Phoebe stared out the back window. “Hold on. Stop.”
The moment the Gremlin stopped she jumped out, leaving the car door open. The extra illumination provided Mulder with enough light to see a dented mailbox nailed to a post. He got out and walked around to the passenger side of the car.
Mulder bent down next to Phoebe and studied it. Letters were scratched into the metal on the side. ER and another letter that looked like a P.
Earl Roy.
Gimble stuck his head out the window. “Well?”
Mulder swallowed hard. “This is his house.”
The dirt driveway beside the mailbox snaked into the trees, not much more than tire tracks through the brush. If Mulder had been alone, he would’ve taken off and followed it. He stood at the spot where the shoulder of River Road and the tire-marked dirt met.
Mulder and Phoebe got back into the car. Everyone stayed quiet as he turned and drove down the dirt path. He clutched the wheel with his sweaty palms as branches scraped against the sides of the Gremlin.
“What if he sees the car?” Phoebe whispered, as if Earl Roy could hear her.
“Pull up over there on the left.” Gimble pointed to a patch of grass off to the side of the driveway.
“There’s a light up ahead,” Phoebe said. “See it?”
“I want to take a closer look.” Mulder parked, killed the headlights, and opened the door to step out, but Phoebe caught his arm.
“Are you sure about this? We could leave and go get the cops right now.”
Because they’ve been so helpful up until now? Mulder thought.
Going to the cops was the smartest and safest option for him, but what about for Sarah Lowe? What if she was in there right now and she was hurt? Mulder imagined getting closer to the house and hearing the little girl’s screams. He couldn’t fail her.
And he couldn’t walk away if there was a chance that Earl Roy had information about Samantha.
“I just want to take a look. What if the place is abandoned? Or he doesn’t live there anymore and we drag the cops all the way out here? And that’s assuming they’ll listen to us. We don’t have a lot to go on. I’ve already lost credibility with one police department.” Mulder got out and pulled the seat forward for Gimble to climb out.
“So we’re really doing this?” he asked.
“If you want to wait here, it’s okay,” Mulder told him.
Gimble noticed Phoebe getting out and stood straighter. “I’m cool.”
The three friends walked down the driveway together, following the dim yellow light as a beacon. Within a few yards, the house came into view. The porch light exposed bits and pieces of the dilapidated building. It resembled a shack more than a house.
“It’s dark inside, and there aren’t any cars out front.” Secretly, Mulder felt relieved. “He’s probably not home. Stay here while I check it out.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Phoebe reminded him.
“Look.” Mulder pointed at the darkened windows. “Nobody’s here. I just want to see what’s around back.”
“This is a bad idea.” Gimble glanced over his shoulder. “What if the guy comes home?”
“Whistle or something.”
“Isn’t that kind of obvious?” Gimble asked.
“Don’t worry.” Mulder turned around and walked toward the run-down house. He was wasting time. “I’ll be back in three minutes.”
“Fox—” Phoebe pleaded.
He cared about Phoebe more than anyone except his mom, but he couldn’t walk away from this, not even long enough to hunt down the backwoods police station in Craiger.
He stayed close to the trees that bordered the driveway and the edge of the yard—if a dirt patch edged with brambles qualified as a yard. As he moved toward the house and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, disturbing details revealed its condition. The porch slanted dangerously to one side, and the wooden railings were long gone. The planks that formed the exterior walls were in various stages of rot. It was the kind of house that usually had a CONDEMNED sign nailed to the front door.
The brush was thicker along the side of the house, and Mulder’s feet kept getting caught on tree roots and vines. When he finally reached the backyard, what little illumination the dim porch light had offered was gone. A sliver of moonlight cut through the trees, casting a pale glow on a pile of scrap metal like you’d find in a junkyard.
It was tall enough for Mulder to crouch behind, and it would offer him a clear view of the back door. He darted toward the scrap pile, hyperaware of how loud each step sounded. But inside, the house remained dark. He felt stupid for being scared of a run-down old house and creepy shrubbery.
Why was he letting Phoebe and Gimble’s paranoia rub off on him?