The Beach House (7 page)

Susan and Clint settled themselves down in their hotel room. They had decided to lie down for a while before seeking out some food for dinner. This day had been far more exhausting th
an either of them had anticipated.

Clint was hoping that they would be able to get a tire and tank of gas in the morning so that they could be at the beach house in the afternoon. The auto body shop was just a couple of miles away, and it shouldn’t take long to get the job done. The tow truck driver certainly made it difficult to be optimistic though.

Susan snuggled in next to her husband on the bed, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep. Clint was not far behind her.

***

Kristi and Megan pulled back up at the beach house. Mark met the girls out by the car to carry in the food. Kristi appreciated the fact that Mark was such a gentleman. Megan appreciated that about him too, although she didn’t always trust his motives.

They made their way into the beach house to see that Damon had already fired up the grill.
Soon the smell of grilled burgers and hot dogs occupied the patio and house. Megan grabbed the chips, ketchup, pickles, and beers. The four of them enjoyed a good dinner on the patio. It was the first time that the four of them had actually sat down together and had a real conversation without any sort of arguing.

They talked about Damon’s childhood at the beach and about their dreams for the future. Mark sat next to his girlfriend, but couldn’t help but stare at Kristi the entire time. She looked beautiful in the twilight, and he wondered what it would take to convince her that he was a decent guy.

The sounds of laughter and the smells of food had not filled the house for years. For a moment, Damon wondered if he had forgotten about all of the good family moments that had taken place here. Then he quickly dismissed that idea, thinking about all of memories that were plagued by his brother. He would play along and have a good time tonight, but then he would be ready to make his move.

***

Horace peered through the window in his house.
He held the binoculars to his eyes and looked across the way to see what Damon was up to at the moment. Even with the sun having set, he could make out four figures sitting on the patio enjoying a meal. Max began to sniff as the aromas of real food drifted over from across the way. Horace decided to allow them to enjoy this meal tonight. There would be plenty of time to unveil the truth. He walked away from the window, sat down on the couch, and propped his feet up. Max obediently laid down next to his master.

Sullivan took a long drink of his coffee; he had barely slept after all of the excitement from the previous day. There had been
a murder, a stakeout, and clues beginning to take shape. Unfortunately, there were more loose ends and questions than answers at this point. Was the girl in the Jeep the same girl who was taped leaving the restroom? Was this the same Jeep that was parked at the gas station? Was that woman a murderer? And if she was, why would she want to murder Cliff?

Sullivan had instructed Barrett to bring him still shots from the surveillance tape. He would soon know whether or not that was the same girl who was seen in the convenience store. If it was, he would have due reason to go down and question her. Luckily, he knew where to find her. He also ordered Barrett to have the forensics team search that restroom for any trace of blood. As soon as he had the evidence he needed, he would be headed back out to that beach house.

***

Clint sat in the hotel room chair next to the window. The first floor room was situated on the side of the hotel so all Cliff could see was an empty alley way with a large dumpster at the end of it. Susan was using the hotel room coffee maker to make two cups of coffee. Despite the fact that they were in a strange hotel room, they both slept solidly through the night. The previous day had been tiring
, and they certainly had not had an adventure like that in some time.

Cliff took the coffee cup from Susan’s hands. “Thanks, dear. About to call over to that auto body shop and see if we can catch a ride over there.”

Susan began sorting through some luggage so she could take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. “Well, I certainly hope it’s ready. This trip has already had all of the excitement that I can handle.”

***

Damon was the first one to get out of bed. Kristi was sound asleep, rolled over onto her side. It didn’t appear as if she would be getting up any time soon. He peered across the hall to see that the door to Mark and Megan’s room was still shut. Damon picked up the pants he had been wearing the day before and headed down the stairs.

He had been hoping to rid himself of the knife that he placed in the pocket of th
ose pants the day before. However, he never had the opportunity to be alone long enough to make sure it was done properly. Damon slid into some flip flops and headed out the door.

