Dracula's Secret

7

I promised only that I wouldn't discuss what happened in my house on tour. But I needed to know what truly happened. It bothers me. So I went into my bathroom, found powdered makeup, a brush, and applied it to the handle on my refrigerator. If I could find fingerprints that looked different from mine, -granted I'd cleaned it recently, so I'd only see the prints of whoever had been here in the last three days, which would be me, Remington, and Chris, who hadn't touched my refrigerator- then I'd be able to find out if he was truly here. Unfortunately, the only way I'd be able to see if they were Remington's prints would be to find an item  that he had touched with only his fingerprints on it. In order to do that, I'd have to pay him another visit. 

I brushed the powder onto the handle of my refrigerator carefully. If I used too much, the experiment wouldn't work. I brushed it up and down until most of the handle was covered in the powder. Then I brushed the remnants of the powder off, seeing the highlights of fingerprints now. Most of them were the same, my own, but there was a set of four prints that looked different from mine. Those had to be Remington's, right?

Now to go and see him to find out what really happened.

I called Remington up quickly before visiting him, finding out that he was high once more. I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, but it is a bit concerning. I grabbed the car keys that were hanging on a nail by the door, a beanie to cover my messy hair, and went out the door. What would I do if they ended up not being his prints? I turned the keys of my car until the engine revved. I really needed to get myself a new one, but I just kept holding onto this one. I would say that I was keeping it for sentimental reasons, but that would be less than truthful.

I was keeping it because I just can't let anything go. It took years of convincing for me to even get myself a new phone. Vinnie had made it his mission to get me to buy myself a new car too, but it just wasn't happening. I was waiting until it died.

Ryan thinks that I might have some attachment issues, but I seriously doubt that. I mean, it's not like I hold on to people until the day that they die. I hold on to useless items until the day that they die. And doesn't that mean that I'm just a cheapskate? Besides, it's not like I'm filthy rich. 

Upon arrival to Remington's house, I saw a second car in the driveway. This wouldn't be a problem, but I wasn't sure if it was the car of his brothers, or someone else. I just needed to get something that only Remington had touched, perform the same experiment that I'd done on my refrigerator on that object, and then compare it to the image of the prints on my refrigerator. It was quite simple. But if company was there, that could be an issue. 

I knocked on the front door out of the courtesy in my heart. Emerson, I think, opened the front door. "Oh, you really are coming over." He stepped aside. "Do come in." I entered and looked around for a moment. I need to find my item and get out of here. I haven't thought of anything to discuss. 

"Is he always high?" I asked, more curious than concerned.

"Pretty much," Emerson sighed. I heard him scoff too. I guess that it would be hard knowing that your older brother, who should be your role model, is wasting his life away, selling his soul to drugs.

I entered their living room, and saw a book on the coffee table that Remington had his fingers on. A copy of Dracula. That would be really easy to look for prints on. It's a completely flat surface. He let it go. I thought up a lie quickly. I made a gesture in the right direction that took Remington's attention there as well. "I see you haven't changed much since last I saw you," I shook my head in disapproval.

"I suppose not," he agreed, though I'm not sure if he really knew what he was agreeing to.

I took the book from the table quickly. No one's attention was on it, no one knew that I'd even touched it. I looked back at Emerson, still concealing the book. "Where's your bathroom?" I asked.

He pointed down a hall. "Just past that shelf over there is a powder room."

I nodded in gratitude, and then rushed into the room, producing the powder and brush from my pocket. I quickly repeated the print process, finding Remington's prints on the book, and they matched those in the image of my refrigerator perfectly. I knew that he was in my house!

Now there was only the matter of figuring out how to ask that question.