My Next Mistake by Brooks Sarah J

Author:Brooks, Sarah J. [Brooks, Sarah J.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-12-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Charlynn

All I saw was a tiny dome that looked like something out of a Star Wars movie. It was cool, like a place to hang out and have a beer in the backyard, but it certainly wasn’t big enough to be a whole house. Especially a house for a man who claimed, and I was starting to wonder about that claim, he was a millionaire. What the hell?

“Your home survived?” I didn’t really mean to ask, because I knew it made me look like an idiot, but I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of his living in that tiny little rounded thing.

“Yep, that’s it, the little half-moon in the middle of well, lots of nothing, now.” Holy hell that really was his house.

“Okay, well, there’s the upside. I take it, there isn’t anything left of your parents’ place?” I felt sad for his parents; they seemed like such shy melancholy people already.

“No, their house is gone, but I will rebuild it.” He sounded happy for the first time since this morning.

“Listen, not to be like, ‘I know better because I’m an architect or anything, but can you try not to use a Lego instruction manual on theirs. I’m guessing they are going to want an adult-sized house and not a gnome home.” I laughed hoping he’d laugh too.

He opened the door to the car and took off toward his house before he could retort. “Let’s go see if everything inside is cooked or not.” He seemed weirdly excited about the prospect of the inside being obliterated.

“Okay. Let’s.” I tried to match his enthusiasm.

He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the steel door. As soon as we walked in, I smelled a strong odor of smoke and stale air, but nothing looked damaged. What struck me more than the potential destruction was the fact that there was almost nothing to destroy. His living room was nothing more than one hard wooden chair and a small table. His dining room table was littered with stacks of paper and nothing else. I assumed the one living room chair doubled as his dining room chair and there was nothing else. No pictures, no knickknacks, nothing that provided any love or warmth.

In the kitchen, he had a toaster oven, a convection burner, and a microwave. One glass, one mug, one plate, and one bowl sat on a shelf. The place was immaculately neat, but for the stacks of paper. There were no rugs or lamps, but for one bald light bulb hanging from the middle of the room. Nothing gave the place a sense of home. A cold chill iced my spine. Something was very wrong with Cole, perhaps something sinister and criminal.

The place felt like a serial killer might live there. Apart from the neatness and the absence of anything that looked like a deranged killer resided in the place, such as weapons or trophy body parts, his home was perfectly nothing. It was as if whoever lived there … didn’t live.

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