Paper Wings and Missing Things

Part 3

"I think we should say hello," Dad said, pulling into the driveway.

"Maybe he'll come to our house," Anna suggested, digging her nails into the sides of the seat.

"If you were him, you wouldn't," he pointed out. "Come on, it'll be fun. He's home, at least."

Anna stared at the bright light in the upper room. "It's almost dinner. We shouldn't disturb him."

"What did Mrs. Swift say his name was again?" Dad asked, already out of the car and strolling down the driveway. "Jordan? Jones?"

In her mind, Anna was already checking over her weapons. Prepared to engage hostile. Jacob talked like that all the time—he loved sci-fi movies, and he loved pretending to be the clever scientist, the space captain, the daring hero ready to stop the aliens. His weapon of choice was The Gauntlet—one of his dad's black winter gloves, found abandoned in the closet a few months after Mr. Swift left. Jacob drew spikes on the knuckles and a laser beam on its palm, and he claimed it was strong enough to break through anything.

With a confidence like that, he would more likely break his knuckles, Anna's mom said.

They were already standing on the doorstep before she could sort through the arsenal of weapons in her mind and choose one. For once, the sound of the doorbell getting stuck and buzzing nasally jarred her, and she dreaded the heavy, uneven footsteps jogging down the stairs. The door swung open, and the man from yesterday in the garden stared at them.

He was younger than Anna had originally assumed, maybe mid thirties, even though his hair was flecked with gray. A shadow of stubble underlined his jaw and upper lip, and his eyes were peculiarly unnerving—strangely pale in the midst of his heavy, dark face. Half hidden beneath crinkled skin and thick eyebrows, they looked weak and uncertain.

"Good evening, yeah?" he said. One hand fiddled with the doorknob, ready to slam it shut in their faces so he could make a break into the house, Anna thought.

"Evening," Dad said. "Thought I should introduce myself, since we live next door. I'm Dalton Parker, and this is Anna."

The man accepted the offered hand after a moment, though his eyes wandered to Anna. For her part, she was staring at the shadowy hall inside—drab and ugly, baring its coat of tawny paint. In her mind, she traced each picture once hung along it, now marked only by a row of almost invisible nail holes. Boxes were heaped up along the corridor, and packing peanuts spilled onto the floor.

"Jonas Colway," he said at last. Running one hand through his hair, he tilted his head to one side and stared determinedly at the space just over Anna's head. "We met, didn't we?" he asked her.

Dad looked at her, head quirked to one side, but she merely shook her head. "I...saw him next door," she muttered.

There was a slight pause. "Please, come in?" Jonas offered.

"Well, we can't stay long," Dad said affably, but he walked into the house anyway. "Just wanted to say hello, hopefully make a good first impression."

A smile flicked onto Jonas' countenance. Anna thought, watching him, that instead of opening him up, the smile shuttered his face even more and hid him behind it. "Yes, of course."

They followed him into the kitchen, also empty and gaping. The bird calendar, the world map hanging over the stove, the basket of fruit on the table—all gone. In their place was the faint smell of coffee, a new seaweed green tablecloth, and a pair of salt and pepper shakers, shaped like a chess queen and king.

Dad was chattering comfortably, commenting on the house and asking about the move, but Anna suspected that their host was paying as much attention as she was. She wandered forward, her eyes falling on the counter. An array of papers and other seemingly random objects were spread across it, including what looked like a scrapbook. A picture of Jonas with a blonde-haired girl, a rusted key on a simple lanyard keychain, and some forms were spread out. She caught a glimpse of the words "to appear in court June 13" before Jonas lunged forward and leaned casually across the counter. He spread his arms as if stretching, sweeping the papers and objects up.

"Nothing...nothing interesting in all this mess," he stammered. "I'll have to invite you over when I'm more unpacked."

"Of course," Dad said. "I remember when we moved, we were still finding boxes of junk everywhere for months afterward."

"Well, hopefully I can get it sorted out sooner than that."

Anna turned her head sideways and stared at the paper he was clutching. "Court Summons" was printed in bold lettering at the top. He glanced her way and instantly shuffled the paper to the back of the pile, then walked over to a box in the corner of the room. He shoved the pile into it, firmly pressing the flaps closed and gazing in dismay as they popped up again.

"It's a miracle it looks this clean," Dad assured. "I remember the condition of our house when we first moved."

Jonas coughed, sliding his hands under the box and shifting it so the top pressed closed against his chest. "Well, I'm still scrambling to find anything in this mess." He gestured hopelessly toward the kitchen. "I've about given up on meals."

"I'd invite you over for dinner, but I'm afraid I haven't made it yet," Dad said, chuckling.

"Oh, no need, I think," Jonas said, his voice deepening slightly. "Thank you though."

"So, where are you from?" Anna said quickly but lightly, giving Dad a bug-eyed look.

Jonas laughed, his eyes shifting around the room. "Everywhere, a bit," he said. "I've moved around."

"You like to travel?" Anna pressed.

"You could say that. I think I'm settled for a while, though. I've...got a job here now."

"Didn't you have one before?"

Dad coughed loudly, flashing Anna a look. "Anna!" he muttered sharply, then he turned back with a breezy smile. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to..."

A deep flush overspread his face, even shading his slightly protruding ears. "It's...fine," he said, his laugh sputtering out like a dying engine. "I've had some trouble, yeah? But I'm doing fine now."

"Well, I'd hate to intrude on your hospitality any longer," Dad said, smoothly deflecting the conversation from dangerous topics. "We'd better be getting back home."

"Thanks for dropping by," Jonas said, a smile pinching his jaw.

Anna walked to the door without being escorted.