Jake lounged on the brown striped bedsheet. Fingers interlaced on his belly, he stared at the macaroon cream wall. By his head, the classic drum lamp set to a dim glow. He needed the twenty-nine minutes of rest in a cosy and quiet space to avoid making it too suspicious an excuse.
On the thirtieth, he sat upright. He took a deep breath. His exhausted feet touched the dark green carpet, an eye sore that blended with the varying shades of white, green, and brown all around the cabin. According to Camille and agreed upon by Detective Miranda, this is the Hartford residence and not a cabin by the lake. Now, it's up to him to discover if they are telling the truth.
Walking barefoot to snoop around for anything which can condemn Edward is ideal. Once again, the excuse of filthy and wet shoes to walk on a plush and expensive carpet or hardwood flooring fits well.
He turned on the lights in the washroom and cringed at the green carpet all around, even in front of the giant dry bathtub. What is the guy's obsession?
Leaning over the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, a much-needed wake-up call. The water droplets slid down, landing on his T-shirt. Shivers ran through his veins. Snatching the towel, he put it to use.
"Okay, Jake, this is it," he declared to his pale reflection and opened the door without making a single noise.
Walking close to the wall and doors in the hallway, he eavesdropped for any sound. Pure silence greeted him. Turning the doorknob, he stepped into a rustic home office.
Wood panelled, a telescope, a mahogany desk, a giant flowery patterned couch, a wooden chest that served as a coffee table, an unlit fireplace, a window with a forest view, a library consisting of biographies, hardcover of classic novels on the right side and large lever folders all in black per alphabetical order on the left side.
Jake caught a photograph on the neat table. Edward and his parents, face neutral, attired in business outfits, looked straight at the camera.
The novels screamed Edward's style, whereas the files pointed towards his parents. It did not stop him from going through a few before exiting the room with a sweaty forehead.
He walked across and listened. Faint voices came from downstairs. Jake opened the next door. This one consisted of two single beds with thrown branded handbags, lipstick and mascara staining the expensive tassel bedsheets. A wicked smile formed before he pulled his head out and closed the door. He'll find nothing there except a What's in My Bag edition by newbies in the movie industry.
The next room was a home gym with expensive gear, and the last one was the guest bedroom where he had been resting.
To intrude on the other side of the cabin, he had to cross part of the hallway with an open view of the living room downstairs.
"Never have I ever made out in the backseat of..."
A drunken female voice spoke, and laughter poured around. Hidden in the shadows, Jake caught a group of four goofing around, excluding that bastard. He contemplated. Dashing to the other side might attract attention, and walking is no less suspicious when he should be resting.
"Deep breath, you can do it, deep breath," he whispered.
Lucky for him, thick wooden bannisters reached the height of his legs. Moving close to the wall, he sat on two and moved to the other side. He remained unexposed, but his hands were clammy, and his heart raced.
But baby, Bingo
He opened the door to Edward Van Hartford's bedroom. It had the same colours and features as the other rooms, including that ugly dark green carpet. However, that giant show poster of his character, Prince of Darkness, encased in glass with wooden frames, stuck out like a sore thumb. It's out of place in a rustic setting.
YOU ARE READING
Three Knocks | ✔️
Horor"I realised the problem was never in the place I stayed. The problem was in me. Wherever I go, I hear the three knocks." Camille Martin hears it day and night. Therapy and medicines no longer work on her. She has hit rock bottom, losing everything a...
