Harvestland

TWENTY-NINE

Andrew awoke with a start. He sat up in the motel bed, looked over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:08 in the morning.

Officially Halloween.

He had been half-dreaming, half-remembering. Two years ago. Walking through the old Phelan house with Eliza. Finding the name 'Joanna' on the floor of the master bedroom. The attic stairway suddenly falling from the ceiling in the closet. Going up those steps to the attic, seeing something lying far across the floor, an object he couldn't make out...

He hadn't given it one thought since that day. Now suddenly it came to mind.

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was very important.

He wasn't sleeping well anyway and it was something to do.

Noah lay sleeping heavily on the twin bed next to his. He was careful not to wake him up as he crossed to the bathroom. He splashed some hot water in his face and got dressed, slipping his boots on, recalling the muddy terrain down in the valley depths of Sleepy Hollow Drive. Lastly he clipped the gun holster on his belt that already had the Glock secured inside.

Eliza had by chance left her keys in his room when she stopped in on her way back from the police station with the kids. But as he grabbed them off the table he realized how peculiar that was. Eliza didn't do things by chance. And she didn't make mistakes. It was almost like a force greater than them knew he would be needing the keys at this time.

He took the baggy out of his trench coat, did a quick hit, then left quietly.

The headlights of Eliza's car passed over the trees off the abandoned section of road on Sleepy Hollow. He stopped when the lights hit the Phelan house. He got out of the car and locked it, pulling out a small flashlight.

He shone the light on fresh bouquets of flowers that surrounded a makeshift cross, a memorial set up to Charlee McCool. Her picture was taped to the middle of the cross, a junior year class picture Andrew also had in his collection. He knew this was the very spot that she had been killed.

He entered through the window beside the front door like before, keeping a straight route down the hallway to the master bedroom. He wanted in and out, feeling the same uneasiness he had the last time. Like he was being watched.

Standing before the door of the master bedroom, he heard a sound from across the house, something from the bowels, groaning. He stopped, spun, shone the flashlight down the hallway. The beam was eaten alive by the darkness. He heard nothing more, saw nothing.

He drew the Glock out of his holster and turned around, stepped into the bedroom. He swept the room with his gun and flashlight and paused for a moment over the busted window. He then made his way over to the closet, shining the light on the steps he had climbed once before, the bottom one still broken, his doing from two years ago.

Cautiously he climbed up the stairs once more.

He reached the top and poked his head through the hole in the ceiling. Moonlight came through the attic window against the far wall. His flashlight illuminated the rest. The attic was barren, insulation torn up between rotting beams.

He rested his light on the same object he had noticed two years ago. It was lying far across the floor, close to the window. Small, barely peeking out of the insulation between two beams. Anyone could have missed it.

The light still gave off no telling features about the object. He ascended the last of the steps and crawled across the attic, the space teeming with spider webs. He was careful to stay on the support beams. They creaked as his weight moved across them. He touched the puffy pink insulation between the beams, coarse and weathered from water damage.