The Flip Read Free Page B

they had to rip out everything. They had made next to nothing, and it was one of their less successful ventures because they weren’t prepared for the extent of the damage. Julie knew he was reminding her of that fiasco.
    “We were rookies then,” she pleaded. “We know what we are doing now. The homes on that hill go for the high nines right now. We bought it for nothing.”
    “That’s because it’s worth nothing. I don’t have time. We only have the container until theend of the week, so I have to finish clearing out the garbage,” he snapped. He said a hasty goodbye and slid his phone into his back pocket. He looked up at the house, the sun’s rays glinting off the multicolored stained glass window. Hands on hips, he considered the building. It was butt ugly. He laughed, shaking his head as he walked up the front steps again to tackle the lower levels of hell, his new name for the basement of the house.
    He went down into the darkness, reaching up to find the string that lit the single lightbulb. He didn’t remember turning it off, he thought, as he stumbled into a pile of trash. His shin connected hard with the corner of a metal box, and Brad cursed loudly and fluently. The light flicked on, and he searched the room, his eyeswide. The hanging bulb swayed as though pushed, and Brad turned where he stood, looking for an intruder. Reaching up, he pulled the cord, extinguishing the light, and touched the hot bulb gingerly. Twisting it gently, he quickly determined it was not loose. He relit it, searching the ceiling to see if the connection to the fixture itself was compromised. It must be dicey wires, he reasoned. After all, the house was really old. He wondered how safe the wiring was, making a mental note to recheck all the connections. The light moved gently, painting peculiar shadows on the walls. The room was dim for sure, but a brightness illuminated the dark corners. Brad watched the pools of light speculatively, the hair on the back of his neck rising as the tension grew. Hearing a footstep, he spun, his handinstinctively reaching for a firearm he no longer carried. His breath came in short gasps, and his eyes darted around the room, until he felt the vacuum of emptiness. Something fell, but he took in the nothingness of the space.
    There was the sound of metal scraping against metal on the other side of the room. Brad walked closer, gingerly putting his ear against the cool wall. Tapping the surface with his knuckle, he heard the emptiness of the other side. It was a secret room, a walled-up space, he thought with astonishment. He laughed uneasily when the old Edgar Allan Poe story popped into his mind—what was it? “The Tell-Tale Heart.” He wondered if he’d find a chained skeleton bolted to the wall. His fingers caressed the surface, looking for anopening. Another thump. Something fell on the hidden side. He banged on the wall, feeling foolish. There was a rumble of sound. Brad shrugged with impatience. Using his shovel as an ax, he hit the wall, breaking plaster, raining dust all over him. With all his might, he hit it again, pulverizing the ancient slat work under the wall to break into a vacant space. Stale air hit him in the face, and he created enough of an opening to slide into the pitch-black area through the rent in the wall. Placing his hands on either side of it, he lowered himself through the opening. The floor of the other side was a good five feet deeper than the basement.
    The flashlight in Brad’s phone illuminated the cave-like quality of the room. He hugged thewall, knowing he was deep in the ground, below the basement. He held up the light, the breath escaping from his lungs. The room was filled with rows and rows of boxes and crates. They were stacked nine feet high, some broken from the weight. The contents of two containers had spilled out; papers and knickknacks littered the dirt floor. He bent, his fingers going through the rubble to pick up a leather box, its binding