by John Stone
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Thank You
Booklist
Renovations
(Horror Suspense novella)
John Stone
Mystery Thriller Suspense Publications House
Renovations(Horror Suspense novella)
Copyright 2015 John Stone, Mystery Thriller Suspense Publications House
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Chapter One
Damianos. It is Greek...meaning--the tamer.
Detective Andre Russell still hadn't quite gotten used to the nickname his colleagues in the police department had given him. It was absolutely a compliment but with it came pressure to be able to keep the criminals that ran around San Diego under control. He had done a fairly good job of it so far, but there had yet to be a real beast to tame. San Diego was a relatively quiet city over all. In fact, sometimes he felt like a Greek word meaning “the dog trainer” would've been more suited for him.
It was his conviction they all admired. He saw San Diego as his responsibility and his duty to keep it clean from any monsters.
That was what worried Damianos sometimes.
Taming the worst beasts the human race had to offer was one thing; the tough ones who made a name for themselves inflicting pain and committing crimes. He was used to locking them up in a big cage and never giving them the key.
They no longer worried him. Damianos could handle them.
In generally quiet San Diego, it was the creatures below the surface—the rats hidden, infesting the foundation of the city, unseen and nearly impossible to ever truly be rid of.
**
After all, rats had a habit of scratching their way into places they don't belong.
Though, one place one would never expect to find them was the last house on the street, owned by a man named Leon Edward.
The house was a very large old home, one might even call it a mansion. For decades, it had struck awe in those who had seen it for its sheer size alone but had seemed to be a dying giant, its structure slowly withering away. However, that had all changed the day and older gentleman moved in.
Mr. Edward, had lived there nearly five years and in those five years had seemed like a man on a mission. When it came to taking care of the house, he had worked tirelessly like clockwork. His almost ritualistic efforts to restore the house to its former glory had not gone unnoticed by his neighbors.
Thanks to him, the yard was well-tended and watered regularly. The lawn was mowed every Saturday. The flowers were changed according to their seasonal blossoming.
Leon Edward was man who never deterred from his pattern, despite his gray hair and slowing walk.
So, it was quite odd when he hadn't been seen for a week, and his disappearance, like his hard work, hadn't gone unnoticed by the neighbors.
The plants weren't looking quite as vibrant as usual. The lawn's grass seemed disheveled and unruly; the house's stubble in need of a shave. Rolled up newspapers were strewn across his driveway. The mailbox was on the verge of overflowing.
The house itself seemed to mourn him in his absence.
**
Lillian Adams lived across the street from Mr. Edward in a house that wasn't nearly as impressive as her neighbor's.
Everyday, she found herself looking out her living room window while Mr. Edward moved with surprising swiftness throughout his property, tending to all the aspects of his home. Lillian was always impressed by the man's vigor, especially for his age.
It must have been the twelfth time she had looked out her window that morning. It was Saturday so she kept expecting to see Mr. Edward round the corner of his house with his lawn mower in tow.
Though, it was almost noon—and Mr. Edward was nowhere to be seen.
It wasn't just the lawn. She had taken notice that no one had picked up the papers in his driveway. It was all very odd, considering how Mr. Edward's routine was usually so—routine. It was one of the only things she could really count on being the same. It gave her a very uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.
Lillian wanted to find a reason to march across the street and knock on his door. Maybe some of his mail had accidentally been put in her mailbox. Maybe she just had extra brownies and no one to eat them. Any reason would probably do, as long as it got him to open his door so she could at least know he was okay.
Mr. Edward was an older man, after all. She couldn't help but worry that he might have fallen. From what she'd seen, he didn't have much family. No one to really check in on him, make sure nothing was wrong.
Maybe she was worrying over nothing.
No.
Lillian stared hard at the beautiful house across the street—this all just wasn't like him.
She didn't want to snoop or pry. It wasn't her business...she knew that, but how was she going to be able to relax thinking that something could be very wrong right across the street?
It wouldn't hurt to just ring the doorbell. She didn't have to peek through windows or anything like that. Just ring the doorbell. A normal gesture that didn't assume anything was wrong.
Yes, that was it.
Before she could talk herself out of it, her apron was off and she slipped into her shoes.
Opening the door, she took in a decisive sigh. It was the neighborly thing to do. The right thing to do.
Lillian Adams almost seemed to glide across the street in her haste, briskly walking up to the front gate, opening it, and proceeding to the front door of that lovely home.
There it was. The doorbell waiting for her touch. She scanned the front yard. The newspaper rolls littered about reminded her why she was there and not to turn back. She reached out for the bell and finally, her index finger made contact.
It rang.
