I made my way around to the back of the house with my gun out. I was willing to bet the place had a basement and that was where the action would be. I found a back door, scanned the glass for alarm tape, and then picked the lock with a phone card. It opened easily.

I stood silently in the open doorway, waiting to hear if there was a dog in the house. Nothing lunged and ripped my throat out so I moved in, sliding the door closed behind me. I was in the kitchen and not less than six feet from me, there was a door with light coming from under it.

I edged quietly over to it and pressed my ear to the wood. There were voices. Two of them and they were having one hell of an argument.

“. . . you have to be patient. Memory is tricky. It’s going to take a while!”

“I’m not paying you to be patient. I want results and I want them now!”

It was worse and weirder than I thought. I had to make a move. I only hoped they weren’t armed. I began to reach for the doorknob when I heard the sound of feet on the stairs. Someone was coming.

I moved as fast as I could into the house, glanced around, and saw stairs. I tiptoed up as fast as I could without making a sound and stood, listening.

Someone opened the basement door. I couldn’t tell where they were or what they were doing. Then I saw someone appear at the bottom of the stairs.

And he saw me.

Shit, shit, shit.

It was a balding man. He looked stunned, and when he saw my gun he went from stunned to shaking.

I pointed it at him. “Don’t move! Police!” I yelled.

But he didn’t listen. They never do. He bolted off back toward the basement. I had a clear shot at him for a good couple seconds, but curiosity wouldn’t let me pull the trigger.

“Bennington!” he yelled.

I fucked up. I looked around. There was a dim light coming from beneath a door down the hall. I ran toward it and went in, slamming the door shut behind me. I heard feet, four of them, running up the basement stairs. They were rushing, confident, which meant they were armed. This was not what I planned. After a lifetime of fighting monsters I was going to get shot by My Two Dads. Fuck!

I looked around the room I was in. It was a girl’s room. I say this not because it was pink or anything like that. It was clean. Boys’ rooms are never clean, and this room was pristine. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

Then I saw the half-empty glass of milk. I wasn’t alone in the room.