The House

(fiction challenge story; week11. copyright 2007. all rights reserved.)

John slowly crossed the street and headed toward the circus of police cars parked at odd angles out in front of the two story beige house. He let his lit cigarette drop from his hand as he stepped off of the street up onto the sidewalk. A pair of police officers gave him a strange look as he approached the clearly marked police tape. John grabbed the yellow ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape and raised it high enough that he could easily slip underneath. The two officers began to move in his direction, both carrying expressions that conveyed disgust at John’s presence. John stopped and carefully reached into his back jeans pocket, producing a laminated ID badge. The two officers, once they were close enough to examine the badge began in with the same questions John had answered multiple times a week, every week for the last seven years.

“Is this badge for real,” the first officer asked. John decided that this guy was named Alex. “Because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like this before.”

“Yes Alex,” John answered in an even tone, “I assure you that the ID is very real.”

“Does this even grant you clearance to be down here?” John looked hard at the officer and let out a slow sigh under his breathe.

“What’s going on here that I wouldn’t have jurisdiction over?” John asked in an overly metered tone. Neither officer responded right away. Both men slowly looked from the ID badge, to John, then back to the ID badge.

“If you’re working with the Bureau,” the second officer began, “Than why didn’t anyone call ahead to let us know you were coming down here?” John starred at the second officer for a couple of hard seconds. For some reason he could not quite place a name on the officer. John silently hoped that this was not an indication of how the night was going to go.

“Well Officer,” John began slowly, hoping a name would come to him, “I’m not entirely sure why they didn’t call down here.” John let the sentence sink in while he studied the clothes that the second officer was wearing. Finally, when a distinct smell of chewing gum hit John’s nostrils he realized that the officer was named John. “To be completely honest with you, John, I would almost guess that they didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Surprise?” both men said in unison.

“Oh aye,” John replied casually, “We wouldn’t want the media getting a hold of the Bureau’s involvement, now would we?” This seemed to adequately confuse both men, and John carefully moved past them in the direction of the house. He really hated having to mess with people’s heads like that, especially the heads of police officers. Still, he had a job to do, and he could not do his job unless he gained access to the house.

His footfalls over the dew covered lawn sounded like the secreted sound of fornication to John. He slowly looked around to see if he was drawing any attention to himself. He maintained a purposeful stride toward the house, and made sure not to make eye contact with any of the various police officers doing their jobs. As he looked around the yard, he noticed that one of the police cruisers was car 092. John cursed silently to himself, and realized that it only made sense that a case like this would draw the attention of Detective Hirk. John fought off the urge to pull out a cigarette and headed up the three stairs to the porch.

He weaved in and out of three police officers moving about the porch, and stopped dead in his tracks as he came face to face with Detective Hirk. The young Latino police detective slowly reached up to his mouth and picked the toothpick up off his lip.

“Evening John,” Hirk said in a quiet voice. John noticed that Hirk was carefully keeping eye contact. Obviously the Detective had been getting some helpful hints from someone or something. An issue John made a mental note to look into on the morrow.

“Detective,” John responded calmly.

“Tell me John,” Hirk carefully said the name again, “What would draw you out on an evening like tonight?” The man’s gaze was locked on John’s.

“Oh, you know Detective, duty calls, and all that.” John tried to make the statement sound flippant, but suspected that Hirk would see right through it.

“Do tell, John. What duty would that be? And John, who would that duty be to, exactly?”

John was silently calculating what he might be able to get away with when another officer came up behind Hirk, and pushed his way past. Hirk reflexively turned his head toward the man, and that was John’s cue to get moving. John quickly dodged around the other side of Hirk, patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry Hirk,” John said as he swiftly slipped past, “I’ll be in and out before you know it.” John moved toward the door, bringing himself to a halt. He turned and added as an afterthought, “It’s been a real pleasure conversing, we’ll have to do it again real soon.” Before Hirk had the chance to fully turn and face John, he was well through the door moving through the house.

Once John was through the door, he moved randomly in order to put distance between him and Hirk. There was little chance that Hirk would tempt the fates by confronting John twice in a night, but John did not want to take any chances. When John passed through the house’s second room, he immediately sensed the seriousness of the crime that had been committed in the house. He moved straight to the staircase, and headed to the upstairs bedroom. He knew he was going to see, even before he opened the door, but gave himself a second to mentally prepare. John had learned a very long time ago that a little extra preparation was never a wasted effort.

He let the door fully swing open and stepped into the room. The smell of the three mutilated bodies hit him first, and then the gruesome sight. Even though both the sight and the smell were pretty jarring, it was the vibrations left in the room that really gave John reason to pause. He exhaled sharply through his nose, and inhaled through his mouth. John wondered if he was ever going to get used to the negativity that lingered in sites like this. He let his eyes close, and he took another step into the room. As his focus began to sharpen on the interior of the room, a voice forced his eyes open.

“Excuse me Sir,” a young woman said, “I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be in here.” John slowly turned back to the room’s entrance to see a woman dressed in a blood covered smock. He quickly considered the odds that this woman was sensory gifted, and then realized his mistake.