She listened closely and waited a moment to let Mr. Edward answer the door.
It rang again.
She didn't want to seem insistent. Everything could be fine.
Another moment of silence passed.
It rang a third time.
Lillian waited to hear something from inside—anything—but nothing came.
It rang a fourth time.
It occurred to her that maybe he was on vacation. It had only been a week after all. Lillian took a calming breath that she let move through her body, getting out some tension. After a relieving shrug, she began to retrace her steps back to her house, when a voice blocked her path.
“Morning, Lillian!”
Lillian turned back toward Mr. Edward house but only found his next door neighbor, Roberta Andrews coming toward her with her usual peppy stride.
“Morning, Roberta...though I think it's afternoon at this point.”
“Oh, look at me, no sense of time besides night and day.” Roberta laughed awkwardly.
They'd been neighbors for a long time but never particularly close. Lillian liked quiet evenings cuddle up on the couch with a glass of wine and a film. Roberta, on the other hand, like nights out on the town and big get-togethers. She was in her sixties but seemed to have never grown out of her twenties.
They were just two very
different people and the street itself was a line in the sand between their lifestyles.
“Were you visiting Leon?” Roberta asked.
“I was—but he doesn't seem to be home,” Lillian said, and decided to just pursue the possibility. “Do you know if he's on vacation?”
“I don't think so. I hadn't seen him leaving with any bags or anything. I was actually just going to ask if you'd seen him around lately. I haven't for the past--”
“--week.” Lillian finished the sentence for her.
“It's weird, isn't it?” Roberta asked.
“Yes.” Lillian nodded.
The two women looked over at the house. It now seemed to loom over them with an air of mysteriousness that it had never had before.
Roberta began to recount her week, explaining that her next door neighbor's house was always so full of activity. Leon was always up to something, tinkering around the house. His absence hadn't gone unnoticed by her either and made her just as worried.
Roberta's concern actually surprised Lillian. She didn't know Roberta cared about anything outside of looking impressive to her party guests.
“I think we should call the police,” Lillian said after considering everything Roberta had told her. “Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Absolutely,” Roberta said.
With that, for the first time in their long lives, Lillian Adams and Roberta Andrews reported a missing person—their neighbor, Leon Edward.
Chapter Two
Damianos was used to the chatter at the San Diego Police Department. All of the investigations, the arrests; it was all like music to his ears at that point. It felt so satisfying knowing that all around him, difference was being made for the better.
Walking past the desk sergeant, he couldn't help but noticed the two women excitedly speaking to him, with worry etched into their expressions.
“He hasn't been seen in a week!”
“I understand that, ma'am,” the desk sergeant, Hughes, from what Damianos remembered, was displaying his usual unfriendly customer service. “We'll send someone over, make sure there's not someone home before we jump the gun on this.”
“We rang the doorbell like five times!” The shorter, darker haired woman said.
“Ma'am, we just want to be sure. You never know, a man of his age, he could have been napping.”
The two women were getting clearly even more agitated than they must have been when they walked in.
“We wanted to talk to the police in person--” the red haired woman began.
“I understand, ma'am,” Hughes said just as dryly as usual. “Like I've said, a cruiser will be stopping by lend another pair of eyes and to maybe wake up Mr...Edward.”
“He is not sleeping,” One of them said, her voice cracking with restraint. “We haven't seen him for days.”
“And is normal for you two to be keeping tabs on your neighbor?” Hughes said coldly.
With that lovely remark, Damianos saw the fire that he had to put out.
“Sorry,” Damianos walked over to them. “I don't mean to eavesdrop. I just couldn't help overhearing your situation and thought it warranted some extra attention.”
He made sure to shoot Hughes a glance that said 'I'll take over from here, numb nuts'.
“Hi, I'm Detective Andre Russell.” He said, holding out a hand in greeting.
The two women seemed to calm and settle at his presence.
“Lillian Adams.” The darker haired, less made up one said.
“Roberta Andrews.” said the other.
Damianos led them a few steps away from Hughes' desk.
“Like I said, I really don't mean to pry but when women like yourselves are worried about a neighbor, there's usually something off somewhere.”
“Thank you, Detective Russell. We just want someone to look into it—really look into it. Not just send a cruiser to knock on the door. Please. Just for peace of mind, at the very least.” Lillian said.
Damianos looked hard at the two women. The concern on their face had seemed to mold into a mild, unsettling panic.
Then there was Annie Lagrange.
Girlfriend. Confidant. All-around amazing girl—a girl he had plans with that night. He couldn't miss that. He'd never hear the end of it.
Though, it was Saturday so he had some free time before the evening...probably enough time to check things out.
