The two-story villa stood silent against the morning sky. Images of lounges, leather armchairs and wooden cigar boxes flittered across David’s mind. He imagined the house thirty years ago with a Lancia in the driveway, next to the Ducati and the front of the house lit up by soft golden lights. The family had named their house Buena Fortuna, which was why David was now contemplating lifting everything he needed.
The front door was locked. Why can’t they all pin notes to their doors? The windows where dark and uninviting, some of them cracked or missing. He knocked on the tall, oak door but nobody answered. He walked the perimeter of the house searching for any signs of occupation or maybe a message to trespassers but found nothing. The back garden was massive and resembled a meadow more than a garden and held an impressive terrace, had it not been for the planks missing around the edges. David couldn’t tell whether they had been ripped off or not but good lumber was hard to come by as were nails. But they probably would have taken the whole thing or at least more than this, unless they live in there or are wandering. He went around the eastern side of the house. The paint was pale and flaked and a wide crack was running from a ground floor window all the way up to the overhang. Jeez. He went around the back again and trudged up the steps towards the back door. It was unlocked and as he edged it open it slanted on the hinges and scraped along the floor. It was uncomfortably dark inside. The morning light revealed a thick layer of undisturbed dust on the hardwood floor. David stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The place was filthy! At one glance, all worries of anything larger than rats living in there vanished from his mind. The once crimson drapes now hung black against the grey wallpaper, covered in dusty spider webs. The windows held a yellow taint that had appeared black from the outside. Junk and plastic wrappers lay scattered around the living room and on the furniture. An armoire lay overturned and the shards of glass and porcelain faded in with the rubbish on the floor, but there was no telling whether someone had fought or not. David didn’t look for bloodstains. He proceeded into the kitchen imagining a pack of Marlboro lights tucked away behind the range hood. The kitchen wasn’t cleaner than the living room though it was a bit darker and the stench was worse. He started going through the cupboards and drawers, not looking for anything specific though tobacco would be a nice find.
“Where’d you come from”?
Jesus Fuck man! David whirled around staring intently into the dark corners of the room, but blood was rushing to his pounding head so quickly he could hear it. He slid his left hand along the kitchen counter searching for a bottle or a pan or something sharp, knocking glasses, plates and cutlery onto the floor without managing to grab hold of anything, but then a light flared up in the corner of the room. David caught a snapshot of the man’s face for a second before the light was replaced by an ember that flared up and then dulled down. David grabbed his temples with thumb and index finger and tried to calm his breathing, seeing white dots and shapes move across the back of his eyelids.
“Are you the jackass who’s been tearing up my terrace?” The man’s voice was something else. He sounded like he was rasping through a thick layer of dust and slime. But does he sound frightened?
“No, I didn’t take your planks man! I, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have barged in but I didn’t think anyone was living here.”
“Really,” the man was getting up, “it’s below your standards is it?”
“Well…”
“Relax kid I’m not gonna hurt you. Couldn’t if I wanted to and I don’t believe I do.” He was limping across the room, dragging breaths that sounded labored and painful. David put his hands down. He hadn’t realized they were still up.
“I’ve never seen anyone jump that high at the sound of my voice before. Guess it’s not what it used to be.” David heard the man rummage through a cupboard. Some empty cans clanged to the floor. “Here”, he handed him a dusty can of Perino.
“Oh, cheers…”
“Riley.”
“Good to meet you Riley, I’m David”, David extended his right hand.
“Yeah I don’t really do that. You might catch something too. I’m on the verge of death here Dave.” Riley shuffled back to his seat and lit an old fashioned oil lamp. Riley didn’t look well. Even sitting down he was very tall and just as thin. His grey shirt draped from his pointy shoulders and every bony indentation in his breastplate and collarbone were painfully visible beneath the open shirt. There was something else that David couldn’t quite make out in the sparse light but the shirt was black in places, most prominently in the abdomen. Riley’s neck was covered in gashes and a black and purple bruise covered his right cheek.
“It isn’t pretty is it? Death rarely is. And when it is it’s an even bigger tragedy I suppose.”
