hours, but already he made me feel things that I didn’t understand
Chapter 8
Griff
We were doing demolition work that day at a nice suburban home that had had a kitchen fire a couple weeks ago. The only area that actually needed refurbishing was the wall where the stove had been, but the owners had decided to renovate the whole kitchen right down to the outer shell. It would cost a lot, but I guess they figured it would boost the value of their home to have a whole new kitchen. So our crew had to tear everything out—cabinets, appliances, walls, floor—the whole room.
There is something satisfying in total demolition. Rip that shit out until there's nothing left but the building's bones. You had to be careful, of course, especially when you got down to the electric wires.
You also saw some nasty stuff behind those walls—dirt, plaster, rotting insulation, mouse shit, roaches and small animal bones. Sometimes there was even weirder shit in there, like beer cans, used condoms, children's toys.
Once we found a pistol in the walls of an old Victorian. Turned it into the police, who said it had come from the 1880s. Made me wonder if one of the original builders had committed murder and walled the murder weapon up. Great hiding place.
A carpenter I knew told me he'd once found a human femur behind some dining room walls. Said he'd spent ages looking for a skull and other bones to match it, but there was only that thigh bone. No one had had a clue how it had found its way in there.
Made me wonder about all the dark shit people hid behind the facades they build around their inner selves. With some folks you could see who they were, right down to their hearts. But with others, all you saw were blank, shiny walls, hiding God-only-knew what garbage.
I didn't much like my job, but there were days when I didn't hate it, either. The guys I worked with were great, mostly. It had been my uncle, my mom's brother, who gave me the job full-time after the whole arrest thing had happened. The cops had had to let me go because they didn't have enough evidence to charge me with anything. But since practically everybody in town believed me guilty, no other jobs had been forthcoming.
I knew I was lucky Uncle Mike had been willing to give me the work. I'd turned down a solid permanent job he'd offered me a couple of years back when I'd been trying to finish college, and he probably thought me an ungrateful fuck.
Back then I'd naively thought that life had something better in store for me than building new kitchens, bathrooms, and finished basements for rich people's suburban homes. Carpentry was skilled work, but I saw myself in a suit, Italian shoes, a fancy car, a high salary. One day I'd be hiring carpenters and plumbers myself to renovate my own suburban mansion.
Ah, dreams.
* * *
When I got home that evening, I was surprised to find my door unlocked. The FBI checked up on me now and then, and those guys were even worse than the local and state cops. There was one guy in particular who had specialized in interrogating my ass. Since Hadley's body had never been found, there were some theories that she might have been kidnapped, which had been all the excuse the Feebs needed to add their personal contribution to making my life miserable.
But it wasn't the FBI at my place, after all. It was Rory. She had jimmied the lock on my front door.
“What the fuck?” I shouted at her when I busted in, fists hot with rage. At that particular moment, I felt like I might be capable of killing someone after all.
“I know.” She jumped up from my computer where she had once again parked her ass. The late afternoon sun was slanting in the window beside her, giving her heart-shaped face a golden glow. “I'm like that sad-eyed puppy who keeps turning up even when you try to dump him off at the pound.” She grabbed a hank of her long hair and waved it back and forth in front of her face. “Wagging my tail 'cause I'm so happy
Chapter 8
Griff
We were doing demolition work that day at a nice suburban home that had had a kitchen fire a couple weeks ago. The only area that actually needed refurbishing was the wall where the stove had been, but the owners had decided to renovate the whole kitchen right down to the outer shell. It would cost a lot, but I guess they figured it would boost the value of their home to have a whole new kitchen. So our crew had to tear everything out—cabinets, appliances, walls, floor—the whole room.
There is something satisfying in total demolition. Rip that shit out until there's nothing left but the building's bones. You had to be careful, of course, especially when you got down to the electric wires.
You also saw some nasty stuff behind those walls—dirt, plaster, rotting insulation, mouse shit, roaches and small animal bones. Sometimes there was even weirder shit in there, like beer cans, used condoms, children's toys.
Once we found a pistol in the walls of an old Victorian. Turned it into the police, who said it had come from the 1880s. Made me wonder if one of the original builders had committed murder and walled the murder weapon up. Great hiding place.
A carpenter I knew told me he'd once found a human femur behind some dining room walls. Said he'd spent ages looking for a skull and other bones to match it, but there was only that thigh bone. No one had had a clue how it had found its way in there.
Made me wonder about all the dark shit people hid behind the facades they build around their inner selves. With some folks you could see who they were, right down to their hearts. But with others, all you saw were blank, shiny walls, hiding God-only-knew what garbage.
I didn't much like my job, but there were days when I didn't hate it, either. The guys I worked with were great, mostly. It had been my uncle, my mom's brother, who gave me the job full-time after the whole arrest thing had happened. The cops had had to let me go because they didn't have enough evidence to charge me with anything. But since practically everybody in town believed me guilty, no other jobs had been forthcoming.
I knew I was lucky Uncle Mike had been willing to give me the work. I'd turned down a solid permanent job he'd offered me a couple of years back when I'd been trying to finish college, and he probably thought me an ungrateful fuck.
Back then I'd naively thought that life had something better in store for me than building new kitchens, bathrooms, and finished basements for rich people's suburban homes. Carpentry was skilled work, but I saw myself in a suit, Italian shoes, a fancy car, a high salary. One day I'd be hiring carpenters and plumbers myself to renovate my own suburban mansion.
Ah, dreams.
* * *
When I got home that evening, I was surprised to find my door unlocked. The FBI checked up on me now and then, and those guys were even worse than the local and state cops. There was one guy in particular who had specialized in interrogating my ass. Since Hadley's body had never been found, there were some theories that she might have been kidnapped, which had been all the excuse the Feebs needed to add their personal contribution to making my life miserable.
But it wasn't the FBI at my place, after all. It was Rory. She had jimmied the lock on my front door.
“What the fuck?” I shouted at her when I busted in, fists hot with rage. At that particular moment, I felt like I might be capable of killing someone after all.
“I know.” She jumped up from my computer where she had once again parked her ass. The late afternoon sun was slanting in the window beside her, giving her heart-shaped face a golden glow. “I'm like that sad-eyed puppy who keeps turning up even when you try to dump him off at the pound.” She grabbed a hank of her long hair and waved it back and forth in front of her face. “Wagging my tail 'cause I'm so happy
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