Jesus, I was out for a long time, but I haven’t been sleeping well at all lately.
I rose from the floor slowly, preparing to leave in the dead of night, when everything in George’s house would be silent, including him. He was a heavy sleeper and went to bed early. I’d be able to sift through his house if I were quiet enough.
I had made the short trek to George’s place and crept through his backyard, my breath fogging in the freezing air. I had the key to his back door firmly in my hand. I crouch-walked over to it and quietly inserted the key into the hole and turned it, slowly pushing the door open. It opened easier than I thought it would.
When I got inside, the house was very still. I crossed through the living room, careful not to make a sound. I went to Clara’s bedroom first to search for the supposed proof.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight and noticed that the room was very neat as I opened drawers and rifled through her clothes and makeup stuff—I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. I looked around, swiftly feeling my way around her closet, but there was nothing of interest inside.
I stared at her bed and crouched to illuminate anything that might’ve been underneath. I saw something. I crawled closer, and as I searched underneath her bed, I found an opened lock box with ared ribbon on top—similar to the ones I had been receiving at my doorstep.
How peculiar.
Inside, there were pictures of Clara with a guy I half-recognized. There were a few photos of them hugging at what looked like school events and one in a dark bedroom. I hammered my head for the name. Then it came to me—it was Henry Hamonte, Mayor Hamonte’s son.
My heart skipped a beat. Clara never spoke much about Henry, but I sort of recalled them being friends. I had no idea that she was involved with him in an intimate fashion. It might’ve been something that was covered up. It was strange because…Henry was dead. The cause had been ruled as alcohol poisoning.A tragedy from approximately a year ago.
Why hadn’t George told me about the connection with Henry and Clara? He was always so controlling of her. It really made me wonder—did he kill her?
I shook my head because I couldn’t believe it.
Why would he?
I put the pictures back inside the lock box, shut it and slid it back under the bed. I needed to leave before George heard me.
I froze as the light clicked on in the bedroom. I was caught with my pants down, too lost in thought, not realizing he had woken up from his deep slumber.
I turned off the flashlight of my phone and stuffed it inside my pocket. I spun around slowly and stood up, without looking at him.When I mustered up the courage to see him, he was standing in the doorway like a towering monster, his old, wrinkled face twisted with fury.
“I’m going to kill you, son,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His thick, meaty hands were wrapped tightly around the handle of an axe.
My heart hammered in my chest. I hadn’t expected to be caught like this. The anger in George’s eyes was palpable, and I genuinely felt like he did want to kill me.Especially when he had that axe in his hands.
“Wait, just one second,” I pleaded, backing up, my voice cracking. “George, please. I’m just trying to find out what happened with Clara. I know I shouldn’t have broken into your house, but I didn’t think you’d let me in here. I’m sorry.”
George lowered his gaze, steadily staring at me, axe firmly in hand. He charged at me, knocking me down to the ground before I could move a muscle.Thud!
“Gaaaahhh!” I cried out in pain as my back smashed against the hardwood floor. He pressed the handle of the axe to my neck, both of my hands attempting to push it off, my arms burning with pain as he furiously pushed harder to choke me.
I sputtered, trying to regain my breath. “P-please…please, George,” I squeaked out. “You’re going to kill me.” He saw my face turning red and froze. His arms grew weak as he slowly got off of me, guilt on his face, horrified at what he had done. He backed out of the room, staring at me as he did so.
I slowly tried to rise as my back flared; I was groaning and wheezing. As I breathed hard, my face was hot, my throat closed up, and my heart beat faster than I could count. “Holy shit, George. You almost killed me. I’m really sorry. I’ll never come in here again without your permission.” I dragged myself to the bed to leverage my body before I toppled over.
He lowered the axe and softened just a smidge. “You’re right, you shouldn’t be in here, you sly little rat. Look what you almost made me do!” He patiently came back in and took a deep breath. “Goddamn you, Lenny, if your wife wasn’t missing, I’d beat your ass. You spooked me!” he shouted, looking around nervously. “I’ve been hearing things at night—footsteps, weird noises, like someone’s been inside my house. I thought it was a fucking squirrel or something. It’s been happening since the beginning of December. I thought I was going nuts.”
Can it be the Xmas Day Butcher? Has he been sneaking in here? Did he leave the “clues” in his house? Am I being played?
I tried to steady my breathing as my heart pounded against my chest. “I’m really sorry, George. I didn’t mean to spook you. I’m just looking for answers, okay? The Xmas Day Butcher left me another gift box. He says that Clara’s connected to this.”
George’s eyes widened in shock as he set aside the axe by laying it against the wall. “Clara? Connected how?! What does that bastard know? What did he write to you?!” he demanded as he came closer.
I held up my hands, indicating I didn’t know much. “He didn’t say anything specific, just that proof of Clara disappearing is in your house. I don’t know why. I think he’s just playing games.”
George tiredly rubbed his face and sighed. He sat down on the bed, defeated. “There’s no damn proof of anything here.”
I contemplated asking more, but I hesitated. The man had almost tried to kill me, but I had to—for Angela. I needed to know more. I needed to do what the Xmas Day Butcher wanted me to.
I quietly sat beside him and cleared my throat. “What do you think happened with Clara? Why do you think she’s gone?”