“Listen, I've got some time right now. Maybe I can follow you ladies home so I can look this over firsthand, alright? And I can have the proper visual when you voice your concerns.”
They both looked at him with slight bewilderment but then nodded.
“Yeah...that would be great.” Lillian said with disbelief.
“Great, lead the way ladies.”
Damianos made sure to fire a last glance at Hughes who had the same scowl pasted on his face.
**
Damianos had to admit that it was a nice neighborhood. It wasn't too far from one of the more popular beaches and around the corner from a convenient shopping center.
Ahead of him, he saw an arm reach out of the driver's window and point at a house they were coming up on.
He usually wasn't overly impressed by houses but if any house could be the exception that, it was the one he was looking at.
He couldn't help but feel comforted by the neatness of it all. It was like something out of a storybook. A delightful house resting at the end of the street.
The car ahead pulled into the driveway of the picture-perfect house and Damianos followed suit, parking behind them, though he felt an odd bump beneath the car as he did. Stepping out of his car, he found rolled up newspapers scattered about the smooth pavement. His back right tire was crushing one beneath the weight of the car. So that's what that bump was.
Damianos took in the details of the gorgeous house in front of him and he couldn't help but feel a little bit of awe. The grand old house had been restored to its original grandeur. From the patio all the way up to the wrought iron vane atop its roof; all admittedly magnificent to behold.
It made the imperfections all the more apparent—the newspaper rolls, for one.
“I usually see him pick up his paper every morning while I'm making myself breakfast. As you can see, he hasn't been doing that. That was one of the first things that I noticed.”
Damianos nodded with approval. The two women definitely had reason to be a little worried. The newspapers were odd, and as he scanned the front of the house, he couldn't help but also notice the curtains were all completely drawn. That wasn't too mysterious or anything but it gave him an uncomfortable feeling in his gut—and he'd learned to trust that feeling.
Still, it was no less possible that Leon Edward could simply be away from home for a few days. Secretly, Damianos hoped that that was the case, but again, had a bad feeling about the house.
Roberta took lead and went barreling with surprising agility toward the front door.
“Ms. Adams, wait!” Damianos called.
The elderly woman stopped in her tracks, looking a bit embarrassed.
“It's certainly an option to kick down the front door...but it might be good to take a look around the outside of the house first.”
The women agreed and followed him around the house, where the side was just as impressive as the front had been. He took note of a small window beneath the house, indicating a basement. So he had at least three floors to check, if not four if there was an attic...and it was a big house. The challenge excited him just a little.
When they reached the backyard, he was again struck by the sheer beauty of the estate, though his attention was quickly brought to a door in the back of the house.
“Had either of you checked the back door?” He asked.
“No...No, we only rang the doorbell in the front,” Lillian said. “Should we have?”
Damianos shook his head.
“Was just curious...though it wouldn't hurt to check now.”
Damianos, with the women cl
osely follow, approached the back door and grabbed hold of its handle. With hardly any force at all, the door pushed open a little.
The backdoor to a house this big being open—not a good sign.
Someone leaving for vacation wouldn't have left the door unlocked, especially since it would leave such a luxurious house vulnerable to any thief who would notice his obvious absence.
“If you don't mind waiting here for a minute or two ladies.”
“I'm sorry, Detective Russell, but won't we need some sort of permit for this.”
“A search warrant, yes. Usually. Unless we have just cause to enter and, unless my instincts are completely playing tricks with me, I think we definitely have just cause, wouldn't you say?”
“Absolutely,” Roberta said with excited vigor. “We certainly won't complain.”
“That's what I like to hear,” Damianos smiled. “Now ladies, if you don't mind...”
Damianos nodded for them to stay put and they both agreed, walking over to a nearby bench.
The large house seemed to tower over him imposingly. It was challenging him to come in; to dare to reveal whatever secrets it held within. Damianos liked a challenge so gladly accepted, stepping up to the door. It was a little nerve-wracking, as always, but he brushed those thoughts aside. If there was something amiss about the house, he was going to find it.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open and entered, finding himself in a kitchen.
The inside of the house was just as impressive as the outside. The kitchen was squeaky clean with no dirty dishes or leftover crumbs anywhere. The knives were all neatly in their holders and there was a basket of apples at the centerfold of the table. It was like something out a dream home.
Everything seemed perfectly in order but just to be safe, had his gun drawn and at the ready as he swiftly moved through the house.
Moving through the ground floor, there were only a few things that really caught his attention.
There was an open book on a side table of the living room. Beside it there was a glass of what seemed to be either whiskey or scotch, Damianos didn't bother to check which it was. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was strange for someone who kept the house so neat to just leave an open book and a drink out.
