Impetus by Scott M Sullivan Page B

rested solidly against the wall to his left. A floral-patterned chair, with dull browns and blues, sat between the two front windows that had their blinds drawn. But it was the far wall that instantly caught his eye. Almost every inch of the wallpapered wall was plastered with pictures of varying sizes and shapes. Some of the pictures had fallen to the ground and left rectangular squares of clean, yet yellowing wallpaper behind them. All the pictures were of children, but they all had a constant variable to them: a short woman with the most genuine of smiles. In some of the pictures, she looked to be in the later parts of her life, well aged, the dark-brown hair turned white, but still with some lingering youth in her eyes. Mick figured she was the owner of the house—that, or someone had a strong affection for her.
    After l eaving the picture room, Mick passed through a narrow doorway into the kitchen.
    “ Solomon?” he said again.
    The kitchen was tiny and run -down, much more disheveled than the other parts of the house he had seen. A few of the cheap white cabinet doors that lined the space above the countertop hung down by their hinges, broken and splintered, almost as if they had been torn down in a fit of rage. The shade over the tiny kitchen sink was drawn like all the others, but its cheap aluminum slats were bent and contorted in the center, allowing Mick to briefly view a messy back porch.
    Mick walked through the rest of the kitchen, which took all of a few more steps, and into the small room adjacent to it. There you are , Mick thought as Solomon came into view. He stood still, swaying ever so slightly as gravity appeared to play with his balance.
    “ Is everything all right?” Mick asked.
    Solomon nodded , keeping his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. He then reached down and tossed the oval red-and-black area rug off to the side. There, at their feet, was a trapdoor, like something out of an old pirate movie. A large black latch rested within the carved-out circle on its surface.
    “ How did you know about this, Solomon?”
    Solomon paused, still staring down at the floor. He then looked to his right and put his feet in motion, disappearing out of sight down the hall. He quickly returned with one of the pictures from the many that hung on the wall. Solomon rubbed the dust that coated the glass cover of the frame off on his belly, then handed it to Mick. The photo had the same white-haired woman in it that all the others did. She looked to be maybe in her early fifties.
    “ Is this you, Solomon? In the picture with this woman?”
    Solomon nodded.
    The nose on the boy in the picture was unmistakably Solomon’s: thin on the bridge with wide, flaring nostrils. Mick also noticed the distinct arch to his eyebrows on the boy, maybe in his early teens at that time. He was a handsome boy. Probably about the same age in this picture as Nate and Kathryn.
    “ Is this your house?” Mick asked, looking up.
    “ N-n-no,” Solomon said.
    “ Is this her house?” Mick said, pointing to the woman.
    Solomon nodded again.
    “ Does she still live here?”
    Solomon clenched his jaw and then suddenly began to hit himself repeatedly in the head. Whack, whack, whack.
    “ Solomon,” Mick said, reaching out to stop him. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” Stopping him was not easy. His strength was something to behold, firm and unwavering, the antithesis of his personality.
    Solomon eventually did stop, but not before reddening the side of his head, almost to the point of breaking the skin.
    Why the hell did he just do that? Mick worried that this was becoming too taxing for Solomon. He was about to back out of the situation, walk Solomon out, and forget he even knew about this place, when Solomon reached down and picked up the picture that Mick had dropped in his haste. A small crack traced the front of the glass, running from the top to midway through the frame.
    “ I’m so sorry, Solomon.” And he was. It