Walking the Gallows ✔️

Chapter 8

For the first time ever, Andy was woken up. It wasn't the usual internal clock that woke him from his sleep, unlike every other morning. The silence that lingered every other day would hang in the air before he would decide to break it himself. Instead, he woke to a heavy and harsh banging. At first, he didn't know where it was coming from. The banging echoed loudly within the walls of the house. Somewhere in his mind, it bounced off the walls of his skull. In his early morning confusion, he almost took a tumble down the staircase.

His eyelids still slightly stuck together as the pounding on the door continued. His bare feet went cold as he power-walked to his front door. The clicking of his joints back to their original places snapped in his ears annoyingly. The morning stretch was skipped that day. Part of him could sense how important the knocking was. Its volume and ferocity could prove that multiple times over but as he found himself at the door and reaching for the handle, he paused. Thoughts raced his mind of every bad thing that could be waiting for him on the other side. An angry Earl looking for revenge after finding out who told on him, a policeman coming to inform him that Charlotte was the newest victim, even the thought of Tony wanting his car back dug through his thoughts. It wasn't something he could come to terms with easily. The uncertainty was terrible, but he feared the discovery would be much worse.

Instinctively, he opened the door after the sound of knocking had driven him near mad. On the other side of it, he found a man in a grey suit and hat. He appeared about Andy's age and had a very neatly-styled goatie.  His eyes were the part that threw him off balance. They were an icy blue, close to white. They bore into his own like icicles impaling his pupils. He took a step back in surprise.

It was a while they stood there, Andy taking in the stranger and his displeased disposition, while he in return glared daggers back at him.

"What's your name?" He questioned him. Somehow, Andy knew the real question he wanted to ask regarded why it took so long for him to answer the door. He was grateful that wasn't the case.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Andy chimed back at the stranger. The man pulled out a notepad and pen from a pocket he hadn't seen.

"Detective Brian Miller. We got a call not too long ago about a man that may or may not live in your neighborhood." He knew perfectly well what the detective was talking about, but he had no idea that he would ever have to meet him face-to-face. The whole situation involving the murders and Earl, he hadn't expected it to show up on his front porch out-of-the-blue.

"What's your name?" He repeated himself. Andy finally recognized the voice of the man whom he had spoken to over the phone when he had given the anonymous tip. He gave his name to the man and waited as he jotted it down with his notepad and pen.

"Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?" He asked in a slightly more respectful tone. He thought of Vin who could still have been asleep. If the man had entered their home, he would also want to ask him questions. Vin would be hungover and possibly still drunk. He worried that he may say the wrong things. However, to refuse to talk was more likely to seem guilty of something. He hoped beyond all hope that Vin would have left early that day.

"Of course, come in."

************

He found himself embarrassed as he took Detective Miller to the kitchen table. There was a mess all over the floor. He wondered if the house still smelt putrid. Even still, the guest didn't seem to mind. He showed no other expression other than one that said he was cold but collected. It made him nervous to have someone else in his home after so long. The only people to show up were drunkard friends of Vin. Ashley had stopped by on a number of occasions.

Detective Miller scrawled things on his notepad almost constantly. He wrote fast and gracefully but rarely looked down on his paper. It was unsettling.