Kill Your Darlings

Chapter 4 - Perfection at its finest.

It takes a while for you to arrive at Hickerson. The clock on the dashboard is dead, but by the gleam of sunlight from the window, you can guess it’s around noon. You roll down the window; the scent of your childhood fills the car. Summer and faint gas.

You pull over at a sign that says welcome to the town of Hickerson. There aren’t many other cars on the road, however while driving, you had seen a small red car that always kept about five or six feet behind you. The windows were tinted.

You shake your head once the panic rises. All you have to do is keep solving riddles until he gives you back your family. It doesn’t seem that hard when you think of it this way.

But where do you go from here?

You unbuckle your seatbelt and twist your body, trying to search the back for any clue you’ve probably missed. There’s nothing you can see within the pockets behind your seat or on the passenger’s side.  As you debate getting down to check thoroughly, the red car whizzes past you with a tornado of air and dirt, causing the paper attached to the dashboard to move in all directions.

It takes a moment to recollect yourself from the fright, holding your heart as if it would drop out of your chest if you didn’t. As you lean back in your seat, you notice the note Spencer left has been flipped, standing upside down like some acrobat.

He had written something on the backside.

Drive over to 518 Amber Street. I’ve left the door open for you. Don’t get caught.

You pull into the road quickly. The tires squeal against the asphalt in protest as you drive recklessly to the address, guessing your way through streets and avenues. There is barely anyone left in town. You recall the days of your childhood spent playing on the streets or swimming in the river on hot days. Unlike the new town you live in, it never seemed to rain in Hickerson. The sun was always out when it needed to, painting the town in a golden glow.

Thinking back, you try to remember who lived on Amber Street, but your mind only gives a blank slate. Your knuckles go white against the steering wheel as your foot presses against the gas pedal. Maybe if you’re fast enough, you can meet Spencer there and put an end to this.

Nobody is on Amber Street. Nonetheless, you park the car a few blocks away from 518, weaving your way through unknown shortcuts before coming up to the house. You stop at the driveway for a moment, looking all around to make sure nobody is watching. The house itself is an old looking thing with rusted windows and a crumbling roof. It like it’s disintegrating, as if a little extra weight would make it collapse to the ground.

Walking up the porch, you’re careful of where you put your feet out of fear of a wooden plank snapping under the weight. You turn the handle and—just as Spencer promised you—the door is left unlocked.

After shutting the door, you’re left in total darkness. “Hello?” you call down the foyer. “Spencer? Are you still here?”

Silence greets you. You feel the wall as you step deeper into the house, hoping to meet a light switch. As soon as you feel one, you flip it open, expecting Spencer to suddenly appear like he usually does.

But there’s nobody there. The only thing you hear is the creak of the floorboards under your feet as you stride further with cautious footing. The foyer merges with the living room. There’s an old rug you step on, sinking under your feet. Upon the yellow painted walls are family portraits, wedding photos, and memories of grandchildren, daughters, and sons. The couch has a floral pattern, which faces a brown coffee table also filled with memories in the form of knick-knacks and photos.

The room stinks of sugar cookies and coffee, the type of smell you remember from summers and Christmases spent with your grandparents. You nearly retire to the couch, the warm feeling of the home making you want to go back to a time when your grandparents were still living. The feeling is quickly squandered at the thought of your trespassing. Where is the old couple, anyway?