Vacant Heart

Chapter Three

"This is a huge fucking mess, Sam. Big mistake. Huge."

"It must be bad if you're quoting Pretty Woman," she jokes through my speaker. I'm attempting to multi-task, unused to the rough terrain that my car has now traveled over ten miles outside of town. The winding roads have become narrower and steeper, sending me into mountain terrain.

"I'm serious. This guy sat down with me for five minutes and switched the tables on me so easily you'd think I had no experience. That's how good he was."

"Hey, at least it's a challenge."

"I like a challenge, Sam, not a test."

"He invited you over. That must mean he wants to tell something. Get whatever you can. It's more than anybody else has gotten."

"I'm not convinced. Why would he suddenly want to speak to me this easily? I was sure I was going to have to butter him up, really work him into this."

"Most men fall at your feet, Joe. He probably wants something else. Flirt with him a bit and maybe he'll open up. He's probably...really lonely up there...all alone." Her voice has considerably warmed with amusement, which irritates me to no end.

"He's not interested. I saw that."

"Did he say that?"

"Well, no."

"Did you want him to be?"

My tires squeal to a stop as the car makes a turn, and notice an even steeper paved road around the bend. The windshield wipers are working at full force, shoving the snowflakes from the window. The sky is still a light gray color, shading the forests with gloominess. It's been miles since the last speed limit sign, and even longer since the last residence.

"He lives in the middle of nowhere, Sam. Maybe he wants to kill me."

She laughs. "Judging by your GPS, you're almost there. Why don't you hang up with me and prepare your questions now?"

"You're right," I reply, hanging up on her, too uneasy to hear her urges regarding Aidan Hughes. She knows full well I would never secure a story in a bed. Too many people do that in this business. Too many people have expected that of me in this business. Aidan Hughes will tell me his story when he trusts me enough to do so.

And I will stay on him until that time comes. I will not go home empty handed, Christmas or not.

Aware there is no turning back, my car surges forward at my foots will, and scales the hill with enough speed to ensure my tires can jump the climb. From one moment, my stomach is an agitation of knots, and the next, has gone hollow at the sight of the towering gate only a few feet away from my vehicle. The steel has rusted, and deteriorated due to lack of care, the green shrubs that initially absorbed the brick blocking the estate in have begun to consume the French swirling design in wild, tangled vines.

My eyes scale the gate, landing upon a camera that is much newer than the ancient wall blocking Aidan Hughes from the rest of the world. The mailbox which has clearly been smashed a few times tilts on its stand, the red flag cemented into its side. The name Hughes is worn down by weather, or maybe tampering.

I recall reading in his files about his wealth, his father's fortune and wonder whether Aidan has spent it all or loathes the idea of basic home repair. The security box I stick my arm out of the window to doesn't work, despite how many buttons I push.

"Hello?" I say into the frozen speaker. "Hello? Mr. Hughes?"

With my car running, I brave the wrath of the weather and step into the misty path. The ground is littered with trash, each item dug into the earth, clearly untouched for some time. Reaching down, I snatch the remains of a damp sign, the words long since faded, but not illegible.