Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
He grunts unintelligible sounds through the dishtowel.
I sit back and squint at him. “Are you working your way through the alphabet or something? I can’t make out what you’re trying to say.” I flick the dishtowel out of his mouth.
“Puh, puh, puh-lease.”
“Please?” I ask in a high, mocking tone.
He blinks his eyes.
“Please. Huh. That’s interesting.” I swallow hard. “Did Hoyt say please? Did he beg you not to hurt him? Did all those other kids before Hoyt say please too?”
He stares at me.
I stand and grab the remote off the side table, then punch the mute button. Silence, except for Gade’s gasping breaths and my pounding heart, descends over the house.
“You stay put.” I laugh and shake my head. “Who am I kidding. You’re not going anywhere.”
With the final notes of uneasy laughter dying in my throat, I move out of the living room and into the long hallway stretching to the back of the house. On the left, a nightlight throws off enough dim light to make out a shadowy bathroom. Across from the bathroom, I push open a light door with enough force that the knob bangs into the wall with a harsh clang. I wince at the sound and throw my arm out to stop the door’s violent swing. I don’t want to turn on a light but then I notice the heavy curtains over the sole window. I thumb the switch on the wall and squint at the harsh, yellow glare from a single bulb overhead.
Piles and piles of clothing are scattered over every surface. Some of it in baskets. Some just heaped on the floor. The scent of detergent mixed with foul funk triggers my gag reflex. Someone must not like doing his own laundry.
A colorful stack of boxes in the far corner snags my attention and I hurry closer. Disbelief and dread battle inside me. Candy. Not even good candy. The generic, colorful, sugary candy that looks pretty but tastes like fruity chalk. The kind that appeals to young kids who haven’t yet discovered that better candy exists.
What’s Gade doing with such a large stash of treats? Nostalgic for his own youth? Or am I looking at the bait he’ll use to attract new victims? He used to give Hoyt and me candy all the time when we were kids. He even gave Hoyt little toys sometimes. I search the colorful boxes. Just candy.
Has Gade already harmed another kid? I’ve kept tabs on him, but I can’t devote every second to the man without raising suspicions.
Whatever the reason, the candy stash seems like another sign that I’m doing the right thing. As I stand, the curtains catch my eye. They’re thick and heavy but that’s not the only reason it’s so dark in here. A sheet of plywood has been bolted to the wall, completely covering the window.
Gade really wants to make sure no one can peek inside.
Still pondering the window situation, I wander into the next bedroom. It’s dark. Absolutely black inside. Probably more plywood covering the windows. I search the wall for a switch, flip it, and a small lamp in the corner blinks on, casting a soft pinkish glow around the room.
A child’s room.
Disgust and fear churns in my stomach. Who the hell would allow him to have a kid visit? Or is he setting up a trap for his next victim? The walls are painted a soft blue. A blue bookshelf holds rows of children’s books. The blue metal-framed bed is neatly made up with a bright red-and-blue race car comforter. Even the little lamp, now that I can see it better, is in the shape of a red race car.
Is this Gade’s room? From what I remember of him from when I was a kid, and in the interviews I’ve studied more recently, he acts childlike. It almost makes him seem non-threatening. When in reality, he’s a monster.
Does he sleep in this childish room to feel closer to his victims?
No, never mind. I can’t…I can’t dwell on the implications of this room. That’s not why I’m here. He’s a bad guy. He killed my friend. That’s all I need to know. Let the police do their jobs and discover the rest when they find his body.
I flick the light off and move to the last bedroom across the hall. The overhead light flickers to life, revealing old, heavy wood furniture with ornate carvings. The elevated four-poster bed is almost too big for the bedroom, taking up most of the floor space. A small step stool sits near the side of the bed. The covers are rumpled and tossed to the side. This is his room. An adult’s room, which makes the children’s setup across the hall even more concerning.
Sweat and something muskier seems to hang in the heavy air. I wrinkle my nose and slide one of the dresser drawers open. Empty.