In Search of Damien
an excerpt
Andrew nudged the thick wooden door with the toe of his boot, the barrel of his rifle pointed straight ahead. The hinges whined as the door tilted open and he shuddered as he surveyed the damage.
The glass closet in the foyer was smashed to pieces. Ribbons of drywall peppered the floor leading to the staircase with several steps torn off. The wood paneling was stripped, many electrical outlets pulled from their mounts.
The wrinkles across his dusty forehead parted like eroded cracks as his eyes flitted around the century farmhouse. He nervously looked back at Xavier and the three constables. “What do you think?” he whispered.
Xavier clutched his rifle tight to his body, his hair matted to the side of his face, his smokey eyes swollen and bloodshot. Husky with a square jaw and russet skin, he cocked his head and sniffed the air.
“The smell is strong,” he said, his voice hoarse as if just waking from a long slumber. “There’s one in here.”
“How about we skip this house?” one of the officers said, a metal container tight under her arm. “At least until tomorrow? Earlier in the day, when there’s more light. We can check the barn then as well.”
Andrew read the lapel of her uniform. “Powell, is it? Listen, one of those things is here. Let’s deal with it and then return to your headquarters. This will be our last house today. Okay?”
Powell ran her hand across her forehead, her ebony skin sheen with sweat. Andrew looked at her steady and eventually she nodded. She waved at the armored van parked at the end of the gravel laneway and the driver flashed the headlights.
“The Staff Inspector thought this might work,” a second officer said coming into the farmhouse. He was stocky and pale, the name Lawson sewn into his uniform. His plump fingers extended a six-foot rod with a noose dangling from the end.
