What building was this?  The bakery was next to the florist.  Then that little pet grooming shop, Sheltie’s.  Was that where he was?  Or was this the next one over?  He couldn’t quite recall how Main Street was laid out.  He didn’t frequent the shops here that often.  Many of them he’d never set foot in.  He didn’t have reason to.  He didn’t own a pet, for instance.

From this perspective, the building appeared to be deserted, except for the footprints in the dust.  Those were fresh.  Someone had been using these steps very recently.  And frequently.  A great many footprints had merged into a path up the middle.

At the top was another door, this one unbroken and properly latched.  He paused here and listened.  Everything was quiet.  He reached for the knob, but stopped himself.  He had no idea what was on the other side of this door.  Most of these old Main Street shops had apartments over them.  What if this was someone’s home?  He couldn’t simply start rattling the knob, trying to break in.  Best case scenario, someone would call the police.  Worst case scenario, he’d find himself answering to a big, angry property owner with a big, angry gun aimed at his face.

Again.

No, the stealthy approach was simply a bad idea.  This was Aiden, not Hannibal Lecter.  He closed his open hand, took a calming breath and rapped his knuckles firmly against the door.

No one answered.  He wasn’t surprised.  Aiden hadn’t looked overly happy to see him, after all.

He knocked again.  “Aiden?”

Not a sound.

“Is that you, Aiden?  It’s Eric Fortrell.  Do you remember me?”

Still nothing.

Eric tried the knob.  The door was unlocked.  It creaked open, an eerie sound in the silence.  “Hello?  Anybody home?”

A narrow hallway stood before him.  Shadowy, dusty, with cobwebs in every corner.  A kitchen was to his right, a cramped bathroom to his left.  He could see a table in the dining room ahead of him.  An apartment, just as he’d predicted.  But it looked as decrepit and poorly kept as the stairs that brought him here.  The paint was faded, peeling.  There was water damage on the ceiling tiles over the sink.  There was no furniture except an old gas stove and dated refrigerator.  It was hot and stuffy.  And it smelled bad, like overflowing trash cans and dirty public restrooms.

Aiden was nowhere to be seen.

Eric felt his stomach sink a little as he recalled a similar deserted home, a farm house with the same kind of empty rooms.  Like this time, he’d even followed someone right through the door, someone who vanished before he could catch up.

He could even remember a similar, narrow hallway.  A bathroom.  A bedroom.  An old wardrobe…

Eric shuddered at the memory.

He forced himself to relax.  This was different.  That place was far away, unfamiliar, threatening.  This was Creek Bend, Wisconsin.  His hometown.

And this place was far from deserted.  Someone had been here.  It was a mess.

“Hello?” he called again.  “Aiden?  Is that you?”

Still cradling the daisies in his arms, Eric stepped into the apartment and looked around.  Garbage was strewn across the kitchen counter tops and now that he was inside, he could hear the buzzing of flies.  Standing there with the daisies in his arms, he felt a strong urge to turn and flee back down the steps.

“Please, God,” he muttered under his breath, “don’t let there be any dead bodies in here…”

On the counter, next to the sink, surrounded by crumpled soda cans, warm bottles of Aquafina water, snack food wrappers and empty tequila bottles sat the paper bag Aiden had been carrying when he entered the alley.  Eric walked over and peered inside.  It was filled with junk food.  Snack cakes, mini-donuts, pretzels, some cereal bars…  He was reminded of long nights cramming for exams in college.  The only things missing were the Hot Pockets and microwave burritos.

Clearly, this was where Aiden went after he vanished from the alley.  But where was he now?

Eric left the kitchen without searching it.  It was obvious that no one was here.  And he had no desire to check the fridge for human heads.  He returned to the hallway instead.

The bathroom reeked.  It smelled as if no one had ever flushed the toilet.  Covering his mouth and nose against the stench, he leaned through the door and looked around.  There was no shower curtain and a sizeable pile of dirty clothes lay in the bottom of the bathtub.  A large package of toilet paper stood open and half-empty on the floor within reach of the toilet.  Beside this was an empty five-gallon bucket.  A toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, deodorant and a comb lay scattered on the counter around the sink basin along with several empty bottles of water and one half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

He reached out and twisted the knob on the sink, but no water came out.  Clearly, the bottles of water were for brushing teeth while the bucket served to manually flush the toilet.  But only occasionally, by the smell of it.

The rum, Eric could only speculate, was the all-in-one medicine cabinet, good for whatever ailed.

In need of fresher air, Eric withdrew from the smelly bathroom and moved on.

Next door was a small bedroom.  A pile of old blankets were arranged into a makeshift bed surrounded by flashlights, empty soda cans, more water bottles and even more empty liquor bottles.  There were junk food wrappers, fast food bags, napkins and other trash, as well as more dirty laundry.

His eyes washed over these clothes, examining them.  Pants and shirts, socks, briefs…  No women’s clothing.

Eric eyed the bed nervously.  A tightly rolled blanket lay in the corner, a makeshift pillow.  Aiden wasn’t merely spending time here…he seemed to be living here.  And had been for a while.  It must have taken at least a few weeks to make this much of a mess, perhaps months.

But how could he have been here this long without attracting attention?  The whole county knew about Aiden Chadwick.  His disappearance was the stuff of urban legends.

Now he was beginning to look a little more Hannibal Lecter-y.

Turning his back to the bedroom, Eric glanced back the way he’d come, half-convinced that someone was sneaking up behind him.  But the apartment remained empty and silent.

He had a bad feeling about this place.  More and more, he was sure that what he found here was going to ruin his day.

He walked to the end of the hallway and stepped into the combination living and dining room.  Here, the walls were decorated with maps and photos of Creek Bend and the surrounding areas.  In the middle of the room stood the cheap folding table that Eric had seen from the doorway.  A large map of the city was taped to it.  Several locations were circled in black Sharpie marker, each with a straight line drawn from it to the edge of the map, seemingly at random.  In the center of one of the circles, a screw had been driven into the table.  Two lengths of bright green string ran from this screw to two more screws driven into the walls on two sides of the room, where strange, spiraling arrangements of numbers had been drawn onto the faded wallpaper.  Strewn across the table on top of the map were a wooden ruler, a compass, several markers and an old Polaroid camera.

There were more maps lying in an untidy pile on the floor under the table.

What the hell was this?

That bad feeling grew even stronger.  Carefully, he placed the daisies on top of the map between the camera and the compass and reached for his cell phone.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked as he pulled it from his pocket.

The phone rang obediently in his hand.  He answered it and lifted it to his ear without glancing at the screen.

“I am.”

“It’s weird, right?  I mean it’s not just me?”

“Definitely not just you.”

“Like I should be concerned about how weird this is.”