Trespasser (Part XVIII)

His house never seemed so far away as it did from Andy’s front porch.  His hands were on his lower back, pushing inward as he stretched out the kinks.  A few years ago, he might not have felt the effects of such a short trip so acutely, but his age had given him an incurable ache in his bones.

Of course, he had gone to all of the doctors.  Visits began with Dr. Callehan, whom he had seen for most of his adult life.  After many attempts to diagnose the problem, and after he had tried countless medicines and remedies, he had finally been sent to see the specialists.  Not that this had done any good, for these so-called “specialists” had no more answers than those before them!

He had tried to work through the pain for the better part of a year, but it wasn’t long before he’d found his limit.  He retired early, with full benefits, and has since worked hard to make the best of his golden years.

He could never claim to be even half the man Sammy D. had been, but there was a part of him that demanded he carry on his memory any way he could. Mostly, he just watched.  He was responsible for the remnants of the neighborhood patrol.  It had been his idea to form a small weekly group, to get together and discuss the goings on in their community after Sammy had passed.  Their meetings, however, consisted of talk about the latest game, of the news, or of their jobs.

Davie sighed, disappointed at how much change had come over the years.  Things just weren’t the same.  There was a time when he feared for his life, for the lives of his family, from the ignorance and hate of those who hid behind masks.  In those days, they wore their masks for everyone to see.  They were tougher times, but at least you knew your enemy by the colors they wore.

He ran his fingers idly over the small figurine in his pocket and smiled.

“So much easier in my day,” he said to no one in particular.

He gave one final glance over the houses down the street before turning his attention to the front door.  It’s not that he was worried about anyone seeing him on their neighbor’s property, but more of a nostalgic trip down memory lane. So many houses looked the same as they had thirty years ago, untouched by the ravages of time.

All but one.

He turned and regarded the door once more.  It was the same door that he had helped the previous owner install a few years ago.  How long it had been eluded him, for the door had stood agelessly, barring him from the answers he had come to find.

It was a door meant to keep people out.  Built by the finest craftsmen, reinforced with lag bolts, and equipped with the best locks the bank could buy.  There weren’t very many people who had the skills or knowledge to bypass the kind of security that had been installed into this door, but then, none of that mattered to the one who held the key.

Davie reached up above the door frame, slowly running his fingers across the smooth wood until they bumped into something cold and metallic, just as he had known they would.

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