La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

18. Never Let Me Go

"This used to be my room," the young man said as he paced along the window, turning to look at the surroundings. "It changed a lot. It's probably a guest bedroom now."

"How long has it been?" I asked him, as the young man opened the drawers only to find nothing inside them.

"I don't know," he muttered. "Ten years? Fifteen years? It makes sense if they threw all my stuff away."

"Maybe they stored it somewhere?" I suggested, trying to be helpful. "Maybe the basement or something."

"Or they could've thrown it out," he said, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"You could just try to look around first," I told him. "Doesn't hurt to check. You might find it."

"You're right," he said as we walked out of the room. "I think I'll go check the basement. It's where they stored all the things they don't need."

"Do you want me to come with you?" I offered.

"It's fine," he told me. "There's probably enough stuff up here to keep you interested. Just take whatever you want."

With that, he headed down into the basement, leaving me alone in the living room.

It was then when that creepy feeling in my gut returned. Things just didn't feel right. There was something wrong, something almost sinister in this house. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

I decided that the least I could do there was to try and make an effort to help Leslie. What was he looking for again? Right, it was a picture of him and his dad. I wasn't sure what he looked like when he was seven, but I was confident that I'd be able to recognise him at the very least.

I noticed the few family photos on the wall. Mother, father, a daughter. There were just typical photographs, family shots, pictures at outings, graduation and most of the usual stuff. If it wasn't for Leslie telling me, just by looking at the photos I wouldn't even have known that he even lived there throughout his teenage years.

Before heading upstairs, I went down into the basement to check on Leslie. The basement was dark, so I turned on my flashlight. The smell of the stale air hit me as I went down the stairs. I wondered how Leslie could stand being in here for more than five minutes. Leslie had his flashlight switched on too, as he searched through the boxes on the shelves.

"You found what you're looking for?" I asked as I approached.

"Not yet," Leslie replied, not even turning around from the shelf, rummaging through some cardboard boxes covered in dust. "But I found some of my old stuff, so I guess they never threw away my stuff after all. I'm glad I checked here."

"How long did you stay with your uncle?" I asked. "Seems like a long time ago."

"Three years," he said. "After my mom got into rehab, I was sent here."

"Only for three years?" I asked, curious. "Where did you go after that?"

"Foster care," he told me, grunting. "It sucks but hey, I still got around. Moved from place to place but Clara and Clyde were always there for me."

"What happened here?" I asked, cautious.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered under his breath. "Can we leave it? I really don't want to."