Page 41 of Hell on Earth
Like most demons, I bathed often and despised being filthy. Cold or not, I could have spent hours washing myself. However, concern for Wren had driven me quickly from the bathroom. She may refuse my protection, and I would try to give her the space she needed, but I would make sure shestayedsafe.
Before going into the bathroom, Wren had shown me where to find a stash of clothing, and I’d donned some of them afterward. The bottom of the pants only fell to my ankles, while the sleeves of the shirt ended at mid forearm, but at least they wereclean.
Wren had rolled her shirt sleeves up, but as she ate, one of them worked its way free to fall over her wrist and down to her hand. She didn’t bother to shove it back up. Her pants were also rolled and tucked above her ankles. The overly large clothing and her enthusiasm for her dinner made her look far younger. This was a rare glimpse of her with her guard down that I never got to see. Sensing my attention, she glanced at me before digging into her foodagain.
“Are there many of these… ah, what do you call these houses?” Iasked.
She paused with her hand in the jar and lifted her head to look at me. A suspicious look crossed her face.She’s won’t even tellmethis.
Then, she shrugged and scooped more mushy food out of the jar. “We call them safe houses, and they’renumerous.”
“And every one is set upthesame?”
“Why doyouask?”
“Justcurious.”
“No, they’re not.” Her brisk tone indicated she wouldn’t discuss it anyfurther.
Lifting a candle holder away from the others on the counter, the small flame flickered as I walked over to stand in the doorway of the living room. We’d searched this entire place to make sure it was safe before settling in for the night. However, as I stared into the small room, I realized something was off in this house. It wasn’t menacing and there was nothing here that could attack us, yet something waswrong.
I gazed at the bare, dingy walls and dust-coated furniture as I tried to figure out what was different about this house. Now that I pondered it, I realized there had been something unusual about theupstairstoo.
Then, my gaze settled on a darker spot of paint on the wall and it hit me. “Where are all thepictures?”
All the homes I’d been in before, including the abandoned ones, always had some photos left behind. Humans were oddly obsessed with documenting their time here as it progressed toward theinevitableend.
“Probably stashed somewhere,” shereplied.
“Did the owners of this house putthemaway?”
“Doubtful.”
“Thenwhodid?”
“Why does it matter?” shedemanded.
I glanced over my shoulder at her. Resentment had tinted her words, but the look on her face was defensive. Her knuckles turned white on the jar as she held it between hercrossedlegs.
“It doesn’t,” Ireplied.
“Good.” She returned to scooping food out of the jar, but the hunched-over position of her shoulders made it seem as if she were waiting forablow.
I turned my attention back to the bare walls. There was nothing personal in this house; unless I included the furniture, which I didn’t. Where had it all gone andwhyhaditgone?
“Whoever established this safe house probably removed the pictures,” she said after a few minutes passed. “If not them, then someone else who stayed here put them away, along with any otherthings.”
I didn’t look at her or ask why; she would stop talking if I did. I suspected the other things were any personal items the original occupants had left behind when they fled their home or werekilled.
“It’s easier that way,” shemuttered.
Easier not to see the reminders of the people who had lived here and the lives they’d led. Lives similar to the ones the Wilders had once led, Irealized.
“I see,” I said when she stoppedspeaking.
“I’m glad you do because I don’t. Not anymore.” She set the empty jar next to thefirstone.
“What do you mean?” I waited for the wall to slam down and Wren to stop speaking with me, but shecontinued.
