witness || h.s.|| ON HOLD

thirty-five || freeze frame

the song for this chapter is, "House Of The Rising Sun," by The Animals :)

***********

There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
Dear God, I know I was one

~

Oh mother, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Don't spend your life in sin and misery
In the House of the Rising Sun

***********

Harry

    Tate's uncle's house was very nice. It was a medium-sized house, the outside was a simple white wood. But the inside was beautiful, filled with various trinkets and elaborate decorations and paintings, it was quite the collection.

     Will and I both had our earpieces in, gloves on, and hoods pulled over our heads as we entered the house, using the utmost delicateness to make sure that the only thing that would be out of place would be the journal.  

    We crept throughout the first floor of the house, our eyes hovering across the different rooms as we searched for the journal.

    "What about that room?" Will suddenly asked, pointing towards a door down the hallway.

   "Let's check it out," I replied, leading the way.

      The door was barely open, and I used my gloved hand to gently push it back. 

     This was definitely the place.

      It was a study, but the walls were covered floor to ceiling with books. All of the various colors of their spines seeming to give the room life of its own.  The few patches of the walls that weren't covered with books were painted a dark blue color, with very lightly feathered strokes of white paint, giving it a cloud-like effect. 

     There was a large mahogany desk, trimmed with swirls of gold, I guessed that it was probably an antique, everything I had seen so far in this house seemed to have its own story. I quite liked it. It was extravagant, but not in the way that Whit had decorated the Fort. Whit's way of decorating was modern and sleek and seemed to scream power. This house was clearly filled with very expensive things, but it was so beautiful. Everything was so unique, and it didn't seem intimidating, it was inviting. As though each item in the house was beckoning you to come to sit and learn the history behind it. 

    For a moment, I found myself wishing that I was here under different circumstances...a small part of me wishing that everything in my life was different.

    I found myself wishing that I wasn't involved in this kind of lifestyle. Wishing that I was here with Tate, visiting her family, perhaps having dinner with them, and then strolling the halls while her uncle told me about each item in his personal menagerie of a house. 

   But I had to block those thoughts out, and come back to reality, which was that I was a killer, and I was not here to learn about her uncle, I was here to steal from him. 

    Just like I had stolen Tate from her mother, from her life.

  Right when my mind was about to drift to thinking about Tate, Will nudged me with his shoulder.

   "You good, mate?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

  I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, okay, let's find this journal. I'll check the left side, you check the right. Be looking for a brown leather journal, with a lock on it," I instructed, and Will nodded before heading over to the right side of the room.