As he shut the front door, he looked up to see a paper taped right onto the center of it. It was an old, slightly crinkled newspaper article. Damon glanced over the headline, photograph, and content of the article. It had been printed the day after Jonathan had gone missing and the headline read
Young Boy Lost at Beach
.

Damon tried to suppress his anger as he ripped the article off of the door. “That sick fuck held onto this for all of these years and is now playing some damn prank on me.” He looked over to his neighbor’s house and saw no signs of any activity.

Damon began to walk along the beach in the direction of Horace’s house. Although it was only 8 in the morning, it was already damn hot. He could feel the beads of sweat begin to form on the back of his neck. He continued to walk in that direction, the knife in his pocket and the article held firmly in his hand. Once he reached Horace’s home, if someone wanted to call it that, he peered in through the window. That bum was passed out on the couch with that stupid dog by his side. That dog must’ve been awfully important to Horace. Damon began to wonder how ol’ Horace would function without his loyal companion.

Damon didn’t have time to ponder Horace’s condition any more at the moment. He continued along the beach until he reached a pier towards the northernmost end of it. By this time, sweat was running down his forehead. He sat down at the end of the pier and gazed out over the ocean. The ocean seemed to go on forever and ever, it was impossible to tell from this vantage point what may lie within it. In fact, really anything could go missing out there and never be found. Damon tore the newspaper article in tiny pieces and threw it out over the edge of the pier into the ocean. Immediately, the tiny pieces of paper absorbed the water and became unrecognizable. Eventually, the paper would disintegrate and nobody would know the difference. He couldn’t help but think what would’ve happened had someone else gotten up first and made their way out the door. What would Kristi say had she seen this article about his beach house and what had happened to his brother? For all she knew, he had never had a brother. Had they discovered the article, his plan would have not unfolded as he wanted it to. Horace had no reason to get involved in his business.

Damon took a look around him on the beach. It was too early for all of the tourists to be out in the water on the shore. There were a couple of guys fishing, but they were too far away to make out any discernible features. Damon removed the knife from his pocket and tossed it as far out into the ocean as he possibly could throw it. He knew that no one would really care about the death of some small town kid who worked as a cashier at a gas station shop. The cops would probably talk to the family, look for some clues, and declare there wasn’t enough evidence to solve the case. There certainly wasn’t anything to pin it on him. He figured those blood stained napkins wouldn’t turn up any real evidence for those small town cops. Even if they were spotted at the shop, he would say that he paid for his merchandise and left civilly; no one would be able to say otherwise.

With the knife safely out of his possession, Damon stood up and walked back up the pier. As he was nearing the end of the pier, he could see Horace in the distance. He had finally gotten himself up off of the couch. As Damon began to walk back up the shore line, he could see that Horace was also headed further down the beach. He appeared to be carrying a fishing line. It made sense that he would need to catch something to eat every now and then. It’s not like he had any source of income with which to purchase food. As Horace came closer into view, it was obvious that Max was not following his owner down the beach. Damon supposed that it was too far and too hot for that mutt to walk down the beach to do some fishing.

Damon came to a stop and continued to watch Horace walk further and further out of sight. Soon he could no longer see him at all. He must have gone down to the pier on the other end of the beach; perhaps he had more luck catching fish down at that end. Damon approached the home of Horace and Max, it certainly looked like it could be condemned with all of the objects piled up outside of the front of it; old chairs, fishing poles, coolers, and the like. He assumed the door would be unlocked. After all, who would expect to find anything of any sort of value inside such a place. There was one item in that house that meant a whole lot to Horace though so Damon decided the trip inside was well worth it.

Damon turned the handle to the door and sure enough, the door swung wide open. He entered the living room area. Blankets and pillows were strewn across the couch and the coffee table was covered in empty cans and bottles. Damon looked next to the couch, but the spot that Max had called bed just an hour ago was now vacant. He continued to scan the small living area and called out to Horace’s loyal companion.

