ASMSG Scifi Fantasy Paranormal Emagazine August 2014 | Page 27

SFP Indie Issue 3

Moth
Sean t. poind exter

excerpt- Chapter 1

“Don’t you usually come in pairs?”
Officer Unruh smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Max grinned. “You just get out?”
“Yes, sir. US Marines.”
“Ah…yeah, I recognize the haircut.” It wasn’t just
that. Max stood a foot over him at six feet, but the
patrolman made up for it with broad arms and a big chest.
He didn’t look like he needed a partner. And then there
was this “sir” business…
“Have you been doing this long?”
“I’ve been with the Joplin PD for five months. And
you?”
Max drummed his fingers on the bag hanging from
his shoulder. “I’ve been a social worker long enough to
know which house on this street we’re going to, even
without looking at the numbers.” It was the one without
siding, just bare insulation boards nailed to the outer wall.
“Yes, sir.”
Max didn’t resent Unruh’s presence; he just didn’t
think it was necessary. He’d taken cops with him lots of
times, and on a few of those instances, it turned out he’d
needed them. But Brian insisted the workers take cops
with them anytime an allegation of drugs was involved in a
hotline. It irritated him for a number of reasons, not the
least of which happened to be that Brian’s job used to be
his.
That was another story…
The lawn was overgrown and the wooden porch
sagged, but they arrived at the door without incident. Max
knew the drill. The burly young policeman stepped to the
side of the locked screen door and knocked. A few
seconds later, an interior door opened and a man’s face
appeared behind the filthy fly screen. Max had been
expecting a woman.
“Is Donna here?” The man looked at Max with
bulging, bloodshot eyes that darted back to the cop as
though expecting a friendlier face. Whatever look Unruh
gave, it wasn’t what he’d hoped. He returned to Max, who
repeated the question.
“She’s not here.”
It was eight thirty in the morning, so if she worked
she might have been there. Max didn’t have employer
information for the mother. Also, he kind of doubted she
had a job.
Unruh rattled the latch a bit, but it didn’t budge. “Sir,
could you unlock the door please?”
“What’s this about?”

Max stepped to the screen and held up his plastic ID
badge. It said Max Hollingsworth in big letters under a
rather unflattering picture of him. The bulging-eyed man
looked at the ID then back up at Max. He looked
surprised. He shouldn’t have been.
“Sir,” repeated Unruh, “Could you unlock the door
please?”
He looked back to Unruh and nodded. After a click,
the door swung open. Max and the patrolman entered the
home.
The look on Unruh’s face implied disgust. Max
grinned, he really hadn’t been doing this long. The home
was a mess, but Max had seen worse—far worse. In a very
short time, so would Unruh. Places like this would become
normal for him. Max remembered when this kind of mess
would have bothered him, too.
The term “shithole” was tossed around so much, but
it wasn’t that bad. The awkwardly rectangular living room
smelled like dog and had a few plastic microwave food
boats piled on an old coffee table. Despite the smell, there
was no dog in sight. The most expensive piece of furniture
in the room, probably the house, was a flat screen
television. It was paused on an image of a video console
football game. The wireless controller rested on a ratty
couch covered by a slightly less ratty blanket.
“Donna’s sleeping—”
“You said Donna wasn’t here.” Max glanced over his
shoulder. The man wore dirty grey boxer shorts and a
plaid robe. He’d forgone the courtesy of a shirt, so his
guests were treated to ribs poking through the molespeckled, pasty skin of a man who rarely left the house.
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