“Um,” John began slowly, “Ann is it?” The woman placed a latex gloved hand on her hip in response. “Okay Luv, I get it. I’m not supposed to be in here, it’s true. But I have ID, and I will happily show it to you.”

“Nice and slow,” she responded coldly as her other hand came to a rest under her smock. John quietly cursed the American fixation with firearms. Everyone and their mother had firearms in America.

“Here you go,” John brought his left hand up with the laminated ID card. With his right hand he drew three coins out of his pocket and let the first two drop from his grasp. While the two coins spun through the air toward the floor, he rolled the remaining coin up unto his curled thumb. John used the TINK, TINK noise as a cue to flip the last coin up into the air. His eyelids slid closed, and he silently incanted the words.

He lifted one eyelid carefully to check on Ann. She seemed to have completely lost interest in John, and was returning to the hallway to get something off a large work cart. John let his other eye open, and turned his attention back to the room.

He knew that the room would be secure, but he also knew that now he would not have much time. He dropped to the floor and folded his legs underneath himself. He let both eyes lazily close, and tried breathing through his nose. The stench of the bodies proved to be a little too much for him, and he changed his inhalations to his mouth. Once he felt his mind begin to focus on the interior of the room, he began to pick his way through each layer.

After a few minutes of examination, John began to fear that his trip had been a complete waste. He began to piece together the cause of death for all three people, and realized that it was just some guy. A very angry guy, John realized, but still just a guy. After focusing a little more closely, John realized that his instincts had not led him astray at all. The angry guy was actually shade masquerading as a guy.

John opened his eyes and looked around the room. Knowing that a shade was responsible, it occurred to him that the shade could still be in the room! John examined every piece of furniture and every nook and cranny in the room. If the shade was still in the vicinity, John was relatively certain that it was not presently in the room. That thought was interrupted by the exploding pain in the back of John’s head.

John felt his face slam hard against the wood floor, and felt the sticky coagulated blood clinging to his face. At the same time, throbbing warmth was starting to coat the back of his neck. John rolled unto his back and looked up to see Ann clutching her pistol.

“What are you. . .” John began. Before the words finished forming John realized that the woman was being directed by the shade.

The metal but of the gun crashed down hard on John’s forehead. John desperately tried to roll out of the way, but the gun slammed down twice more.

“You don’t belong here,” the woman said in a voice that seemed to echo with the sound of nails on chalkboard. John wanted to reply with something witty, but found that the words were exiting his mouth as fluid filled hissing sounds. He right hand dug hard into a pocket, and was searching the floor with his left.

BAM! The gun dropped on his head again, and John rapidly blinked his eyes in order to keep the inky darkness from overwhelming him. His left hand came across a rubber sole of a tennis shoe. John focused all his attention on grasping the shoe, and brought it up at the woman towering over him. As his hand swung up in front of him, John realized that the shoe still had most of a severed foot in it. The sight completely broke his concentration, but he still managed to utter the three notes that he needed to make.

The woman’s face contorted into a hideous distortion of rage, and she violently swung the gun down at John’s head again. This time the gun came up short inches from John’s skull. John began to push himself backwards away from the attacker. He slapped himself carefully across the face, and tested his mouth to make sure he could still talk.

“Yeeaaargh,” he slowly exclaimed. “Not belong! NOT BELONG!”

The gun was now being trained on John.

“I bind you to your violence,” the words came out thick, but identifiable, as John made a fist and swung it in the direction of the woman. The woman’s rage filled expression contorted to one of shock, as her jaw dropped.

“Anchored by your rage,” John slowly enunciated through his gritted teeth. The woman was making a kind of screeching noise that set his head into deeper throbs of pain.

“Judgment there shall be.” John traced three glyphs in the air in front of the woman, thankful that his fingers were functioning better than his mouth. Her face began to twist, and then swell, and finally her body went limp. John considered trying to catch her as she slumped toward the floor, and then realized that he hurt too much to be bothered.

John closed his eyes again and focused on the woman’s form. After he was satisfied with what he was sensing, he let his attention slowly push out around her. Once he was certain that the shade was no longer in the upper floor, John turned and headed back toward the house’s staircase.

On the stairs he saw half a dozen officers running up the stairs with the guns drawn. He realized that the woman’s screaming must have been audible to everyone. He stepped to the side, and let a low tone escape his lips. The caravan of officers rushed toward the bedroom, oblivious to John’s presence. As soon as they had fully cleared the stairs, John headed down.

All in all, it was a fair night’s work. He knew that he should have been more careful, but a little carelessness now and then keeps things interesting. Stepping through the front door out onto the porch, John spotted Hirk sitting on the hood of his car. Hirk was starring right at John, almost as if he had been waiting for John to come out. John quickly averted his eyes, and began to move across the lawn in a direction that carried him away from Detective Hirk.

He passed by the two officers that had first confronted him. John realized that as much as he loved doing the work that he did, he really hated all of the hoops he often had to jump through.

“What is that phrase that the plagiarizing Git used in those novels?” John muttered as he reached for his cigarettes. “Oh, yeah, bloody muggles.”