Mitch stopped at the doorway to Finn’s bedroom. It was clean and neat but appallingly decorated and looked like a relic fromthe 1950s. Striped wallpaper in shades of brown and blue, sheer curtains over an antique roller blind, an armchair, and an old bed. There was a simple timber wardrobe and a small dresser, both of which looked like op shop finds or something from the council cleanup. But his attention was quickly drawn to where Finn sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap and head hanging. He raised his head atthe sound of Mitch’s steps on the floorboards and offered a small smile.
It was difficult finding space on the bedside table due to the pile of paperbacks that took up most of the surface, so Mitch collected the books and deposited them on the floor, the job made easier by the dim glow from the digital alarm clock.
“I’m going to turn on the lamp,” he said in a low voice.
He angled the globeaway from the bed so it cast a gentle light onto the floor, leaving the bed mostly in shadows. It didn’t take long to divest Finn of his clothes and shoes, leaving him in his boxer briefs. As difficult as it was, Mitch kept his focus on the practicality of helping Finn and avoided looking at his body, no matter how much he wanted to. Finn was obviously unwell and didn’t need Mitch studying him. However,it was hard not to notice his lean strength, all long limbs and taut muscles, as Mitch pulled the fabric from his body. He helped Finn stand and drew back the bedclothes, holding them up so Finn could slip between the sheets. Mitch couldn’t help seeing the hint of something dark on Finn’s skin, stretching from his shoulders and right across his chest. The low light made it impossible to discernclearly, and Mitch only allowed himself a brief glimpse before covering Finn with the cotton sheet.
“Thanks,” Finn murmured.
“Do you need anything else? What can I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do. Just leave me. The pills will work soon.”
Mitch could tell what an effort it was for Finn to even get those few words out. He reached down and flipped off the lamp, stepping carefully through thedarkened room. He pulled down the roller blind to prevent the morning sun from waking Finn, hoping he slept that long, and shut the door closed behind him. At the last minute, he decided to leave it open a fraction so he’d be able to hear if Finn called out, if he needed anything.
Now Finn was safely tucked away, Mitch could turn on some lights. He flicked the switches in the hall and the livingroom before heading back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He idly traced the pattern of the old laminate benchtop as he waited for the water to boil. Once the tea was made, he took it to the living room, but it was impossible to relax. For one thing, the couch was shit, with sagging cushions and zero lumbar support, another piece of furniture that should be on the scrap heap.Why on earthdoes Finn live like this?
While he sipped the English breakfast, Mitch contemplated his next steps. While he’d been in the house a few times when coming to pick up Finn or dropping him home, Mitch mostly stayed in the car. He’d only had a chance to take in the house on the surface, and because nobody had lived there for years, it hadn’t been searched as part of the investigation. Now was theperfect opportunity for Mitch to do some recon while Finn was out for the count, and he wouldn’t be interrupted. There wasn’t much to search, anyway, so it wouldn’t take long.
Tea finished, he rinsed the mug in the sink and left it on the drainer with the other dishes that were obviously from Finn’s breakfast and decided he’d start with the kitchen. He made his way systematically through thecabinets and drawers, even looking in the oven and the fridge. Nothing. Next he tackled the living area, rummaging through the entertainment unit—not even a DVD collection, just a board game and a few old copies ofAustralian Shooter. He flicked through the pages and wondered who the hunter was, but based on the date of the magazines, they most likely weren’t Finn’s. His dad’s, maybe, or perhapsthe dead brother?
Dice rattled as Mitch picked up the battered box of Yahtzee. Finn’s name was scrawled in childish block letters on the top corner of the box. Mitch traced the letters, imaging the young Finn playing this game. Was it a favorite? Did he play it with his brothers? It was hard to imagine the Cummings clan sitting around for family games night.
Mitch recalled his own childhoodand the weekends his parents insisted he and his sister, Vanessa, join them for board games or cards. Vanessa repeatedly voted for Trivial Pursuit, something that always pissed Mitch off. She was a whiz with general knowledge and could beat Mitch and their parents hands down. His mum favored Monopoly, and his dad liked playing 500. Mitch always preferred outdoor games, but he wouldn’t have tradedthose hours he spent around the table talking, bickering, and laughing with his family for anything. He hoped Finn had experienced even a moment of this type of happiness when he was growing up.
