Aliens on Aventine Hill

Alice [Part 2]

Derek took a sip of coffee as they waited at the red light. It was bitter and watery, but he could feel the caffeine starting to ease the lead from his eyelids. He yawned as he glanced at Elias, "You think that kid gave us accurate directions? I swear there's nothing but trees out here."

"The light's green."

"I know," Derek rolled his eyes, pressing on the gas pedal and zooming up the highway onramp. He shifted into the next gear, eyes peeled for a sign, "Which exit is it again?"

"This one," Elias replied, a little too late. Derek swerved, the car rocks, and his coffee sloshed in its cup—splashing onto his newly dry-cleaned khakis. Elias was unapologetic, "Turn right here."

Derek rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. His frown loosened as he spotted a sign almost overcome by the undergrowth, "Would you look at that? Aventine Hill..."

"It was supposed to be a housing development," Elias explained, glancing at the decrepit sign in the rearview mirror. "Emilio Fontana tried to it get off the ground in the late 20s."

"You say that like I should know who that is."

Elias shrugged, looking out the window at the thick walls of trees surrounding them, "The family's all but extinct now, not that the Fontana name doesn't still carry some infamy. They were founders like the D'Angelos."

"The people who run the Italian restaurant?"

"They run more than that," Elias' eyes narrowed. "The Fontanas used to too, but most of their holdings—including Aventine Hill—went bankrupt during the Depression."

"Mmm..." Derek nodded, "What did he say was next?"

"He said 'we'd know it when we saw it.'"

"Helpful," Derek muttered, peering out the windshield at the lush forest. The grass by the side of the highway had gone stiff and yellow in the blistering summer heat, but the heart of the forest seemed unchanged—rich, green and full of life.

The weathered Victorian sat at the end of the road like a spot of mold against the emerald green. It stood alone with its bay windows and sharp rooves, as if the trees were wary to grow too close. Something about it made the hairs on Derek's arms stand on end, "That's gotta be it, right?"

"Yes. That's it," Elias spoke through gritted teeth. "The old Blakesley House."

"You say that like it's got a history," Derek paled, pulling the cruiser to a stop. Like it's got ghosts.

Elias gritted his teeth, "A long one."

"You got any part in it?"

"Hmm?" Elias raised an eyebrow, "No. What makes you think that?"

"Just the look on your face," Derek studied him with a shrug.

Elias rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car, "You hear that?"

Derek cocked his head and listened, "What, the river?"

His partner nodded, "The Tiber. Splits off the Willamette about 30 miles west of here. Was a big part of the reason the development never really got started. Would've been more than half a million to divert."

Derek eyed Elias warily but continued up to the porch. Big ceramic flowerpots framed the doorway, but the chrysanthemums in them were long dead. Elias curled his fingers around the big brass knocked and knocked three times.

There was no response.

Their eyes met. Derek stepped back and craned his neck, looking around the side of the house. An AMC Rambler was parked in the gravel driveway—a little old and beat-up but trustworthy. He shrugged, "Still asleep, you think?"