Free Dark Recollections by Chris Philbrook Page B

traffic here, just trees and darkness, as the sun had fully set by now. Now before I go any further I should mention my buddy John was a bit of a gun-nut. That’s being fairly mild. He was ex-Army, just like me, (I did 4 years, he did 8) but he came from a long and storied lineage of deer hunters. He spent far more money getting his hunting rifles geared up than he did on his cars. Funny that he drove a $900 pickup truck with a $3,000 hunting rifle in the back window. Only in America I guess. Good times. Classy fella though, he just really enjoyed firearms and spending time in the woods with them.
    I turned left super slow into their driveway and came to a stop about 15 feet from their garage door. Lights were on in the living room, but I didn’t see anyone. John’s truck wasn’t visible, and Dorothy’s little beater car was nowhere to be seen either.   I let myself out of the car and made sure I had the Sig and the spare clip on me. No sword though, shit was crazy enough without me marching into their place with it. I knocked on the door they used as the front, which was on the breezeway that attached the garage to the house. More of a mudroom really than a breezeway.  
    I waited a full minute while looking into the window next to me. It looked into their living room, and with the light on inside I could see everything. No one came to the door, so I tried the knob, and it was unlocked. Remember earlier how I said to trust your nose? As soon as I opened the door I got a whiff of something awful, something bloody and dead or dying. I drew the pistol out of instinct, and walked slowly into the mudroom. Stretching across the floor from the back door opposite my door to the interior door heading into the house was a crimson streak of blood. It wasn’t a huge swath of blood, but it came from a serious bleeding injury. A bit of dread hit me, I can remember it clearly. I hoped it wasn’t either John or Dorothy, or especially their 4 year old Danielle. Shit if that kid died I think I would go loony on the spot.  
    The door heading inside was ajar, and I used the muzzle of the pistol to push it open fully. The streak of blood continued through the living room, past the central fireplace, and down the hall. It looked like it ended right at the bathroom door halfway down their hallway. I decided then and there to clear the house as normal. I went room to room carefully, cautiously, using standard room clearing military procedure. Living room and kitchen were both clear, both closets were empty, but when I cleared the bathroom I saw where the blood was coming from. Before I went in to examine more fully I cleared the bathroom at the end of the hall and crept upstairs to clear the other two bedrooms. The house was totally empty. I noticed in both of the bedrooms where they slept the bureau drawers were pulled out and gone through. Clothes were also missing from the closets.  
    I returned to the bathroom and the source of the blood. In the tub, dead as a doornail, was their family dog Dwayne. John loved Dwayne Wade and named his dog after him. I can’t fault him, Dwayne (the dog, not the basketball player) was his homeboy just like Otis was mine. Can’t be hatin.
    Honestly I was relieved. I had started to think the streak came from their kid Danielle and when I knew it wasn’t, I was so relieved. I did however remember that John kept his gun safe downstairs. I flicked the lights on, and went down to clear the basement. Everything was kosher though, and I found the safe door open. All the guns were gone. However, he did leave behind two packages of gun kit cloth, which is disposable stuff, and I knew I would eventually need more, and he also left behind two full boxes of 12 gauge double ought. That was 20 more shotgun shells for me. Huzzah.
    I checked the basement for anything I could take, and found little. There were some tools, which I already could get, and some cleaning supplies, but those would be in major motherfucking