Free Scarred Asphalt by Blue Remy

wanted the
best there.
    “We can charge ten bucks a plate, dollar for cokes and
water.” Mace chimed in.
    “That’s great. I got Zacky on donations and social media,”
Romeo added. “This kid could sell Eskimos ice in Alaska, he’s that damn good.”
    Pushing out of the dust infested couch, speckles of dirt
wafted behind him, making him shiver in repulsion. “Sounds good. I’m going to
sign off and do some cleaning here.”
    If he didn’t, he might never make it out alive. He’d die of
a sinus infection for sure. Or get the electric chair for killing Thorne over
her lack of house cleaning skills.
     
     

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    It took all of twenty minutes for him to dust the living
room, throw open the curtains and make it look like the beautiful beach home
was alive. It was a waste of space and money to keep a home like she had closed
off from the amazing view she had of the ocean.
    Open her sliding glass door and BAM! There you were, right
on the damn beach. And he didn’t mind if he did. The doors were open with
screens closed, and fresh salty air was filling the home, pushing out the dank
musty smell that had settled in.
    He swept and mopped the hardwood floors to a shine, washed
then laid back down the area rugs, smacked the shit out of the couches and
chairs to get rid of the rest of the dust, and lastly, sprayed a bottle of odor
killer on any and every possible available surface.
    Stone Temple Pilots blared from the speakers as he stared at
the blank space above the fireplace, curious about what might have hung there
in the past. It might have been a picture of Maggie, for all he knew. Thorne
was closed mouthed about her sister’s death, and she had every right to be, but
that was no reason to take down a picture of her and get rid of her memory.
Apollo was just glad that she did not know the real truth about her death. He’d
hate to be at the end of that beat down.
    He paused at the garage door on his way back to his room.
There were no mirrors in the home except for in his bathroom and the gym. He
wasn’t so sure that he wanted to go into the gym room every morning to see how
he looked, or if his shirt fit right. There were tabs on the closet door,
indicating that a mirror had once hung there, and he was going to go find it.
    His palm pushed open the door to the garage, and with a
quick flip of the light switch, the tinkling buzz of the fluorescent lights was
a welcomed hum. As he glanced around, he released a low whistle in surprise.
Every fucking mirror was in the garage. A few were shattered, but most were in
mint condition.
    Moving deeper into the dank room, Apollo couldn’t help but
be in awe at the pictures of her family that she tossed aside like used goods.
It looked as if some dated back into the 1700s. He nearly tripped over a box
that was in the walkway.
    Apollo glanced down toward the object with a shake of his
head, then raised a single brow as he knelt down to closer inspect the contents
of the box. “What the hell?” He reached into the cardboard home for odd and
ends and lifted out an ornate box of gold, his thumb tracing the intricate rose
and its leaves, studying it intently.
    Then he shrugged and reached out for a mirror that he
assumed was the one from his room. Mirror and trinket box in hand, he headed
back to his room.
    He set the gold box to his dresser and swung up the mirror
to his closet door. After maneuvering the tabs to hold the reflective glass, he
stood back with his hands on his hips. “Perfect.”
    He scooped up the box once more and wandered to his bed to
sit on the edge. Hands turned the box over and around while he looked it over.
Apollo could tell that it was old and had been in the box for a while by the dust
that had been over it when he picked it up. The gold was tarnished from age
giving it a bronze appeal, indicating that is could possibly be an heirloom of
some sort.
    The sides were covered in a filigree ivy design; the edges
were smooth with no metal