Jake pulled to a stop a couple houses down from where Kevin’s baby blue Toyota Celica was parked. Like Annie had said, it was held together just by dreams, duct-tape, and rust.

“Looks like the place.”

“Think so?”

He looked around. “Yeah, this is where she described. The bad part of town.”

I nodded, peering out the window at the falling down clapboard buildings that looked like they’d been around since the 30s or 40s. “Can’t believe these kinds of places are still here.”

“Not for much longer,” he said. “The way property values are going up, all of these folks will sell their places off eventually. That or they’ll die and their kids will do the job for them.”

“Cheery, Jake.”

“I try.”

He leaned over, almost into my lap. At first I almost pushed back, but then I realized I wasn’t really put off too much by the closeness. “What are you doing?” I asked as he opened the glove box.

“Going in prepared.” He took out a holstered handgun and straightened back up in his seat, sticking it on his belt.

A fucking gun? Was this guy really that dangerous? “Holy shit, Jake!”

“What? I’m licensed. Never seen a pistol or something?”

“No, it’s not that. I just didn’t know it was in there.”

“Would it have made you feel better if it was a rifle on a rack in my pickup’s back window?”

I thought of all the trucks back home, all the guys in high school who had that exact setup. I shook my head. No, it really wouldn’t have made me feel better. They always seemed like the shoot first, ask questions second kind of guys. And, thank God, Jake didn’t strike me as that way. Sure, he was rough and tough, even for a guy from LA. But he seemed like he had a soft spot, too.

“Exactly.”

We both got out of the pickup and headed up the street, a cold wind blowing in from the north. I guess the ploughs didn’t come to this part of town, and there wasn’t enough traffic to melt the ice into slush. Jake and I had to be careful as we made our way over the snow, since the sun was starting to turn the whole thing into a crusted slick.

Kevin’s car was parked on the right side of the road, right in front of the garage Annie had told us he was living above. In front of it stood an old, pink clapboard, the paints peeling off in giant flakes from the rotting siding.

We stopped beside the Celica, and Jake brushed some accumulated snow off the driver’s side window to peer inside. It looked even worse up close, where you could see the mottling of the top two layers of paint. He seemed to sniff the air.

“Anything?” I asked, bouncing from one foot to the other. I was getting antsy, nervous. I hadn’t seen Eve in months. If she was here, I wasn’t sure what I’d do or how I’d react.

He pulled back from the window. “Doesn’t look like it’s been driven in a while. You smell that, though?”

I frowned and shook my head no. “Makes sense. Hasn’t been into work in a week, right?”

“Right.” He looked up to the old clapboard house, to the once-white picket fence surrounding the snow-bound backyard. There were so many slats missing now, though, that it really wasn’t much of a fence, only a bare-bones dividing line. In front of Kevin’s car was a small gate that led to the back. And beyond that gate was a slab of cracked sidewalk, shoveled and salted, that led to an old set of wooden stairs rising up to the second floor.

“Ready?” I asked.

Jake nodded.

As antsy as I was, this neighborhood gave me the freaking willies. I don’t know what it was, but the back of my neck was itching like crazy from the imaginary eyes on me.

“Come on,” Jake said, leading the way up to the fence. “I don’t think Kevin’s just going to show the answers down at us.”

The gate opened with a horrible creaking noise, something I imagined the front door of an old haunted house to sound like, and we headed up the little walkway to the stairs. The stairs were only fastened to the garage in one spot, and they rocked uncomfortably from side-to-side with each of our steps. We got up to the landing and Jake knocked loudly on the front door.

No answer.

Jake leaned close to the door. “Kevin?” he asked, nearly shouting. The sound was muffled and barely echoed because of the snow. “Kevin?” he called again, knocking loudly.

No answer.

Uncertain of this, my stomach knotting with nerves, I looked around the backyard and at the house the garage belonged to. Old drapes hung across the window, rotten and moth-eaten. A few busted out window panes on the second floor of the building had been repaired with just cardboard.

I shivered in spite of my warm jacket and multiple layers, and subconsciously leaned into Jake, partly for warmth and partly for protection.

“You okay?” he asked in concern, putting an arm around my shoulder.

I nodded. “Yeah. This place is just fucking creepy.”

“Yep. Looks and smells like a tweaker pad to me.”

“Shit. Are you serious? I thought that kind of crap was going away.”

“Cartels are still bringing it up. Keep a look out.”

“A look out for what?”

He just looked at me, but didn’t say a word.

I knew instantly what he was going to do. It was like we’d already gotten to that phase where we didn’t even have to speak anymore, like one of those old couples. Or my parents. Ugh.

“Goddammit, Jake.” I turned around and peered anxiously at the surroundings of the house.

“Anything?”

“I think you’re good.”

He slammed his shoulder into the door once, then twice. Finally, on the third try, the frame broke and the door went flying open.

The smell. The smell was what hit me first. Like rotten fruit and meat mixed together in one of those Nutri-Bullets. But worse. So much worse. I gagged a little but was able to keep down the contents of my stomach.

Jake, though, clearly didn’t have as strong of a stomach as me. He turned and gagged, puking his breakfast from that morning over the rickety railing.

I patted his back gingerly, rubbing it a little until he waved me off. “You okay?” I asked, trying not to cringe.

“I’m fine,” he sputtered, wiping a sleeve across his mouth. “I’m fine.”

The smell hit me again as I turned back to the little apartment. Then, realization set in. That smell? That smell could be a corpse. It could be Kevin. No one had heard from him in almost a week, and no one had come by to check on him, either.

Or—I could barely think of the alternative. Or that smell could be Eve.