the other Son

Chapter 39

For long seconds, he stood motionless while the air was stuck in his throat.

Had he accidentally left the lights on in the morning? He'd never before forgotten to switch them off, no matter how stressed or how much in a hurry. But now, with the flashes? No, he wouldn't go down that road since it meant acknowledging the fact that he was slowly losing his grip on reality.

He looked up and down the street for unknown cars or anything that might be off but there was nothing out of the ordinary – the flicker of TV screens behind curtains, the smell of something fried, a wailing child protesting against its bedtime. Somewhere in the distance the demonic howl of fighting cats.

Of course the intruder could've left their car somewhere else as to not rouse suspicions.

Lesza forced a deep breath into his constricted lungs, fingers fumbling for his phone. Should he call in? But what if it really was just a matter of having forgotten to switch the lights off? There would be uncomfortable questions, not to mention he'd be the joke of the Station for weeks to come.

His gaze returned to the window. Wasn't there a figure, a hooded figure?

A cold shiver raced down his spine.

He needed to do something – either call in and wait for colleagues on duty or take matters into his own hands and face whoever was in there.

Another car pulled up next to his and he shoved the red lace into the glove compartment. There were more important things for now.

He blinked rapidly until the scene in the parking lot disappeared.

Silently, he rounded his vehicle and watched out for any movement. He didn't hear or see anything, no sign of life.

The intruder – or multiple intruders – had probably already left by the looks of it and he'd have to deal with the aftermath – changing the locks, a blank space on the wall where the TV was mounted, the unsettling feeling of not being quite safe anymore. Well, he'd take it in exchange for not having to fight a thief with his bare fists.

-hid underneath a hood. Rain was still pouring down. The figure–

Heartbeat thundering in his ears, he stared transfixed at the hunched over figure on his front lawn. Rain hit his face.

The moment he wiped at his face to get rid of the wetness and realized there was none on his skin and there wasn't any rain either, the figure dissolved with a static flicker as well.

Lesza shoved the worry aside and climbed the few steps to the front door.

There were no obvious signs of a forceful entry though it was difficult to tell in the dark. Slowly, he slid the key into the lock and turned it, the following click echoing like a gunshot through the quiet night. He held his breath and waited. Utter silence, a slight hum somewhere in the depths of the building, maybe the heater.

Luckily, the hinges didn't creak as he pushed the door open.

-he smelled smoke. No cigarette smoke, no. Something else, herbaceous. Weed? The smell of smoke drifted up his nose when the hooded figure slammed into him, the both of them tumbling to the wet ground in a heap of tangled limbs.

The back of his head firmly pressed against the wall next to the gaping darkness of the hallway, he let the pain of the impact subside before risking a glance around the wooden door frame. As expected, soft light was spilling out onto the carpet from the kitchen.

A new wave of panic trickled down his spine at the thought of all the books in the adjoining living room. Invaluable books, volumes that would raise many, many questions. Plenty of people would demand his head on a silver platter if those books ended up being sold on the internet.