To the left was a narrow, sparsely equipped kitchen. Off to the right was a small sitting area, maybe two hundred square feet. A few vinyl sofas, a coffee table that had to be thirty years old, a tacky-looking grandfather clock, and a wood fireplace were the main features in an otherwise blandly decorated room.
Overhead, the floor squeaked ever so slightly. Someone is home, Sean thought, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, he needed to talk to Wolfz. On the other, going into someone's house with a loaded weapon was hardly a way to greet someone. If there was an intruder, however, that would be a problem.
Sean decided to risk the latter and let the old man know he was there.
"Herr Wolfz?" he shouted up the stairs, assuming that's where the man was since no one appeared to be on the ground level. "Are you home?"
Silence was the only answer he received. He waited a few more seconds, listening to the grandfather clock tick tock against the wall in the living room.
Sean breathed as low as possible for a moment, not wanting to miss any sounds. Then he spoke up again, this time in Spanish. "Mr. Wolfz? My name is Sean Wyatt. I just wanted to talk with you for a minute if that's okay."
He waited again for a few more seconds. There was no response. Things were starting to get sketchy in Sean's mind. The door had been left open, signaling that someone, if not the owner, was in the building. He readied the weapon and moved over to the staircase that ascended to the second floor.
A quick look up revealed no answers, so he put one wary foot in front of the other as he went up the staircase. At the top, a light wooden banister ran along the floor, halting against the hallway wall. A few feet away, at the end of the corridor on his right, was a small bathroom, the door of which hung halfway open. A small window above the sink let in sunlight, though blunted by the blurry glass to keep wandering eyes from getting a peek.
Another door was open in the middle of the hallway. From his position at the top of the steps, Sean could see it was an office, with a small antique desk propped against the wall. He crept around the corner, keeping his back against the wall as he inched his way to the bathroom to make sure it was clear before proceeding any farther. He peered around the open door and found a white bathtub, but no one was in there.
Next, he stepped out of the bathroom and moved down the hall, padding as softly as possible on the balls of his feet as he moved. He turned rapidly, pointing his weapon into the office, back down the hallway ahead, and then again into the workroom. It too was empty, save for a few green plants and a computer that looked fifteen years old, at best.
He kept going until he reached the last door, which was almost closed. Cautiously, Sean nudged it open and let it swing on its own momentum. It was the master bedroom. The four-post Victorian bed hadn't been made, the pillows and blankets ruffled. Another door on the other side of the bed led into another bathroom. From his vantage point, it looked to be larger than the one at the end of the hall.
For a second, Sean wondered at the size of the place. It was a lot of home for one man. On top of that, Wolfz was getting older, and typically, people in their twilight years opted for one-story housing for the ease of use. It seemed the old German didn't care too much for what people thought was the norm.
As his eyes scanned the room, Sean noticed something sticking out from behind the foot of the bed. He took a step in that direction and saw it was the bottom of a shoe. He moved closer and realized the shoe was attached to a foot, and the foot was attached to the bleeding body of a gray-haired man.
14
Sean's senses spiked again, alert to the immediate danger lurking in the shadows. He kept his weapon steady, level, ready for action at a moment's notice. Sean didn't like to assume things, but he assumed the dead man on the floor had to be Wolfz, which meant someone got here before he did. A blizzard of troubling thoughts pulsed through his mind in an instant. He leaned over and pressed two fingers to the man's carotid artery. No pulse. He rose back up, still on full alert, and glanced back through the open door.
How did they know about Wolfz? How did they know where to look? Why did they kill him? And who did it?
An overhead floorboard creaked through the deathly silence. He would have his answers soon enough.
Sean put both hands on his weapon and tiptoed back into the hallway and across to a second flight of stairs. He whipped the gun around and up toward the top, ready to fire on anyone above. The upstairs area was much darker. He went up one step, and then another, putting his feet on the edges of the stairs to make less noise. It was something he'd learned as a child when sneaking around his parents' house on weekend nights after missing curfew. He always got caught because his mother and father would be waiting for him just inside the kitchen at the top of the stairs. His guilt, however, was never belied by a lack of stealth. The parents simply always knew, as parents do.
Halfway up the steps, he checked the area just beyond the banister, but no one was there. He continued the ascent, warily taking a few seconds with each step. The last thing he needed was to rush into an ambush. When he made it to the third floor landing, his eyes took in the bizarre scene.
The room opened up into a giant square, very different from the floor directly below. A few narrow windows let light in from the back of the building while a few larger ones illuminated the far side. Heavy, gray curtains hanging on either side tempered the light from both.
That explains why it's so dark up here, Sean thought.
Foreboding shadows loomed in every corner of the large area. He stood at the top of the stairs for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust. When they brought more of the room into view, what Sean saw was like something out of a strange movie.
Nazi flags hung limp from poles against one wall where a glass display case contained several items. Sean couldn't make out what was in the cases from his vantage point, but he assumed some kind of nostalgic war crap.
Several portraits of Nazi leaders hung on the wall between the two windows; the middle one was of Adolf Hitler with his arm around a man Sean didn't recognize. It was like walking into a miniature Nazi museum.
He stepped farther into the room, still unable to see into the farthest corner, bathed in shadow. Light seemed almost afraid to reach into every piece of the strange area.
Sean found a light switch at the nearest corner and, while keeping one hand free with the gun, reached over and felt his way to turning on the overhead lights embedded in the ceiling.
A yellowish glow instantly brightened the room. Now he could see the medals in the glass case, along with several other items. The corner that had been so dark had retreated into the glow of the incandescent bulbs. A resounding fact knocked on the back of Sean's mind. No one is here.
He scanned the room a few more seconds and was about to head back down the stairs when something clinked from a closet door on the far wall. Sean's reaction was immediate, and he put his gun back out in front of his body.
His first thought was to tell whoever was in there to come out with their hands up. More likely, they would come out with guns blazing, which could be problematic since there was no cover to be had where he was standing. He thought fast, and decided to feign a withdrawal back down the stairs in the hope of flushing out the killer and drawing them into the open, hopefully unsuspectingly.