Read Online Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) by Adam Nicholls - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Adam Nicholls
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much Blake could do. Unprepared to face the nostalgia, he followed in behind Greg, who rushed ahead and stood in the hall at the bottom of the open stairway.
Blake looked around, soaking up the reality of his surroundings. It felt surreal; he hadn't been here in over twenty years, since he had gone off to college. Nothing had really changed. Sure, a painting had been replaced here or there, and the banister had had a fresh licking of paint, but otherwise everything just seemed… smaller. His eyes lowered onto Greg. 'What exactly are we looking for?'
'Seems we're looking for different things. I want something that will tell us where your old man has gone. Looks like you just want to get some feely emotional memories from when you lived here.' He grimaced. 'You know, I was stood right here when I first met you. You were a scrawny little thing, but there's no denying you were bright. Your dad introduced me as the gardener. I stood right here and shook your hand. You took it and said–'
'That's an expensive-looking watch for a gardener.' Blake laughed. 'That was you?' He couldn't help but smile, brush his hair back and keep looking down. 'I must have been… hmm. No older than seven.'
'Sure were observant,' Greg said. 'Kid, why don't you put that observation to good use, and look around the fucking house?' His smile vanished immediately, revealing that the past moments of humour had been a mere act. And then he wandered off into the nearest room.
Blake knew it as the kitchen and had no desire to be in there–they had already eaten at Frank's place before they left that morning. Instead, he ascended the stairs, one small step at a time. The amount of times he had fallen down here were beyond count. But those were back in the days. Back when he was naive enough to take the world at face value.
At the top of the stairs he faced an L-shaped corridor, one which led to a bathroom and the gaming rooms, gym and so on. The other end was the bedrooms, which he mostly associated with reading and playing on the rug, which later evolved into studying and cleaning the rug. Funny how times change, he thought, heading towards the bedroom. He felt like a ghost, a visitor in someone else's history. He had been away for so long that the property felt alien to him.
As he approached the door, not pausing to wonder what Greg had found, he slowly pushed it open, the long creak revealing his memories one by one. It took a few moments for the shock to register.
He had expected a converted room, perhaps a second gym or another games room. Hell, a study wouldn't have been a bad idea and, in the very least, his window might have been doubled-glazed since he had left. But no. What he was looking at was a room that was exactly as he had left it. Blake stepped inside, feeling as though he was walking through a time portal. To his right, his old computer that may or may not still work. His bed was still made up the way he liked to do it. So many memories dwelled here; his first kiss with Rachel in their teen years, the time he broke his leg and read through every single one of his books. Oh, the books. He turned to see his perfectly neat shelf with every piece of literature still lined up in alphabetical order. The only thing that had changed was that every surface was coated in dust. But an upkeep is a lot to ask after having his memories preserved. Blake hadn't known that his father still cared that much. Could it make sense that he would keep this room in its original state and still flee from his life without so much as a goodbye?
Sure it could. Blake wanted to believe it.
His heart throbbing, he sat down on the bed. A fine cloud of dust rose with a puff and then slowly settled. He looked around the room at his AC/DC poster, and below that, his old study desk. It amused him that those two items had belonged to the same kid.
Blake stood and crept over to the window, ready to reacquaint himself with the view. From there he could see the motorway,
Blake looked around, soaking up the reality of his surroundings. It felt surreal; he hadn't been here in over twenty years, since he had gone off to college. Nothing had really changed. Sure, a painting had been replaced here or there, and the banister had had a fresh licking of paint, but otherwise everything just seemed… smaller. His eyes lowered onto Greg. 'What exactly are we looking for?'
'Seems we're looking for different things. I want something that will tell us where your old man has gone. Looks like you just want to get some feely emotional memories from when you lived here.' He grimaced. 'You know, I was stood right here when I first met you. You were a scrawny little thing, but there's no denying you were bright. Your dad introduced me as the gardener. I stood right here and shook your hand. You took it and said–'
'That's an expensive-looking watch for a gardener.' Blake laughed. 'That was you?' He couldn't help but smile, brush his hair back and keep looking down. 'I must have been… hmm. No older than seven.'
'Sure were observant,' Greg said. 'Kid, why don't you put that observation to good use, and look around the fucking house?' His smile vanished immediately, revealing that the past moments of humour had been a mere act. And then he wandered off into the nearest room.
Blake knew it as the kitchen and had no desire to be in there–they had already eaten at Frank's place before they left that morning. Instead, he ascended the stairs, one small step at a time. The amount of times he had fallen down here were beyond count. But those were back in the days. Back when he was naive enough to take the world at face value.
At the top of the stairs he faced an L-shaped corridor, one which led to a bathroom and the gaming rooms, gym and so on. The other end was the bedrooms, which he mostly associated with reading and playing on the rug, which later evolved into studying and cleaning the rug. Funny how times change, he thought, heading towards the bedroom. He felt like a ghost, a visitor in someone else's history. He had been away for so long that the property felt alien to him.
As he approached the door, not pausing to wonder what Greg had found, he slowly pushed it open, the long creak revealing his memories one by one. It took a few moments for the shock to register.
He had expected a converted room, perhaps a second gym or another games room. Hell, a study wouldn't have been a bad idea and, in the very least, his window might have been doubled-glazed since he had left. But no. What he was looking at was a room that was exactly as he had left it. Blake stepped inside, feeling as though he was walking through a time portal. To his right, his old computer that may or may not still work. His bed was still made up the way he liked to do it. So many memories dwelled here; his first kiss with Rachel in their teen years, the time he broke his leg and read through every single one of his books. Oh, the books. He turned to see his perfectly neat shelf with every piece of literature still lined up in alphabetical order. The only thing that had changed was that every surface was coated in dust. But an upkeep is a lot to ask after having his memories preserved. Blake hadn't known that his father still cared that much. Could it make sense that he would keep this room in its original state and still flee from his life without so much as a goodbye?
Sure it could. Blake wanted to believe it.
His heart throbbing, he sat down on the bed. A fine cloud of dust rose with a puff and then slowly settled. He looked around the room at his AC/DC poster, and below that, his old study desk. It amused him that those two items had belonged to the same kid.
Blake stood and crept over to the window, ready to reacquaint himself with the view. From there he could see the motorway,
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