He pushed the box back into the cupboard and stood, stretching his back and enjoying the pop of vertebrae—it had been a long and tiring day after a restless night. A quick look around confirmed therewas nowhere else to search in the room, and rummaging in the two drawers of the hall console table only took a moment. That only left Finn’s bedroom and the couple of other bedrooms. The first room Mitch checked was empty, with a stale, abandoned feel compounded by the musty odor. The second room was more fruitful, filled with packing boxes of varying sizes.
Mitch grinned. It looked like thecontents of the house had been packed away and stored in this room.Bingo!
But a further glance wiped off the smile, and he hunched his shoulders. The boxes were new and stamped with the details of a moving company. He was obviously looking at Finn’s belongings shipped from Melbourne.Damn!
With a heavy sigh, Mitch raised the flaps on the first box. Someone—Finn, presumably—had already removedthe packing tape. He pulled out the first newspaper-wrapped item, a plain white porcelain plate. Next came other items of crockery—more plates, bowls, and mugs—all of them in the same simple design. The next box held glassware, including heavy green glass tumblers and wineglasses in various sizes. Nothing looked particularly expensive, but it was tasteful and fairly new. Fifteen minutes later he’dunearthed pots and pans, cutlery, towels and sheets, and a myriad of household appliances. There was a box full of clothes in Finn’s size, and another containing books.
There was a stab of unease as Mitch pried into Finn’s things, but he swallowed it back—he had a job to do, and the fact he liked the guy shouldn’t even enter into it. He pressed his lips together and got on with the task.
Thebox of books was the most enlightening thing he found. It spoke a lot about Finn that the books he read were so varied. It appeared Finn enjoyed everything from thrillers and biographies to romance. Mitch hadn’t read romance before, but he picked up the biography and found it fascinating. He looked forward to the opportunity to discuss it with Finn, to find out his thoughts, but as he looked aroundthe box-filled room, he realized that discussion wouldn’t happen for a while because it wasn’t like Lance Armstrong was someone to naturally come up in conversation, and Mitch couldn’t let on he’d searched the room.
Mitch closed the door on the little slice of Finn’s life, but the curiosity didn’t dissipate. Why were his possessions in boxes? Finn had been in the house for a couple of weeks—you’dthink he would have unpacked, at least the basics. Instead his perfectly nice dinnerware was wrapped in newspaper, and he was drinking from cracked glasses.
Mitch tiptoed along the hall so as not to disturb Finn, but stopped at the sound coming from the bathroom. At some time while he’d been engrossed in Finn’s belongings, Finn had crossed the hall, but from the sound of retching, he wouldn’thave been in any fit state to investigate Mitch’s whereabouts, anyway. Mitch didn’t want to intrude on Finn’s privacy any more than he already had, but he couldn’t ignore that the guy was so unwell. He swallowed the guilt and knocked softly on the door, pushing it open at Finn’s muffled reply.
“Are you—shit.” Mitch rushed forward at the sight of Finn sitting on the tiles.
Finn had a towel foldedon the edge of the toilet seat and one arm resting on it, making a pillow for his head. He briefly flicked his eyes up to Mitch before he raised himself and heaved into the bowl. He dropped back down once the heaving subsided, but it was obvious from his unusual pallor that he still felt horrendous.
There was a washer on the edge of the tub, so Mitch dampened it, then sat on the side of the tubwhen he could reach Finn. He held the cool cloth to Finn’s forehead.
Jesus, if this was what a migraine was like, he wouldn’t wish one on his worst enemy.
“ROCKY. IT’SMitch.” Mitch dragged on his cigarette as he stared into the backyard.
“What’s up?”
“Finn’s sick. We won’t be in for a couple of days.”
“What the fuck!”
Mitch held the phone away from his ear. He gave Rocky a momentto rant before interrupting his tirade. “Like I said, he’s sick.”