David couldn’t meet the grey eyes that so eagerly sought his.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Riley blew out smoke and smiled, “how about a conversation?”
The front door was locked. Why can’t they all pin notes to their doors? The windows where dark and uninviting, some of them cracked or missing. He knocked on the tall, oak door but nobody answered. He walked the perimeter of the house searching for any signs of occupation or maybe a message to trespassers but found nothing. The back garden was massive and resembled a meadow more than a garden and held an impressive terrace, had it not been for the planks missing around the edges. David couldn’t tell whether they had been ripped off or not but good lumber was hard to come by as were nails. But they probably would have taken the whole thing or at least more than this, unless they live in there or are wandering. He went around the eastern side of the house. The paint was pale and flaked and a wide crack was running from a ground floor window all the way up to the overhang. Jeez. He went around the back again and trudged up the steps towards the back door. It was unlocked and as he edged it open it slanted on the hinges and scraped along the floor. It was uncomfortably dark inside. The morning light revealed a thick layer of undisturbed dust on the hardwood floor. David stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. The place was filthy! At one glance, all worries of anything larger than rats living in there vanished from his mind. The once crimson drapes now hung black against the grey wallpaper, covered in dusty spider webs. The windows held a yellow taint that had appeared black from the outside. Junk and plastic wrappers lay scattered around the living room and on the furniture. An armoire lay overturned and the shards of glass and porcelain faded in with the rubbish on the floor, but there was no telling whether someone had fought or not. David didn’t look for bloodstains. He proceeded into the kitchen imagining a pack of Marlboro lights tucked away behind the range hood. The kitchen wasn’t cleaner than the living room though it was a bit darker and the stench was worse. He started going through the cupboards and drawers, not looking for anything specific though tobacco would be a nice find.
“Where’d you come from”?
Jesus Fuck man! David whirled around staring intently into the dark corners of the room, but blood was rushing to his pounding head so quickly he could hear it. He slid his left hand along the kitchen counter searching for a bottle or a pan or something sharp, knocking glasses, plates and cutlery onto the floor without managing to grab hold of anything, but then a light flared up in the corner of the room. David caught a snapshot of the man’s face for a second before the light was replaced by an ember that flared up and then dulled down. David grabbed his temples with thumb and index finger and tried to calm his breathing, seeing white dots and shapes move across the back of his eyelids.
“Are you the jackass who’s been tearing up my terrace?” The man’s voice was something else. He sounded like he was rasping through a thick layer of dust and slime. But does he sound frightened?
“No, I didn’t take your planks man! I, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have barged in but I didn’t think anyone was living here.”
“Really,” the man was getting up, “it’s below your standards is it?”
“Well…”
“Relax kid I’m not gonna hurt you. Couldn’t if I wanted to and I don’t believe I do.” He was limping across the room, dragging breaths that sounded labored and painful. David put his hands down. He hadn’t realized they were still up.
“I’ve never seen anyone jump that high at the sound of my voice before. Guess it’s not what it used to be.” David heard the man rummage through a cupboard. Some empty cans clanged to the floor. “Here”, he handed him a dusty can of Perino.
“Oh, cheers…”
“Riley.”
“Good to meet you Riley, I’m David”, David extended his right hand.
“Yeah I don’t really do that. You might catch something too. I’m on the verge of death here Dave.” Riley shuffled back to his seat and lit an old fashioned oil lamp. Riley didn’t look well. Even sitting down he was very tall and just as thin. His grey shirt draped from his pointy shoulders and every bony indentation in his breastplate and collarbone were painfully visible beneath the open shirt. There was something else that David couldn’t quite make out in the sparse light but the shirt was black in places, most prominently in the abdomen. Riley’s neck was covered in gashes and a black and purple bruise covered his right cheek.
“It isn’t pretty is it? Death rarely is. And when it is it’s an even bigger tragedy I suppose.”
David couldn’t meet the grey eyes that so eagerly sought his.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Riley blew out smoke and smiled, “how about a conversation?”
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