Monachopsis

Chapter XXXVII: There's A Rumor That The Rich Die Well

There was no part in the article that said the Telescas were loaded. Their house was huge, and it was pretty. It wasn't new; the records I had tucked under my arm stated that the house itself was built in the 50s. But despite the ring of yellow police tape crossing the front porch, I couldn't help but gawk as Sam quickly picked the lock.

"How can people just have this much money?" I mused out loud. The lock gave way with a soft click, and Sam straightened.

"I think the husband was a lawyer," he answered. "Mark. And the article said Ann was a sales rep at a local successful business firm."

"Huh. Guess there's something to be had by being boring." I whipped out a pocket knife and slit the seal on the door. With a turn of the knob, the door swung open. I stepped in, and Sam quickly closed the door behind us.

I stood there for a second, not quite comprehending what I was seeing. "Uh, Sam? I thought rich people were supposed to have furniture."

The space in front of was completely devoid of personal affects, including chairs and sofas and tables. The wooden floors were swept clean, and the sun beamed through the bare windows. There wasn't even a single frame on the walls, which just added to the strangeness of it. Normal robbers wouldn't have stopped to take down the decorations.

There was a dolly sitting against the counter. Sam went up to it and looked it over. "'Property of Daniel Blake Estates and Auction House'," he read.

"Auction House?" I repeated.

"Sometimes rich clients will enlist someone to collect and sell their belongings in the event of their death, in which case the proceeding can be donated to a charity or cause of some kind," Sam explained.

I hummed, shrugging. "Guess that's one way to make up for being Top 1%."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't respond. Instead, he pulled his EMF meter from his jacket. I switched mine on, and began tracing the walls and counters with the antennae. "And the police are sure there's no way anyone could've gotten in?"

"Every window and door was locked from the inside," Sam said.

"What about relatives?" I asked. "Someone with a key, maybe, that had it out for them?"

Sam shook his head. "Ann had no living relatives, and Mark only has one: a sister living in L.A. She claimed she hadn't seen the couple since she came to visit them last Christmas."

I nodded. I climbed the stairs, holding my meter against anything important. The antennae skimmed the eggshell walls, but the lights blinking along the top didn't make a peep. I passed two empty rooms, a bathroom, and then entered what must have been the master. Instantly, the house seemed to grow a little quieter. The sunlight outside seemed to dim. The EMF meter didn't react, but this was a different kind of presence.

The crime scene cleanup crew was thorough in their jobs, but I could still detect the faintest hint of copper in the air. It was dark and metallic on my tongue. Blood.

I had seen the crime scene photos. Whoever had killed them had slit their throats so forcefully it nearly decapitated them. The amount of blood was almost shocking.

"Grey?" I turned around just as Sam appeared in the doorway. "Got anything?"

I shook my head. "No. You?"

He shook his head. "Whatever this thing was, it's not the house."

I sighed, stuffing my meter into my pocket. "Great. So what are we thinking; a creature of some kind?"

Sam frowned contemplatively. "There's no creature that I know of where they kill just to kill. There's usually a reason behind it: Werewolves eat human hearts, Wendigos eat human flesh. Things like that. This has to be a spirit."

I nodded. "Right, but the house isn't haunted. So it's gotta be something that was in the house. A cursed object."

"Right. What was the name of the place on the dolly? 'Daniel Blake Estates and Auction'?" I nodded. Sam jerked his head toward the doorway. "Come on."

We left the house without another word. The car was parked a little ways down the block, so as not to look conspicuous. From the sidewalk across the street, I could clearly see the figure slumped over in the passenger seat. I huffed. "What time did he come in last night?"

Sam snorted. "More like this morning. Dude didn't get home until after 4. Drunk off his ass, of course."

I lifted a shoulder. "The only way."

Sam jogged ahead of me, around the car and leaned through the driver's side window. The car horn honked as I grabbed my door handle, and Dean jumped to life, groaning and hissing. Sam and I laughed a little at his expense.

"Oh, man," Dean groaned, leaning his head in his hand. "Man, that's so not cool."

"We just swept the Telesca house with the EMF," Sam told him. "It's clear."

"Damn waste of time if you ask me," I muttered, digging my medicine from the bottom of my bag and popping a capsule between my lips.

Sam unscrewed a bottled water and handed it back to me. Dean reached a hand out desperately as it passed him. "And last night, while you were...out...I checked the history of the house. No hauntings, no violent crimes, nothing strange about the Telescas themselves, either."

I swallowed my pill and handed the water back to Sam. Dean reached out for it again as Sam placed it back in his bag. "I checked in with the neighbors while Sam was doing his research wizard thing last night too. No one saw or heard anything unusual that night. Not until the neighbor right next to them called 911 after he heard Mr. Telesca screaming."

"Alright." Dean took off his sunglasses. "so it's not the people, and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents--a cursed object or something."

"Yeah," I sighed. "We thought of that."

"House is clean," Sam said.

"Yeah, I know, you said that," Dean said.

"No, I mean it's empty," Sam clarified. "No furniture, nothing."

"Not even dishes or clothes or anything," I said. "It's like they were never there."

Dean eyed us, confused, before mumbling, "Where's all their stuff?"