Sink: Old Man's Tale Read Free Page B

kettle and boiled it again. His mind wandered. He became calm, but resolute. He would not let them take his house away from him. Ever.
    He opened the fridge door. Seven plates sat on the shelves. Five had identical sandwiches on them. Two were empty. It must have been a Wednesday. He ate the same corned beef sandwiches every day. He’d gotten sick of them a long time since, but when he thought about what else he had to eat and the effort it would take to make something new, he gave up. An engine needed fuel. It didn’t matter the quality. His taste buds had long since given out, so he couldn’t taste the food anyway. That was his life. Tasteless. Without flavor.
    The only real interior design he had were model airplanes hanging from the ceiling on metal wires, in the midst of a dogfight. The planes were German Messerschmitts and British Spitfires, a reenactment of the Battle of Britain, to Jeremiah’s eye the most important battle of the twentieth century.
    Jeremiah picked up a photograph frame and touched the glass. The final few dregs of pent-up aggression left him. A smile came to his lips. Those were good times. He caught sight of his reflection, of the deep ridges in his forehead. He angled the frame away so he couldn’t see himself.
    He looked through the dirty kitchen window again at the eucalyptus tree perched on the far corner of his property. It stretched for the sky, its foliage bent to one side by the harsh winds, looking like something that belonged in a Poe poem.
    Jeremiah picked up his tea and sandwiches and exited through the backdoor.

Chapter Five
     
     
    When Graham got within view of the decrepit old house he turned and headed at a right-angle away from it. Nighttime was already descending, the heat dissipating, the red of the Outback fading into a deep sapphire blue. He tucked his hands in his pockets and raised the collar of his coat.
    The old fart came out of his house and headed toward the far corner of his land, toward a tall eucalyptus tree. He sat underneath it on a branch that jutted out at a right angle, like an arm trying to pull itself out of the ground, and looked toward the empty flatlands of the Outback, stretching into the distance in all directions.
    He could see Jeremiah’s lips were moving, his head nodding. Crazy old loon. He would be better off in an old people’s home if he had any sense.
    Graham turned to the house. It couldn’t be counted as breaking and entering if he entered without breaking anything, right? He’d visited the house enough in his youth to remember the layout. It wasn’t a large house and it couldn’t have changed that much over the years. There had clearly been no extensions or renovations.
    Graham approached the front door, not visible from Jeremiah’s vantage point. Was it just his imagination or had the crack up the side of the wall gotten larger? It was thick and almost reached to the roof now. Graham shrugged. What were the chances it would collapse right this moment after all these years? He turned the door knob, but it didn’t open.
    A fuzzy scrap of wood stuck out of the wall like an unkempt hairdo. He pulled at the splinters and found a small hole. It wasn’t big, but then Graham didn’t have the biggest hands. He pressed his fingers together and pushed them through the opening. His hand got stuck. He pressed harder and there was a soft crack, like the crunch of damp wood. Around his wrist was a bracelet of rotten wood. He angled his arm down, reaching for the door knob. He went up onto his toes and touched it with his fingertips. He stretched a little further and felt the key. He turned it, and the lock clicked open.
    He pushed the door open. It squeaked on old hinges. He stepped inside and closed the door, leaving it unlocked in case he needed to make a quick getaway. He took his rotten wood bracelet off and pressed it back into the wall. So much for not-breaking and entering.
    He turned and looked at the house’s interior. His eyes