Tweetie

35

She didn't know how they could look at all of these reminders. They were suffocating. How could they pass photos of him staring right back at them every day when they walked from the kitchen to the front door?

The house was tidy, quiet with just the creaks of age in the floorboards. Not a sound, not a thing out of place. Photos, potted plants that were green and flourishing, dark wooden floors so clean she could see herself looking back at her with tired eyes. It was a lifeless home, dust-coated surfaces, small fine hairs lingered in the corners and edges of the room, on the stairs and anywhere else they could reach.

Hazel's nose tickled with the smell.

But this was it, this was Jason's home.

She wanted to keep the visit short. This was breaking laws and whatever she found here, she knew she would have to keep it to herself. So, she took just seconds to think of where to go, where to put her focus.

Her heart was pounding as she looked through doorways, frightened of a shadow appearing and turning into an angry man, livid at the sight of a stranger in his home. She looked up the stairs, pursing her lips as she stayed perfectly still, wanting to risk no sound, anxious that a neighbour would hear despite how quiet she was being.

She needed to see Jason's room. If there was anything of interest, it would be there.

So she set her sights on her destination, presuming it would be up the stairs.

But she stumbled back, grasping at her heart as movement caught the corner of her eye.

She was forced to take a deep breath, then another and another, anxiously holding her choking cough back as she met the eyes of a black cat sat in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

Just a cat.

That explained the tickle at the back of her nose.

So, she moved on, shaking her head as she crept up the stairs and tried not to touch anything. Not the bannister, not the wall, nothing. If she could have floated up the stairs, she absolutely would have.

At the top, she faced more photos. Grandparents, parents, cousins, aunts and uncles all looking back at her with traces of Jason incorporated into some. She turned away, her guilt dragging her feet as she looked to the three doorways at the top of the stairs. A bathroom and two bedrooms, all with open doors but one.

She knew that was where she needed to be. But still, her curiosity took hold of her as she gazed into the parent's bedroom, finding a plain-looking room. Typical parent bedroom. Double bed, nightstands, clean and tidy. Nothing of interest.

She turned to Jason's door, creeping towards it and carefully reaching for the handle. She pushed, hearing a howl from the old hinges as it moved under her force and she was struck in the face with dust. It was stronger than the dust at her own apartment and she realised that neither parent could bring themselves to even glance into the room anymore.

She closed the door and swallowed another stone of guilt.

The room itself was pretty tidy for what it was. She hadn't seen many teenage boy bedrooms in her life. The grey carpet was spotless and the walls were covered in posters, older bands and artists she didn't suspect a guy like Jason to listen to. Fleetwood Mac, Prince, Queen as well as others like AC/DC and The Clash. The bed was unmade, with black covers and unmatched plaid blue pillows, likely from another bed set. A desk sat by the window, empty. It was likely there was a laptop there once, maybe a pc that was taken as evidence and then lost.

She didn't have many expectancies, but still, she was taken by surprise.

She wasn't sure where to even begin searching. Where do teenagers hide things? In their closet? In drawers? Under their bed? Maybe even in their clothes and trash? She knew she would have to check all of these things, even if briefly.