“Here, Max. Here, boy. I just want to spend a little time with you. That’s all.” Damon ventured into the kitchen which looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Old frying pans and dishes covered the counter area and filled the sink. He could see old Horace coming back with his catch of the day and reusing the same plate and pan he had been using for the last few weeks. It’s amazing him and Max were still alive.

Max wasn’t visible in the kitchen area either. As Damon climbed the steps to the second story, he continued to call out to the dog. Max was obviously in hiding somewhere, avoiding the stranger who had entered the home. At the top of the steps, there were two rooms and a bathroom. After seeing the kitchen, Damon had no desire to step foot into the bathroom. He entered the first room which was full of boxes and bins of who knows what. There was no place for a dog to hide so Damon made his way into the other room. He supposed this was the master bedroom. The bed, however, was piled with newspapers. The guy must’ve kept every newspaper printed for the past fifty years. That explained how he would have had the article to tape onto his front door.

Damon peered under the bed. Sure enough, Max was lying down there, his tail between his legs. Trying to sound friendly, Damon called out to the old mutt. When that didn’t work, he decided to be a bit more forceful. Lying on his stomach on the floor, Damon put his arms around Max’s neck and dragged out from under the bed. The dog whimpered and yelped, but Damon scooped him up in his arms and carried him downstairs.

Horace enjoyed his morning fishing trips. The beach was very peaceful early in the morning. As much as
he enjoyed all of the people-watching over the years, he enjoyed that quiet serenity even more. As recent as a year ago, Max use to enjoy coming to the pier with him and sitting by his owner until a few fish had been caught. It was their time together away from the tourists and the house. Unfortunately, Max was no longer able to make the trip down to this end of the beach. Occasionally, Horace would fish closer to his home so that Max could lie down next to him. This morning, though, he felt like taking a bit of a longer walk. He was hoping to catch enough fish to last him a few days. His entire diet really consisted of what he was able to catch out here.

There were a few fishing boats and sail boats out on the water. While it had already gotten very hot, there was a nice breeze coming off of the water. From the end of the pier, Horace cast his line out into the ocean and patiently waited for a bite. Some mornings he would get something relatively quickly and other days, he was unable to get anything at all. This morning was one of those lucky mornings when the fish were biting. Horace reeled in his first fish, relatively small in size, but it would be enough for him and Max.

Once Horace had secured three decent catches, he decided to make his way back up the shore. Max was probably waiting for him and for breakfast. As he walked up the beach towards his home, he couldn’t help but wonder if Damon had gotten up and found the article on the front of his door. Or, if any of his house guests had found the article for that matter. Horace imagined that the strange circumstances of his brother’s death would be difficult for Damon to explain to other people. While Horace preferred to mind his own business, he wasn’t one to take threats from other people. He saw no harm in letting the young man know who was boss around here. Maybe he would decide to pack up, head home, and not return.

Horace passed by Damon’s beach house to see that that article had indeed been ripped from the door. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he continued on to his own home. He set his fishing pole down by the front door, turned the knob, and stepped inside. Usually Max was either waiting by the door or would come wandering out from wherever he was resting. Max was no longer able to come running to the door so Horace decided to wait a moment for him. When Max didn’t show, he called out to him. “Max, I’m home. I’ve caught us some food, pal.”

Horace began to worry as Max continued to be a no show. He always feared that he would return home one day and find that his dear friend had passed away. It really was only a matter of time. He just wanted him to go peacefully.

With tears beginning to well in his eyes, Horace entered the kitchen. Rather than cry, Horace could only scream. He had expected to see his friend lying still, eyes closed, peacefully resting for eternity. What he saw was completely inexplicable and horrifying. His best friend had been hanged from one of the rafters in the kitchen ceiling. Max just hung there, completely still and dead. The weight of his body dangling from that rope. He could imagine the way that Max must have kicked and pawed while he hung from that noose until he went completely still. Until he had taken his last breath. Until he had given up.

Horace grabbed a knife from the counter and cut his companion down from the ceiling. Tears were streaming down his face. Horace had never felt so empty before in his life. He scooped Max up in his arms, sat on the floor, and cried.