Read Online Within These Walls by Ania Ahlborn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ania Ahlborn
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tonight.
They dashed through the rain and across the gravel driveway, the truck’s headlights illuminating their way. Ducking beneath the awning above the front doors, Jeanie shivered and pretzeled her arms across her chest, impatient to get inside. Her trepidation had buckled beneath the cold.
“I bet there’re going to be bugs everywhere. It’s going to be like a haunted house inside, isn’t it? Spiderwebs and everything?”
“There aren’t any bugs.” Lucas pulled a silicone key chain from his pocket and slid the key into the lock. From his research on a few real estate sites, he’d learned that the property had been on the market for years. It had only recently been purchased by someone who, lucky for Lucas, had decided to use it as a rental.
After a few seconds of struggle, he got the dead bolt to slide back and pushed open one of the doors. Jeanie ducked inside before he could hit the lights. He slid his hand along the wall while she stood in silhouette, the truck’s high beams at her back. Finding a dimmer switch to the left of the door, he turned the little plastic wheel and the overhead lights faded on.
“Oh God .” She breathed the words while stepping farther into the foyer, rain water spattering the redbrick floor at her feet.
The living room was recessed, nested a good eight inches into the floor with steps leading into it from both the foyer and kitchen. The interior was a weird mishmash of colors and textures. Green-painted wood paneling and gray stonework gave the place an undeniable retro feel. The red brick skirted the living room in a raised L shape, stopping at the foot of a staircase that led to three upstairs rooms. A stone fireplace butted up against the brick walkway, giving way to a sea of ugly beige carpet that looked recently replaced.
A distinct hint of bleach hung acrid in the air, more than likely wafting out of the recently scrubbed bathrooms. Lucas had made it clear to the property management company that he expected the place to be move-in ready. He didn’t have time to play housemaid with his impending trips to Lambert Correctional, and with all the research he had to do. What Lucas hadn’t told them was that he knew the history of the house, and it was only now that he realized that had been a risk. If there was graffiti somewhere on an outsidewall—a 666 or someone’s idea of a clever throwback to the murder/suicide that had occurred—Jeanie was bound to find it. But despite this worry, and the relative cleanliness of Audra Snow’s former home, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the low-pile rug. He wondered if the carpet had been the same shade of tan in 1983—the same color, at least, until it had been soaked in blood.
“This is bigger than our house back home,” Jeanie said, trying to make the most of the place. “It’s, like, totally disgusting-looking, but it’s definitely bigger.”
Before Lucas had the chance to note that they now had two bathrooms instead of one, she ducked into the shadows of the kitchen. He followed after her in silence, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.
The kitchen was trying for sixties mod, but it looked far more sad than fashionable. The brown cabinets clashed against an ugly orange backsplash and Formica counters to match. And while someone had updated the appliances in recent years, they were still in questionable shape. But the place was perfect for Lucas’s purposes. Sitting quietly among the trees, the house was a time capsule. Preserved by former owners and tenants, it was as if the house had been waiting three decades for Lucas to arrive and reclaim his career.
Jeanie fiddled with the dials of a countertop stove, then flashed her dad a look. “I’m gonna go pick out my room.” She stepped across the kitchen and back into the living room, making a beeline for the stairs.
“Not the master, kiddo,” he called after her. “That belongs to your father.” Her Converse sneakers stomped up the
They dashed through the rain and across the gravel driveway, the truck’s headlights illuminating their way. Ducking beneath the awning above the front doors, Jeanie shivered and pretzeled her arms across her chest, impatient to get inside. Her trepidation had buckled beneath the cold.
“I bet there’re going to be bugs everywhere. It’s going to be like a haunted house inside, isn’t it? Spiderwebs and everything?”
“There aren’t any bugs.” Lucas pulled a silicone key chain from his pocket and slid the key into the lock. From his research on a few real estate sites, he’d learned that the property had been on the market for years. It had only recently been purchased by someone who, lucky for Lucas, had decided to use it as a rental.
After a few seconds of struggle, he got the dead bolt to slide back and pushed open one of the doors. Jeanie ducked inside before he could hit the lights. He slid his hand along the wall while she stood in silhouette, the truck’s high beams at her back. Finding a dimmer switch to the left of the door, he turned the little plastic wheel and the overhead lights faded on.
“Oh God .” She breathed the words while stepping farther into the foyer, rain water spattering the redbrick floor at her feet.
The living room was recessed, nested a good eight inches into the floor with steps leading into it from both the foyer and kitchen. The interior was a weird mishmash of colors and textures. Green-painted wood paneling and gray stonework gave the place an undeniable retro feel. The red brick skirted the living room in a raised L shape, stopping at the foot of a staircase that led to three upstairs rooms. A stone fireplace butted up against the brick walkway, giving way to a sea of ugly beige carpet that looked recently replaced.
A distinct hint of bleach hung acrid in the air, more than likely wafting out of the recently scrubbed bathrooms. Lucas had made it clear to the property management company that he expected the place to be move-in ready. He didn’t have time to play housemaid with his impending trips to Lambert Correctional, and with all the research he had to do. What Lucas hadn’t told them was that he knew the history of the house, and it was only now that he realized that had been a risk. If there was graffiti somewhere on an outsidewall—a 666 or someone’s idea of a clever throwback to the murder/suicide that had occurred—Jeanie was bound to find it. But despite this worry, and the relative cleanliness of Audra Snow’s former home, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the low-pile rug. He wondered if the carpet had been the same shade of tan in 1983—the same color, at least, until it had been soaked in blood.
“This is bigger than our house back home,” Jeanie said, trying to make the most of the place. “It’s, like, totally disgusting-looking, but it’s definitely bigger.”
Before Lucas had the chance to note that they now had two bathrooms instead of one, she ducked into the shadows of the kitchen. He followed after her in silence, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.
The kitchen was trying for sixties mod, but it looked far more sad than fashionable. The brown cabinets clashed against an ugly orange backsplash and Formica counters to match. And while someone had updated the appliances in recent years, they were still in questionable shape. But the place was perfect for Lucas’s purposes. Sitting quietly among the trees, the house was a time capsule. Preserved by former owners and tenants, it was as if the house had been waiting three decades for Lucas to arrive and reclaim his career.
Jeanie fiddled with the dials of a countertop stove, then flashed her dad a look. “I’m gonna go pick out my room.” She stepped across the kitchen and back into the living room, making a beeline for the stairs.
“Not the master, kiddo,” he called after her. “That belongs to your father.” Her Converse sneakers stomped up the
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