The Winchester Code

Chapter 1 - Small Jackets and Big Feet

Small Jackets and Big Feet

Chapter 1

I should have known something was up when the people from the security company came to our house. They claimed that there was a fault in the system and they were doing ‘routine checks’ on all the consoles installed in our neighbourhood. It wasn’t that the two men weren’t friendly, in fact, they seemed generally concerned about our safety; it was more of the way that they asked their questions. The first man with the short cropped, dirty blond hair who had introduced himself as Mr Hewitt, talked to my mother while the tall man who said his name was Wyatt, scoped out our house.
Mr Wyatt had asked to excuse himself to the security modem, but apparently he failed to realise that the console was outside, NOT in our kitchen.
I followed the tall man – he was easily over six foot – through our house. As he ventured past the kitchen door and down the hall, I decided to stop him. He was going too far, plus, I didn’t want my baby sister to wake up.
“Excuse me.” I demanded. I was a little amused to see him startled. He obviously didn’t know that I was following him.
He spun around his long dark hair flopping into his eyes. I looked him over. The suit he wore seemed just a little on the tight side. I found it suspicious that there was no brand or company logo on the cheap-looking outfit.
“The security system is outside.” I gestured to the front door. “This way.”
“Just checking for faulty wires.” He said, pocketing a flashing device. I mentally assessed him, not fully trusting the story. I eventually nodded and lead him outside, showing him the security system.
“Do you mind?” He asked as he bent over the security pad, only to see I was still staring at him. I shook my head and looked away, scanning the street.
My gaze fell upon a black car.
My dad being the motor head he was, I instantly recognised it as an older model Chevy Impala. Around 1967; definitely not the not the type of car issued by a security company.
I felt myself frown as I leaned against the porch railing. My eyes drifted along the neighbourhood street. Each house in the newly built suburb looks almost identical to the one next to it. The trimmed lawns; the pruned flowerbeds; the white washed walls; the cherry picket fence; each house was like a suburban dream-home.
Admittedly, it wasn’t a bad place to live. If you liked the quiet atmosphere that old people demand.
I’m not complaining, but in the past 16 months I’ve lived here, I haven’t met one person that was under the age of 35.

My thoughts were interrupted by a groan from Mr Wyatt. He straightened his back and was only a little shorter than me as I stood above him on the raised deck. I cocked an eyebrow at him in an expectant ‘well?’ but he ignored my inquiry and climbed the porch steps. 
“I need to talk to your mother.” He said. I tried to be polite with my answer, but the ‘sure’ sounded sarcastic. 
I led him back inside to the living room where he sat down next to his partner. 

The quick eye contact the two men shared made me wonder if they were more than work colleges. I figured they probably were, after all, they wore matching ties. 

“Mrs Geller,” Mr Wyatt began. He didn’t get any further though, because at that moment, Grace started crying from down the hall. I watched my mum hang her head in tiredness and the two men from the security company exchanged a quick look, as if they had hoped that the baby would cry.
“Zai, could you..?”
“Sure.” I answered my mum. I pushed myself from the doorframe and wondered down the hall. I couldn’t hear the conversation the two men had with my mum because Gracie’s screaming was blocking the sound.
I ventured into my sisters bedroom.
The soft yellow walls were covered in colourful butterflies and flowers, and Grace’s name was stamped on the wall above her crib. Light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window and the lace curtains swished gently in the cool breeze.
I walked over to Grace’s cot and picked up the screaming baby. I nestled her into my shoulder and tentatively lifted the elastic band of her diaper to see if she needed to be changed. Thank goodness, she didn’t.
I rocked her back and forth, lightly tapping her back.
It wasn’t time for a feed, and she refused her pacifier.
Eventually, I gave up trying to please her and just stood rocking her in my arms, bouncing her a little because I learnt she likes that.
I murmured to her my suspicions about the two men in the living room and she settled at my voice. She stopped grizzling enough for me to walk to the feeding chair and sit down. I continued to rock in the seat and breathed in her baby smell while I talked. She smelt like mum and the baby powder that she used once she finished her shower. She smelt like the pawpaw cream that I rubbed on her nappy rash earlier. She smelt like dad, the faint hint of his cologne still lingering on her forehead from where he had kissed her before he left for work.
She stared up at me and I thought back to the months before. It had taken a long time for mum to adjust to having a baby again. It had been seventeen years since I was a little tot. We had moved into this house just over a year ago. Grace would be six months old tomorrow. Six months with my baby sister.
I smiled down at her and gently shifted her position in my arms, resting her head into my shoulder. I rubbed her back and softly began to sing her.