Upstairs at the Downstairs
We walked down the hall, me and Bernie, then Freddie Dancer and the bald guy with Suzie in between, the gun to her head. Past the office and Charlie’s room, we came to a closed door. Bernie stopped. “Upstairs we go,” he said.
Upstairs? We didn’t have an upstairs at 99 Mesquite Road, which is where we live – 99 Mesquite Road, in the Valley. The Valley goes on forever in all directions. That’s important. Is this the time to go into Bernie’s worries about the aquifer? I’m not sure. But even if we had an upstairs, this door didn’t lead to it. Why? Because it was the door to the broom closet. There’s a broom in there, plus other stuff, such as the vacuum. The vacuum doesn’t come out much since Leda left, a good thing, because something about the vacuum gets me going every time. Was the vacuum coming out now? Bernie reached for the door handle. I got ready for anything.
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