Fishville #2

 

61 W Xenia Ave

Courtesy of google maps.

PREVIOUSLY:

It was a town where everyone knew everyone’s business, whether intentionally or not. A town where the newspaper subscriptions were low, but the local diner’s coffee consumption was high. And yet, it was the secrets that no one knew that would lead to an end to life as they’d always known it. Some secrets could even kill.

Kelly knew of one such secret. It was a secret she held close to her heart everyday. A secret that would too soon manifest itself. …

And now, …

Smiling, she placed a hand over the hidden data chip. On it, was a lifetime of secrets that could, and would, tear the town apart. She licked her lips as she thought about the depth of her revenge for the life of hell she’d been forced to endure within the fish bowl.

After all, revenge was sweetest when served cold. And, hers was frozen solid, she thought as the cab came to a stop in front of the old grey Victorian manse that had once been her home.

She slid out of the cab, old brass keys jingling in her shaking hand. It had been twenty years, but it seemed like yesterday. Her mind took her back to her childhood and the squalid existence she’d lived in the little addition to the main house. Now, she was back, but this time as owner of the property in whole.

Kelly watched as the cab driver set her luggage on the porch beside the door. As he returned she gave him a hefty tip and a genuine thank you.

‘Just be careful, Ma’am. Those steps and porch are not the best.’ He tipped his battered hat to her.

‘I’ll be careful.’ She smiled and nodded back. Then, as he drove away, she gulped and headed up the sidewalk.

The old lock crunched and snapped as she turned the key. It was the first thing she’d be replacing. The door squealed  and screamed as she pushed hard against it. It opened only a crack. It took a shoulder and her full weight to open it enough to get inside.

As she looked around and up through the foyer, memories settled heavy on her shoulders. A sob caught in her throat, echoing through the barren rooms.

wc: 295

 

 

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