EXCERPT I hurriedly drove back to Archer Street. My mind was racing. Could Jordan really be dead? Then it dawned on me: Bernie hadn't said anything about Vanessa. Was she in the house possibly dead as well? By now the rain had stopped and the streets were enveloped in fog. I turned onto Archer Street. Was the fog heavier on this street than any of the others I'd driven down? Given the circumstances, I was probably just being paranoid. I mentally kicked myself for watching so many scary movies. I made my way slowly down the street. When I came upon Bernie's car, I pulled up alongside and looked in. Bernie was sitting behind the wheel with her head in her hands. Her head jerked up when I honked my horn. I parked in front of her and got out. "Thank God!" she said as she jumped out of her car and ran up to me. We both stood staring at the house for what seemed like a long time. "Did you call nine-one-one?" I asked finally. "Yes. They should be here any minute now." "Bernie, did you see Vanessa in the house?" She looked for a second like she didn't know what I was talking about. Then the realization of what I'd just asked hit her. "Oh, my God! I forgot all about her! She could be in there too!" "That is her car in the driveway, isn't it?" I asked, pointing to the red Mustang. "Yes," she said, looking confused, "That's her car. But I don't know if she's in there, Kendra. I didn't see her!" "It's okay, Bernie. Try and relax. I'm going inside to check and see if she's in there." Bernie's look of horror wasn't lost on me. I wished I felt as confident as I had just sounded about walking into what could quite possibly be a murder scene. "Vanessa could be in there hurt or unconscious. I have to go check to make sure." I wondered who I was trying harder to convince, Bernie or myself. "Kendra, this is a job for the police. If she's in there, a few more minutes aren't going to make much difference." "If she is in there and she's hurt, I'm not going to have it on my conscious if she dies when there was something we could have been doing until help arrived," I said impatiently. Bernie gave me a look that told me I was on my own and went back to sit in her car. I walked around to the back of the house. I figured the door must still be open. I noticed how neglected the backyard looked. The grass was overgrown. The high wooden fence that surrounded the backyard and separated it from the alley was in need of painting, and the wood was warped in places. I also noticed that the gate that led out to the alley was open. Bernie said she had heard someone going out the door. The alley would be the quickest way from the house. I stood at the back step and looked at the door. It was slightly ajar, and I could see that the kitchen light was on. Maybe Bernie was right. I certainly wasn't feeling very heroic at the moment. If a crime had been committed, I'm sure the police wouldn't want me traipsing through the house and messing up evidence. On the other hand, if I were Vanessa, I wouldn't want to be all alone in the dark with only a dead body to keep me company. My mind was made up. I nudged the door open with my elbow, carefully avoiding touching any part of it. As I stepped inside, I was immediately struck by a foul smell. "Good Lord," I said aloud and put my hand over my nose. I tried hard not to think about the probable source of that odor. The kitchen looked much the same as the last and only other time I'd been in the house, which was a few months ago. I'd helped Bernie get the place ready for Vanessa to move in. The walls in the kitchen were painted a bright gaudy yellow. The cabinets were white with the center panel painted in the same yellow. White lace curtains hung in the window over the kitchen sink. I remembered Bernie commenting on how much she hated the color of the kitchen. She didn't have the money when she lived here to redecorate. Now that she did have the money, she didn't live here anymore and didn't care. I could see that Vanessa had added her own personal touches to the kitchen. Plants lined the windowsills of the two windows that faced the backyard. The front of the refrigerator was covered in magnets that look like mini pieces of fruit and held a dozen or so snapshots in place. A few of the pictures were of children of various ages. The rest were of Vanessa with different people. In one picture she was with a group of women dressed in hospital scrubs and white uniforms. One lone male was observing in the background. Vanessa was blowing out the candles on a birthday cake as everyone looked on. It must have been taken at work. Bernie had told me once Vanessa was a nurse. I walked through the kitchen to the small dining room and stopped dead in my tracks. Lying halfway between the dining room and the living room was Jordan. He was lying on his stomach facing the wall with one arm flung over his head and the other by his side. Bernie hadn't exaggerated when she described his condition. The back of his head was a mass of blood, bone, hair, and what I assumed to be brain. Dried blood stained the carpet underneath his head, as well as the back of his neck and white shirt. Thankfully I couldn't see his face, as it was turned toward the wall, which was also splattered with blood. The smell that had greeted me when I came in was much stronger here. Jordan must have released his bowels at the moment of his death. I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up as I hurried away from the sight in front of me. I backed right into a metal serving cart that was against the wall. The sharp corner of the cart caught me right in the back, sending a jolt of pain through me. At that moment, all of my Good Samaritan intentions left me. I fled the house. I sank down on the step and breathed in great gulps of fresh air that smelled of rain-soaked dirt and somebody's recently cut grass. Did I really think that I could walk into this house and step over a dead body for any reason? Lord only knew what I would have found if I'd looked through the rest of the house. Who the hell did I think I was, Christy Love, or maybe one of Charlie's Angels? Or more likely a female Barney Fife, only this wasn't funny. Bernie was right. This was a matter for the police. Almost as if on cue, I heard the sound of approaching sirens. I got up to walk around to the front of the house when I caught a glimpse of something white lying in the grass between the step and the overgrown shrubbery. I stooped to pick it up. It was a soggy wet envelope. Before I could look at it more closely, I heard the sound of voices. Without thinking, I stuffed the envelope in the pocket of my blazer. The voices were coming from inside the house. Bernie had let the police in the front door. I walked around to see what was going on. I didn't care if I ever saw the inside of that house again. © Angela Henry