it?” Rey asked. “What does it say?”
“It gives us the answer to the out-of-state roommate,” Finch replied. “The letter is from…something called the Federal Relocation Program. William Kramer was moved here by the government.” Finch handed her the letter. “And these folks had no choice but to take him in.”
<><><><>
It didn’t look it from the outside, but Tucker thought it was a really cool house. It was the only one that was two stories, but he wouldn’t have called it that. The second floor was only six stairs up. It was more like a split level.
Sam and Tucker had to enter through the back. The front door wouldn’t open no matter how hard they pushed. The sliding glass doors that led to the patio were broken and they just walked in.
The house was a mess. Furniture was broken, some overturned, nature had crept up everywhere and the carpet had turned into a garden.
The cathedral ceilings were riddled with holes and there was water damage in the living room from the broken window on the ceiling.
At one time, Tucker was sure it was the best house on the block. He imagined the family had lots of gatherings; the backyard was set up for it.
He made a comment to Sam that he wouldn’t swim in the pool. It looked like a swamp and they got a good chuckle out of it.
It wasn’t what Tucker expected to walk into. It was completely opposite from the first house they entered. That one was small, a single-story ranch style. It looked like a starter home for a young couple. They had a baby, a deduction that was pretty easy once they saw the crib.
The first house left in a hurry. Nothing was disturbed, food was still in the cabinets, and the trash was still in the can.
He’d gathered some stuff from the junk drawer in the dining room of that house, a few pictures, and a journal.
Not much else, there wasn’t that much to get at the first house.
It was boring.
No one was there. No remains of bodies or a car. They left.
But the split-level house was a whole other ball game.
There was a car in the driveway. The house was in disarray, like some huge brawl broke out before everything happened.
The front door was not only bolted, but the reason that Sam and Tucker couldn’t get in was because it had a security bar on it.
Even though the walls exhibited mold and growth, Tucker didn’t see any blood or any bodies there.
The people left. Not only that, they took food.
The cabinets in the kitchen were bare and the doors to the cabinets had been left open.
While Sam examined the first floor further, Tucker walked up those six steps to the upper level.
Three bedrooms.
The house looked smaller on the outside than it did on the inside.
He paused at the first bedroom and looked at the slightly open door.
It was damaged.
When Tucker saw that door, he immediately thought about his dorm roommate in college. A young, angry man who would emotionally get out of control when he drank. One night that college roommate got into a fight with his girlfriend and in his alcohol-induced rage, punched the door, putting an indentation and slight crack in it.
The door to the bedroom in the home had a similar mark.
Tucker ran his fingers over the hole, then pushed the door open.
The bed was overturned; posters that at one time hung on the walls dangled and were partially deteriorated.
“What the hell happened here?” Tucker said out loud to himself.
The damage made as much sense to him as the bullet-riddled table in the pizza parlor.
One house peace, the second chaos.
He stepped further into the room and reached for a dresser drawer. It took some struggling to open it, but when he did he saw clothes.
The closet was open and clothes, still on hangers, were piled on the floor.
“Tuck.” Sam rushed into the room.
Tucker spun around. “You scared me.”
“You have to see this.”
“Did you find something?” Tucker asked.
“Yeah, and it makes no sense.”
“Sam, this entire house makes no sense,” Tucker said. “Makes me think of those old cop shows where the police come in and raid a place, turning it upside down.”
“You might not be far off with that.” Sam led him down the six steps and to the front door. The security bar that kept it closed was off to the side and Sam opened it. “I decided to see if there was
