Free Denouement by E. H. Reinhard

another two fruitless hours going over the next person’s records and realized I couldn’t do any more. My eyes were on fire. The remaining records would have to wait until morning.
    I slid back from my desk, walked to the couch, and plugged in my cell phone nearby to charge. I debated checking in with Faust for an update but resisted the urge. If he had anything new, he would have called as he said he would. I closed my eyes, fluffed the old couch pillow behind my head, and searched for sleep.

Chapter 11
    Ray walked across the grass toward the Westchase home. Large oak trees broke up the football-field-sized lawn at the front. Ray looked left and right, noting that the agent had a few acres of property. The landscaping lights from the closest neighbors’ house were half a block away. The neighbor’s house itself was dark. The time of night and distance ensured they wouldn’t hear Ray’s gunshots.
    He approached the front of Faust’s house, which didn’t fit in with the standard Florida architecture of a cinderblock square covered in stucco. Faust’s house was a big colonial-styled two story. Ray entered the front-porch area. Ceiling fans spun in the darkness over Ray’s head, creating a breeze. He examined the front door, which appeared to be some kind of solid hardwood with a deadbolt—no window. Ray didn’t have a lock-picking kit with him and figured entry through the thick front door would wake the agent. He caught a glance inside as he passed the benches on the front porch. The house was dark. Ray made a left toward the back of the house in search of an easier point of entry.
    A screened-in lanai attached to the house covered a lap pool at the back. Ray found the door, thumbed the button on the handle, and entered. He looked past the pool and patio set toward the sliding doors and windows. Again, he saw no lights on inside the home. Ray went to the sliding doors. A doormat lay just in front of the one on the right. He reached out and tried to slide the door, but it didn’t budge—locked. Ray pressed his palms against the glass, lifted the door off its lock, and slid it to the side. He smirked.
    Ray stepped into the house and reached into his jacket for the Desert Eagle in his shoulder holster. He slid the gun out and then fished his other hand through his pocket for the small LED flashlight he’d brought. He pulled it out and clicked the button to illuminate the room.
    Ray stood in what appeared to be a dining room. A small table and four chairs stood before him. He aimed the beam of light to the left. A large stainless refrigerator was directly at his shoulder. Beyond the refrigerator, the flashlight shone off of a long granite-topped kitchen island holding a range top. Ray swept the beam of light from left to right. A large arched walkway led from the kitchen out to a living room, and directly before him was a hall leading to the front door of the house—a stairway leading up was just to the front door’s right. He started down the hall, letting the light from the flashlight guide his way.
    Ray made a right at the front door and started up the stairs. He kept the light pointed down and the gun pointed up. Ray neared the top of the steps and flashed the light up against the wall beyond the top stair. The hallway appeared to only turn right. A closed door sat to the left of the stairs. Ray flicked off the light.
    He stepped up the top stair and turned. Before Ray could react, the gun was ripped from his hand, and he took a blow to the face. Ray stumbled back into the wall with the closed door. He felt another blow to his right ear—hard. That had to have been a kick. Ray took two steps right to catch his balance. Then he took a third, but his foot didn’t find floor. He caught the second stair down and reached out for the stairwell’s handrail. He caught it just before he fell backward down the steps. A blow to his chest ripped his grip away from the handrail. Ray felt weightless, flying back through