Two blinding beams of light bounced up a gravel drive, lighting a small yard of trimmed grass. The yellow light crept up the lawn before illuminating the face of a tall white house.
The headlights stopped and through the stirring dust sat a darkly dressed man sitting on the porch. The lights caught his pupils and they reflected green.
He took a long slow drag of his vanilla cigarette before snuffing it out on the porch. He stood up and adjusted his jacket, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. The truck lights caught the ring in his nose as they shut off, allowing the night to engulf him.
The driver's side door swung open and a pair of gray suede boots stepped out. The gravel crunched under his weight then the door slammed shut. He gave the brooding man an empty smile as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
"Called your mother about the front land." Tom, getting his first look at his new home, looked up at the traditional looking building and smiled. He slid his keys into his pocket.
All of the windows had decorative shutters and the front porch was one long slab of cement with two separate doors. Both were dark wood. In between the two doors was a porch light trapped inside a modern looking iron lantern.
"She answered?" Andy, pulling out another cigarette, leaned against the warm hood of the truck with a smirk. His lighter sparked to life and he glanced at the cardboard box Tom had tucked under his left arm.
"She picked up after I mentioned the money." He recalled. Andy scoffed and nodded.
"Of course she did." Andy blew the smoke out and tried to push any thoughts of his mother aside. He clutched his black cigarette box in his hand and tapped it against the hood.
The sultry southern night had turned sticky and uncomfortable. They had stopped talking and instead took the moment to really take in each other. They had only met through Tom's obsessive nature. It was sheer luck that Tom had read his last name on the clipboard and found their connection.
Maybe Andy's grovel with his sister about self medicating and being around the wrong crowd had actually led to something... tangible.
"Well, come on in. I'll show you around the place," Andy said before hopping over the stairs and pushing the door on the right open. Tom's first thought about the house was that it reminded him of his great grandmother's house: warm and drowning in paneling. Tom locked the door behind him and followed Andy through the doorway into the kitchen. Everything had a warm tone.
Andy threw himself into a chair at the end of the dining table and Tom set his cardboard box down right in front of him. Andy, staring at the box, gestured to show him what he brought and Tom pulled out a chunky block of photos. He sat them with a thump on the table. They were definitely good, high quality shots. Andy leaned over the table, holding his cigarette away from his face.
On the top photo, there was a nice looking blonde. Long haired and squishy cheeked. She was coming out of a building he'd never seen with glasses pulling her hair away from her face.
"Pretty." He says before spreading the stack out like a deck of cards, all faces staring into him. They were more or less all from the same area, over a timespan of who knows how long. The blonde was the focus of every single one. The hair changed styles, the light changed, but the movement was the same. They told Andy something very clear. She was quite naïve, doing the same things every day, always alone.
Andy's phone started buzzing in his pocket. Andy flipped open the cheap burner and held it up to his ear. He furrowed his brows and said somebody's name in a bitter tone. Tom watched him rather unhappily. He didn't like getting interrupted, but Andy held the phone to his chest and a slimy smile plastered itself to his face.
"The supplies are on their way."
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