Seeing Lexie was supposed to bring clarity, but Brian’s head was more frazzled than ever, especially after Karen had bumbled her way into his business. And what was with Lexie telling him to be a hero? What wasn’t she telling him? What the hell did she think was inside that old house? Brian wanted to return to the house, like really badly, and he trusted Lexie, had already come to think of her as a friend, but the PI was a big guy, an intimidating guy, a guy who had warned Brian to stay the fuck away. Those hadn’t been his exact words, but they might as well have been. And old Ted packed a punch. Not just with his words but his fists. Brian knew that first-hand and wasn’t eager to experience anything like that again. Before doing anything rash, Brian wanted to learn more about the house which meant conducting a little research. But not on his own devices—he had no desire to leave a digital footprint. Which was how he found himself in the local library, hunched over a faded cream computer running an operating system several versions out-of-date.
As far as Brian could tell it was just him and the librarian in the building, an old lady called Margaret who’d told him four times to let her know if he needed help with anything. At first Brian thought Margaret was keeping tabs on him, but he’d soon settled, telling himself she was likely just lonely or suffering from a memory problem.
He began with Google Maps, tracing the journey from his apartment to the street with the old house. He hadn’t been able to use street view for all of the route—where his apartment block now lay, stood rows of council houses, each as ugly and inhospitable as the next. The field with the tall grass was also absent from street view’s coverage, though locating the rundown place proved easy enough. Even in the daylight it looked uninviting—poison ivy snaking up the front of the building, cautioning all who approached. There was no sign of the old banger on either the driveway or down the road which disappointed Brian who’d been hoping to identify the exact make and model. Still, he had the street name and house number which was more than enough to fuel further search enquiries. He got optimistic at first, putting just the address into Google which merely returned the very map he’d been looking at, in addition to estate agent listings, and the estimated market value for all properties on that street. Nothing of interest. Brian would have to get creative. He kept the street name, omitting the house number, as he trial-and-errored various terms such as ‘crime’, ‘murder’, ‘tragedy’, ‘accident’, ‘missing’, and even ‘red robe’. Nothing relevant landed.
Brian punched the table, shaking the mouse and keyboard. “God damn it!”
He’d been a fool about the entire thing. How naïve for him to think he was just gonna stumble upon what exactly? Some wicked secret the town harboured? Easy answers? This wasn’t some dumb film or make-believe story—this was real life for fuck’s sake. He’d been so intoxicated by Her, letting his imagination run wild in more ways than one.
“That’s enough.”
Brian turned around, smelling the thick wave of masculine cologne. Ted stood behind him, a firm hand on Brian’s shoulder. “You’re coming with me. Don’t make a scene.”
Brian wanted to make a scene. To run around the library, tearing books off of the shelves until Ted got the hell away. He wanted to tell the guy to fuck off. To tell him enough was enough. To shout, ‘D.T.A! D.T.A is right. I don’t trust anyone and that includes you.’ But Ted towered above him and everything from ‘head to toe’ screamed ‘don’t fuck with me’. Plus, Brian knew he’d done wrong, had been caught in the act, doing the only thing the PI had insisted he did not do.
Brian closed the browser, stood up, and followed Ted out the door.