Disturbed Lincoln

11

     One hour of waiting later, a loud rapping sounded from downstairs. They both looked at each other and then went to answer it. Clyde pulled open the door and revealed the man standing on the porch. "Hello, is Harold McBride home?" the man asked. He was maybe 18 or 19, and he was dressed in a in a light brown trench coat. His hair was black and messy as if never attended to.

"My dads are currently out. Are you the investigator?"

"Yes, but if your parent hired me then I'd need to speak with them before committing to the case."

"Well... we were the ones who hired you, sir."

"What?! Whose money did I accept?"

"Mine," Clyde said, awkwardly.

"Christ almighty, you two are minors, correct?"

"We're both 16," I said.

"So you both lied about who you are and also how old you are. Kids, I don't take cases from minors, nor do I accept money from them. I made that very clear on the ad but it seems you actively went against those terms."

"Sir, please!" Clyde shouted.

Clyde's desperate pleas faded as my vision began to blur. All except the investigator, who stayed clear as day. Text began to appear above his head, including sentences such as "tax evasion" and "is a furry." Out of curiosity, I yelled out to him, "You're a furry?" He stopped and turned his head to the side. Did this prove the validity of my Sense's clue? Like all good scientific trials, I had to test it again. "...and you avoid paying taxes?" Upon hearing those words he turned fully and stomped up towards me, halting not even a foot away. Putting his face in mine and his finger on my chest, he said "You better watch your mouth kid. I don't know where you're getting this stuff, but you better get it out of your head because it makes you sound crazy, alright?"

     Since I saw an opportunity, I took it. "What if my mouth were to ramble to the police?" His eyes squinted and his teeth grimaced. "What do you want, huh?" he asked. "Just some of your time for $100 a week. Sound fair?" He wanted to disagree but could not, as we were essentially blackmailing him into helping us but...  all is fair in love and war? "Yeah! One C-note per week!" Clyde repeated. Our PI friend understood the deal and muttered "Money up front." Clyde reached into his pocket and shuffled through his wallet to pull out a $100 bill. "Here you go, sir!" To me, it sounded like Clyde was regaining some of his exuberance. This whole hiring-an-investigator thing was giving him hope, or even purpose. His voice was less stern I saw him smiling, albeit in a mischievous way. "So what's your name?" I asked him. Reluctant as he was, he answered "Enzo. I don't give out my last name."

     We started by leading him to Stella's house so he could get an idea of where to start. On the way, we passed two little kids on the sidewalk. One of them approached Enzo and asked him innocently, "Are you a pedophile?" He was immediately angered and snapped back "What?" The kid replied, "My mommy says pedophiles wear long brown coats and eat children." It was made quickly apparent to me that Enzo was a bit of an irritable man and also slightly defensive. It may have been that we pissed him off, but I got the feeling he's always like this. "Listen hear you little shit, you're 'mommy' doesn't know a goddamn thing about me!" The little kid raised an eyebrow and turned to his friend. "See, Marcus? I told you he was a pedophile." Then both kids walked away and left Enzo to blow smoke out of his ears.

...

     "Okay," I said, "We're here." Enzo looked at the home curiously. For a minute he just stood there staring at it, but eventually, he started walking towards the front door. No cars or charter that would allude to police, so the house seemed clear enough to enter. We all three went inside. It was a bit surreal to see her house again. Old-fashioned paintings of fruit in bowls and lined wallpaper of a dark maroon and pale yellow. It all looked undisturbed. It was almost sad... No, it was sad. I hadn't noticed it from my first visit, but her home is beautiful. However, its beauty is kind of melancholic, because she was no longer living here. Who knows where she is now? I can only imagine the worst.

We moved to her room, and I felt close to tears. I didn't expect to have an emotional reaction to any of this, but something was eating away at me inside. I felt slightly guilty, as unreasonable as that is. That artificial blue light in her room was gone, her fake rock lamp was turned off, and all the candles littered around were extinguished. All signs of life were gone and all that was left was a messy bed with nobody in it. Enzo held no attachment to Stella, he'll, he didn't even know who she was, so he looked around nonchalantly, which kind of frustrated me. I hated myself for feeling that way, but the girl was gone—kidnapped, maybe even killed—and yet he just walked around as if it were a museum. I hate my emotions. I can never understand them. It's just a man doing his job, why am I so pissed?