The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 24

A red sedan turned onto Cowell Drive and pulled into Qulin's driveway, screeching to a stop just before the gnarled garage door. The driver turned the engine off, slid his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and shook his head disappointedly as he scanned the front of the house through the windshield. He reached for a black leather briefcase in the passenger seat, took the last sip of lukewarm coffee and opened the car door. With a groan fit for a farm animal, the stout man heaved his rotund gut out of the driver-side door, located the ID lanyard from under his tweed coat, wiped off a few residual donuts crumbs from the coat's lapel, and let the ID swing ostensibly alongside his red tie so that there was no mistaking what office he represented. He pulled a ballpoint pen and notepad and scribbled some notes as his inquisitive stare bobbed from broken window to cracked roof panel to the nearly collapsed garage door. A pained crinkle formed across his forehead as if he had just stumbled upon a recent plane wreckage even though he knew Qulin's house well. Who didn't? It had been the brouhaha of the city office. The freak with the scarred face—no surprise the assignment was reject by so many other. And so, a stickler for hard cases, the assignment wound up in his hands. He sighed. The house's dilapidated condition causing his skull bones to shudder from the growing stress. Another shake of the head—this time a little more intense, followed by the sudden compulsion to rub the rippled forehead skin, apologetically, forgiving himself for having to be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Qulin closed the basement door. He released the copper doorknob running his hand along the splintered frame till he felt the rusty bolt lock. He held the bolt knob loosely in-between the tips of forefinger and thumb, pausing to exhale a slight heaviness stirring in his chest then slid the bolt in the locked position. He entered the plant shed, and found the appropriate pot on the far shelf. He filled it with fresh soil, placed it on the table next to the coffee mug. He felt his way to the bottom of the coffee mug carefully searching for the wiry, hairlike root fibers. A soft root caressed his skin. Meticulously, he transferred the orchid into the large pot sweeping a heap of the black cool soil around the roots until it was secure.

"Glad to see your home, Mr. Moore," a voice called from behind.

Qulin whirled around, startled. "Who are you?" he said, defensively bringing the orchid into his chest.

The man's arm had a noticeable tremble as he held up the identification badge.

"Apologies for spooking you. I tried the front door but nobody answered," the inspector said, his eyes darting nervously from Qulin's scarred face to the dirty floorboards. "I'm Doug Freemont, from the New Hampshire State Housing Authority. We have an inspection appointment scheduled for today."

Qulin's chest seized. He'd forgotten all about this upcoming visit. The exact piece of mail clear as day in his mind was resting atop the pile of envelopes on his kitchen table. He cleared his throat, steadied his hands on the orchid pot.

"This isn't a good time," Qulin replied, gravely. His mind thrashed with ways to dispose of this inspector. By no means could he allow him in the house, not with Lucas able to speak. "I was just on my way to visit my deceased wife at Old South. It's the anniversary of her passing. I cannot be delayed. So if we could reschedule, that'd be most appreciated."

"Mr. Moore, you've had advanced notice about my visit today," the inspector replied, his tone stiffening. "It's imperative I evaluate the progress, if any, that you have made in repairing the house as ordered per the state. If you refuse to permit me entrance, I will be forced to notify the police, and they will let me in to do my work and also charge you with criminal interference. Is that what you want?"

Qulin scoffed—what he wanted? The 'what he wanted' list seemed incalculable. "You people can't mind your own business and just let me be."

"We're only trying to help, for your own safety, and for the safety of your neighbors and of the town. If you cannot maintain a safe dwelling, the state will intervene. The department has been over this with you time and again, Mr. Moore. Just because you don't approve of us investigating, doesn't mean we don't have a legal obligation," he said, pointedly. "Now, if we can, let's begin."