Trails

Chapter 11: Cameron's Grandmother

As soon as we both got out of the car, Ben and I ducked under the chilly spray of rainwater then hurried over to the doorstep. The house had a dark brown lawn, almost as if the sun had already torched it.

The roof had tiny cracks, allowing the rain to enter into the house. Much to my surprise, the Davis' didn't own a fence; their garage door was  ripped out of its hinges.

Did the Hulk showed up? I wondered.

Automatically, the lights hovered above the doorstep as if they're daring us to come. I am guessing that it worked.

Rotten twigs poked my legs as we waltzed up the doorstep, rung the doorbell twice, and waited for someone to answer.

"Who is it?" a raspy voice shrilled. "For the last time, I ask you reporters to back off!"

Ben let out an impatient sigh.

"We're not reporters," I said politely. "We're here to ask you a couple of questions about your son, Cameron Davis."

Just then, I saw someone's eyes gazing behind the silky white curtains.

Quietly, I approached the windows and peered at them. "Hello?" I asked. "Please to meet you, my name is Cole Porter-"

The front door knob jostled for a minute until the door opened by itself. A small, old woman waddled out of the house with a huge rifle in her hands.

Her hair and skin are as white as cotton, she wore a green dress, black heels, and red lipstick. Her eyes were clouded, and yet she didn't need a walking stick.

The minute we saw the gun, we backed away very slowly.

"Who are you people?" she demanded. Ben and I looked at each other, wondering who had the nerve to answer her question.

"Like I said," I began. "My name is Cole Porter."

"My name is Benjamin Hamilton," Ben introduced. "We don't want any trouble, we just want to talk to you."

The woman pointed her rifle at Ben.

"You sound like nosy teenaged reporters to me." she scoffed in disbelief.

"We get that a lot," I groaned. "Trust me."

The blind, old woman sighed as she unloaded the rifle and gestured us inside.

"I'm sorry I almost shoot you kids," she said. "I've had it up to here with reporters, sheriffs,  and lord knows what."

She leads us to the living room where boxes filled the empty spaces. I could almost see the dust flying across the air, like insects.

"Sit down,"  the lady insisted.

Cautiously, we sat down on the floor while the lady sat on the red leather couch, whose seat is taken by boxes.

"Ah," she sighed heavenly. "Much better."

"What can you tell me about Cameron?" I asked politely.

"He's my grandson," the woman answered.

"After I lost my sight, he took care of me."

"Doesn't he have any parents?" Ben asked.

The woman shook her head and pretended to slice her throat with a finger. 

"They're both dead," she stated. "I'm not even a bit surprised, they have been smoking crack since Cameron was born."

"Neglected," Ben mumbled, making a mental note in his head. 

"Was he ever popular at school?" I asked.

"Yeah, he was." the lady cackled. "Every night, I hear him kissing some girl in his room."

Cameron's grandmother then got off of her seat  and vanished into thin air.

"Where is she going?" Ben asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. Just then, she walks back into the living room with two old school yearbooks in her hands.

They both had deep orange covers with white words United Memories. In the center, were two red globes.

"These are his college yearbooks," she explained, giving them to me.

"Use them wisely."

I stared at her in confusion. "But, don't you want  them back?" I asked.

The old woman gave me a blank stare.

"Do I look blind to you?" she retorted.

I gaped at her, not knowing what to say. All of sudden, she bursts out laughing.

Her laugh is like a loud monkey, ringing against my ears. She sat back down and continued to laugh until her voice grew hoarse.

"Oh, you should see the look on your faces!" she sighed. "I haven't laughed since 1976."

"It's kinda depressing, isn't it?"

"No," I lied weakly.

"Yes,"  Ben answered bluntly.

I glared at him for a moment until the grandmother laughed again.

"Oh dearie," the lady said sweetly. "You remind me of myself when I was your age."

"What?" I asked.

I was impressed by the fact that she brushes off Ben's bluntness like it was nothing.

Sighing heavily, we got off of the floor and thanked her for her cooperation.

"Anytime, kids." she shrugged.

As we left the house, I shoved the yearbooks into my knapsack then board onto the Mustang.

"It's getting late," Ben noted. "Maybe we should head home."

I took out my phone and stared at the screen.

Texts from Aunt Jessica came popping out of nowhere.

Cole, where are you? I read. I have gotten your letter, when are you coming home? How did you get in Mustang?

Is everything okay? Where are you?

"Great," I moaned. "I have to respond or else she'll call the SWAT team."

I am doing fine, I responded. We are finished taking our drive, and we're going home.

After I hit Send, I tossed my phone back into my bag, started the car, and drove home.

During the drive, Ben stares hard at my face.

"Why are you staring at me?" I asked, looking at him sternly.

"Doing another deduction?"

"I thought there was something in your hair," Ben replied nervously.

Liar, I thought.

I can tell that he was itching to kiss me again, not that I didn't want him to do it.

"Since we have the yearbooks," I began. "We'll have to read through them carefully."

"We also need to make a murder board," Ben added.

"Jot down the locations, the dates, and the time."

I rested my foot on the pedal and gripped the steering wheel.

"So far, we know that these murders took place at night."  I explained. "But why random locations?"

"I think it's somehow connected to the killer." Ben replied. "He goes to the same university the victims went."

"I know that," I sighed. "But what caused this guy to kill twenty-three people?"