La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

18. Never Let Me Go

La Mort et ses Merveilles

Chapter 18: Never Let Me Go

This chapter contains themes and subjects that can be upsetting. The author does not condone any of these acts and writing about this does not reflect the author's beliefs and values. Thank you.

Leslie's uncle's place was the house at the end of the street, right at the T-junction. Its side panels were grey, and the shingles on the curved mansard roof were a deep blue. There were a few cypresses in the garden, lining the fence against the road, giving it a sense of privacy. The entire compound was surrounded by a high mason brick fence, covered in climbing plants with white-tinged leaves.

It seemed like a rather well-to-do household. But it was in a rather well-to-do neighbourhood, so I guess it wasn't that surprising.

I knocked on the bars of the wrought iron gate, just to make sure there weren't any zombies lurking around. The coast seemed clear. The walls were a bit too high for me to climb on my own, so Leslie propped me up and I pushed myself up the remaining bit. I ended up falling over into a bush.

"You alright?" I could hear Leslie call out to me from the other side of the fence.

"Yeah," I replied, dusting myself with my hands. "I just fell. Don't worry."

Walking over to the gate, I opened it, letting Leslie inside.

"The house is pretty nice," I remarked as the both of us headed up to the main door.

Leslie said nothing, only letting out a sigh as he walked up to the door.

"You alright?" I asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm fine."

But his deep set eyes told a different story. He seemed disturbed, afraid even.

"We don't have to go in if you don't want to," I said. "You wanted a photograph of you and your dad, right? I can go fetch it for you if you want."

"N-No," he said, shaking his head. "I need to do this myself. It's about confronting my past, remember?"

He wasn't really exactly convincing, but who was I to stop him? Wasn't I the one who told him not to live in denial? If going inside his uncle's house and getting that photograph helped him resolve whatever he needed resolved, then I shouldn't stop him. Yet deep inside my gut I had a very bad feeling about this place.

We stepped into the house, it was all quiet. I tapped my knuckles against the wall just for good measure. Silence.

We spent the last few hours searching through all the houses. We had a good run at least, and the pickup truck was full of stuff, not only essentials like food and water, but also spare parts and toolboxes. I even snagged a few nice shirts, as well as some for Isabella. I'm sure the old owners wouldn't mind.

But most importantly, I found a working polaroid camera. I managed to take a few snaps of Leslie, but he seemed a bit irritated, so I didn't want to probe him further. He was already feeling like crap. In my defence I was just trying to lighten the mood.

I followed Leslie into one of the rooms upstairs. Opening the door, we found ourselves looking into a small bedroom, but with minimal decoration.