Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

“Never forget to say goodbye, Doctor!”

Dennis sighed again as he opened the door. “Goodbye, Draadtrekker,” he said, and then quickly exited. The feeling of the man’s enigmatic grin at his back followed Dennis all the way to his car.

Chapter Four

Directions, or the following of them, had never been Dennis’ strong point, particularly when it came to locating places he had never visited. To make matters worse, he was becoming increasingly convinced that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, despite the name of the street being the same as the one scrawled on the napkin. After all the time he had spent navigating San Francisco, he thought, finding his way through the suburbs to the north should have been a literal walk in the park. He squinted through the windshield, trying to make out the numbers displayed on the front of the houses he passed. If they were to be believed, then he was going in the right direction, although a nagging doubt was still present in his mind.

The neighborhood, although traversed by one of the more narrow roads Dennis had encountered, was far more upscale than any of the areas he had previously visited while masquerading as a paranormal investigator. Stone columns and well-kept gardens dotted the scenery, and the presence of tall, verdant evergreens gave the area a feeling of calm but active luxury. Black iron lampposts stood guard along the sidewalk, each of them still dormant in the fading light. It looked, Dennis thought, like a scene from an inspirational holiday movie, albeit without the snow.

Although he was driving slowly, Dennis slammed on his brakes as he nearly passed the house he was searching for on the opposite side of the street. The car bucked in protest as his foot slipped from the clutch, and the engine died with a pained cough. Dennis closed his eyes and turned the key again, restarting the car with a resounding roar that would have made even the most steadfast of rabbits consider looking up. He drove forward to the next block before parking, and took a moment to examine his destination in the rearview mirror.

The house was definitely one of the more lavish in the area, even when compared to some of the mansion-like places Dennis had passed earlier. A stone walkway led up from the street and ended at a set of low-rise steps, flanked on either side by thick marble banisters. The covered porch was furnished with an ornate swing seat, and even from his vantage point in the car, Dennis could tell that it had been painted expertly to match the rest of the house’s white color scheme. The feeling that he was looking at a film set remained, only now he was convinced that it was taken from one of those horror shows that always seemed to afflict opulent neighborhoods.

After making sure that his cell phone was securely locked in the glove compartment, Dennis left his car and began a slow walk towards the house. He absent-mindedly removed his pipe from a pocket, and began filling it from a foil pouch with a practiced motion. There was something odd about this place, Dennis decided, although he would be damned if he could figure out what it was. It was clean, well-kempt, and very obviously the home of someone successful, or at least possessing respectable sums of money. Perhaps it was the symmetry of the place, or the way the windows seemed more suited for looking out of than letting light in. The translucent white curtains were far from a mark of something sinister, but Dennis nonetheless felt like he was being watched.

A trail of smoke followed him as he walked past the house once. There were spreads of winter flowers growing along the side of the path, no doubt maintained by a well-paid gardener. Even the mailbox, which was again white and emblazoned with gold numbering, appeared to have been recently polished. Dennis realized that he was stalling, and reluctantly tapped out his pipe, leaving a pile of ashes and dry tobacco on the otherwise spotless sidewalk. He scuffed his shoe at the blemish. There should at least be some dry leaves on the ground or something, he thought. Anything to make this place less perfect.

He spied the gold knocker on the door before he had even reached the steps, and recalled being told to use it when he arrived. He squared his shoulders and took a breath, then reached forward and grasped the smooth metal. It let out a series of dull thumps as he tapped it, and there was a wholly dissatisfying thud as it fell back into place. Still, it seemed to have achieved its intended purpose, as the door swung open to reveal a small, thin woman with short white hair and piercing hazel eyes.

“Doctor September?” the woman asked. Dennis recognized her voice from the phone conversation. She was much more petite than he had expected, but the firmness of her tone was matched by her posture. Dennis bowed his head with what he hoped was a humble expression on his face.

“Yes, I am Doctor Darvyn Luciano September. You may call me what you wish. Ms. Palin, I presume?” he asked. She nodded, but continued to look up at him as though she were appraising a suspiciously-priced piece of fruit.

“Hm,” she murmured, apparently in response to some inner thought. Elspeth Palin, Dennis decided, was a no-nonsense sort of woman, and he wondered if it might have been a better idea to simply have told her that he was already committed to another job. It would have saved him from feeling like he was talking to the principal of his old elementary school, anyway.

“Well,” Elspeth said finally, “I suppose you should come in and see her.” She moved to allow Dennis through. Behind her was a large foyer, furnished in the way one might expect a hotel lobby to be.

“In a moment, yes,” Dennis replied, stepping through the door.