Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Read Online Free Page B

me know,” Tim grumbled as he drove back onto the deserted Highway 13.
    “It would help if you put some headlights on this old heap."
    “I have headlights,” Tim snapped.
    “Why don't you put some halogen lights in? Then we might be able to see where we're going."
    “Because they wouldn't be original equipment,” Tim muttered, still smarting from the insult to his precious Mustang.
    “Hold it. Back up,” Sandra shouted. “I think I saw something."
    The Mustang's aging headlamps dimly illuminated two ruts, about the width of automobile tires apart with grass between, leading off the highway. Tim cut the wheels to the right and cautiously followed the ruts, driving very slowly.
    Silence prevailed when the car's lights finally, faintly, illuminated the red brick structure. Minutes passed before Sandra quietly said, “Tim, it's beautiful."
    Leaving the Mustang idling and headlights on Tim climbed the porch steps. He fumbled with the key ring and dropped it twice before finding the right key. He unlocked the front door and snapped on both the porch and entranceway lights.
    Sandra went inside, but Tim paused to admire the full, wraparound front porch. It reminded him of his youth. Fondly he recalled rocking beside his dad in a porch swing and watching him smoke a Lucky Strike. He pictured his dad deftly placing the still burning butt between thumb and forefinger and flipping the finished cigarette into the front yard where it would continue to smolder. Finally, with a puff of smoke, it would extinguish itself.
    “Tim, you've got to see this."
    His reverie broken, Tim hurried back to the Mustang, turned off the lights and shut off the motor.
    Sandra beckoned to him from the entranceway of his uncle's house. It was beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. Half of the entrance led to carpeted steps winding their way to the second floor. The other half ended at a perpendicular hallway. To both the left and right were double solid oak doors. They entered the doorway to the left and found a tastefully decorated living room. Its most impressive feature was an antique grandfather clock with pendulum swaying rhythmically. The ornate hands on the clock read 7:09.
    Tim checked his watch. “The old clock has just about the right time,” Tim said to Sandra's back as she retraced her steps to the entranceway. Together they entered the doorway to the right. Sandra found the light switch this time.
    Tim noticed Sandra massaging her left shoulder. He stood behind her and took over the task. Her back sagged against his chest.
    “Tim, would you look at that gorgeous dining room suit, and check out that hutch. I'll bet the glassware in there is 100 years old."
    They moved, almost in awe, through yet another set of double doors to the left and found themselves in a smaller room with built-in shelves fitted with glass doors, a sizable table and chairs, and a red checked tile floor.
    “That door,” Tim said pointing to the left, “obviously leads to the hallway, so this swinging door must open to the kitchen."
    When light bathed the kitchen, they whistled simultaneously. “Tim, all of the appliances, even the sink, are modern.” Without thinking, Sandra grasped Tim's hand. “Did you notice in the other rooms as well as the kitchen that everything is spotless—not a speck of dust anywhere?"
    What he noticed was her hand squeezing his. It felt right.
    Sandra pulled away from his grasp and ran her fingers over the cutting block table in the center of the room. She crossed the kitchen and peered out the back door. “There is a back porch,” she exclaimed, “and...” Turning back towards Tim, Sandra's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes reflecting horror.
    Tim wheeled around as he heard a booming voice spit out, “You damned well better be Timothy Dollar or I'm gonna blow your white ass off the face of the earth.”
    Tim found himself gaping at the biggest, meanest looking, ugliest black man he had ever seen. The monster,