Death Sticks

8. Liar's Remorse

Everything from the dinginess of the streets, to the broken windows, and the various street fights screamed something you'd find in a mystery/horror movie. He could picture it now. When multiple children go missing under peculiar circumstances, it is not a coincidence to conclude they had all disappeared within a short range of this same neighborhood. Ethan laughed nervously at his polluted thought process, as he avoided eye contact with passing pedestrians. He scoured vigorously through his blue denim pockets. Finally he found it, a crumpled piece of lined paper.

House 666, it read.

Surely that couldn't be a good sign. Ethan swallowed hard, then gazed up at the nearest apartment house. Number six-forty two. He exhaled stiffly before picking up his pace.

The house he stood before wasn't much nicer than any of the others, save the fact it had a porch attached to the front with a roof that shielded him from the now drizzling rain.

Walk straight into the house. The first room is a foyer, and unless you knock from inside the foyer, no one will hear. You could stand there all day and knock, you'd only be wasting your time, Omar had informed him earlier.

Ethan squeezed his eyes closed before placing a hand on the knob and slowly twisting it open. What if it's a set up? Ethan wondered, paranoid. Though why would Omar have reason to lie to him? What would he even say if he unknowingly broke into a home and got the cops called? He couldn't imagine lying to the police. He'd never really lied before, surely he wasn't any good. Holding his breath, he took a risk in swinging the door wide open. He scanned his eyes over the room he entered. The far end was full from floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes (clearly full, as they were just barely pushed down enough to fit their sealing). Next to the door that led into the house was a small round side table. On top of it was a clear glass ashtray, overflowing with cigarette butts. It wasn't until he peered down at the floor did he realize the disturbing dried stains. They were brown now, but Ethan had seen enough blood in his life to know that it had clearly once been there. Maybe this is a bad idea, Ethan hesitated. Then he felt it again. The pain. The ache to hold her, and kiss her, and apologize for every one of his wrong doings. If only. No, he had to do this. Not just for any short relief of pain, but for the avoidance of a lifetime of pain. Between both of them. If he didn't do this, he just knew he'd do something stupid, he already had a plan. Without a doubt, he'd march over to her house (he'd have to track her phone number first, which could be easy with Omar's help) and he'd finally tell her. He would tell her every last thing he'd wanted to tell her but had been too scared to, for the past ten years. How everytime she crossed his mind (which was often) that he couldn't help but smile, and then immediately wince at the emotional pain of it all. How every night he spent without seeing her in the hospital he would weep in the corner of his room, while the other boys picked on him. How his constant motive for recovery was her. Most of all, he would tell her how much he loved her. And then, and then would come the rejection. The rejection that would ruin their entire friendship forever. Ethan thought of what people always say, that it would only ruin the friendship if they let it. However, he knew it wasn't that simple. He knew that even if they tried, things could never go back to normal. And as horrible as it might be, Ethan also knew that it was very possible they would let his feelings ruin their friendship. Either way, slowly but surely, their friendship would deteriorate.

Ethan sighed heavily before striding across the narrow room to the door. He scanned the door up and down. From the shiny gold colored door knob, to the smooth dark oak wood the door was made of. Without hesitation, Ethan pounded a single fist against the center of the door. Approaching steps came from the opposite side of the house. Ethan began to wonder what the dealer would look like. Automatically he assumed they'd be a man. Perhaps a little older than middle aged, a little overweight, and a balding head. The footsteps grew louder and louder, interrupting Ethan's thoughts. He grew antsy. Finally the sounds came to an abrupt stop, he assumed the man was directly across him now, the only thing separating them, the door. Ethan listened closely to the sound of several locks sliding away to leave the entrance unprotected.