Nothing But Bones

28: Boris Covington Throws Up A Little

Tiff leans over the railing separating the top floor's hallway from the air above the foyer. She cups one hand around her mouth, wincing only slightly at the way her forearm moves under the bandages. "Boris! Sweet Boris! I'm coming downstairs! You'd better not Bone Zone me again!"

She turns around to shoot a thumbs-up to Elton, then scoops Kepler from the ground and scampers down the stairs.

He gives her a thumbs up and signals for Dingus to follow him. Scanning the darkness of the hall, he tries to put himself in Fred's shoes. If he were a skeleton who died in 1954, where would he hide?

He comes up empty. Looking down at the dog, he just sighs. "I don't know where to fucking go. I guess we can just try a room, but I imagine Boris has already tried these. Maybe he's already caught Fred and turned him into a pile of bones."

Something in the pocket of his jeans rattles when he moves. He isn't sure what it is until he pulls it out and remembers: right. Yeah. She did shove a bottle of pills at him.

He shouldn't take random drugs out of a bottle that has only been labeled with, in Tiff's handwriting, "BATCH 7, MAYBE DON'T TAKE (LOOKING AT YOU, DENNY)." It says it right there on the bottle: maybe don't take. He's ingested enough anti-drug propaganda to know that he really shouldn't do this.

But, eh. whatever. He has to take risks, right? Even if he isn't sure who Denny is or why she's getting called out on this particular clear plastic bottle, he unscrews the top, sticks one in his mouth, and swallows it dry. It doesn't kick in immediately, he doesn't think. He isn't sure what he's supposed to be feeling, anyway.

There's a sound down the hall. He isn't sure what it is. His eyes shoot in that direction. Looking back down at Dingus, he whispers, "I think it would be in our best interest if—"

Before Elton can get the full sentence out, Dingus sheds his disguise.

He scratches him between bristles of fur. "Good boy!"

Dingus snorts. Steam billows from his nostrils.

He gingerly creeps toward a room at the end of the hall, where he's pretty sure the sound came from. Pausing outside the open door, he barely leans around the frame and peers in.

The door was probably left open by Boris. He doesn't want to take the chance. Elton tightens his hand around the can of mace and steps in.

There's nothing in there— or, rather, there's nobody. There are plenty of things. Dingus pushes past him, nose to the floor like an old bloodhound and moves to the large bookcase full of dusty old books. Elton follows, stepping as silently as he can on floorboards he knows might creak.

In awe, he steps up to look at the books lining the shelves. Almost all of them are old, outdated, and seem to focus on science— particularly on chemistry. He notes, standing there, looking up at the books, that he feels a little stronger. A little more amped. A little more confident.

Elton runs a finger along the spines until he reaches one that suspiciously lacks the consistent layer of dust. Gold letters: Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey. He isn't familiar with it. It isn't as thick as the others, but looks beautifully-bound.

Intending to pull it out and read the first page, Elton startles when the book pulls forward on its corner with a soft click. Mechanisms behind the wall come to life. The bookcase spins, revealing a hidden room between the walls. Sitting on a chair, hollow eyeless sockets peering back at Elton, is Frederick. Like there's nothing weird about this, the skeleton waves.

Downstairs, rounding the corner from the living room to the kitchen, Tiff calls out for Boris again.

It doesn't take long for him to stomp up from the basement. His forehead glistens with sweat; his sleeves are rolled up to reveal a tattoo on his forearm. "Oh, goodness. Miss Sheridan!"