Chapter 10
JT enjoyed the walk, but as he came to the still door-less entrance to Warhead Dale, the magnitude of the task in front of him hit. He remembered that the house was in disrepair, but seeing the decaying structure, he could not even imagine where to start any type of renovation and repair.
With only the work ethic Gregory and Louise had instilled in him at the farm, he entered the house, determined to take ownership.
The house was eerie, to say the least. The smell of dried out oak and cedar planks smacked JT's nostrils. The hair on his skin prickled and his heart fluttered. He knew that Billy had exploded the front door when he first came to Warhead Dale. As he tiptoed through the long corridors to the great room of the house, he peeked in each room, somehow and somewhat wanting to find Billy sitting in a large orange and white chair. His ears pricked for the sound of a deep, burly laugh penetrating the house's walls, he heard only the squeaking of the floors and tapping of his cane.
JT smiled. Though a daunting task lay ahead of him, he felt alive again.
Should he go down to the basement? He looked at his cane. It would be a waste of time. The cane would not work: Kali was the steward.
He thought about Kali. He could smell the flowery perfume that danced in her hair and he could feel the softness of her lips against his. He remembered lying next to her warm body in the desert after the Bridge of Common exploded. That moment felt like a memory of long ago, though it had only been a couple of months. He missed her so.
The aura of this big old house is getting to me, seeping into my soul, he thought.
He distracted himself, listening for the sound of breaking waves, which he could just hear through the rotting walls. In some odd way, a sensation of coming home washed over him.
He thought he would try to restore power to the house first. Power would be welcome. He scurried around the great hall, then remembered lying with Kali on the large green couch. He sat down, running his hand across the cushion beside him. He placed his cane and journal down in the empty space and rose to his feet.
The pain shot through his body like a lightning bolt. He had felt the striking ache in his knee for so long that it was familiar, though frustrating. He would never be rid of the soreness he earned while watching his mother die, so he proudly walked as well as he could. With each few steps he grunted and struggled, but it was no bother. No one was there to hear him.
He smiled, remembering how he turned young again outside the mahogany door. The pain had vanished. With that thought, the pull of the basement became relentless. He knew Bruinduer could give him that relief; he didn't have to feel the pain anymore. He shook it off, trying to remain focused on restoring the power.
Kali and Michael weighed on his mind as he limped around the house. With no idea where to start, so he thought he might as well go to the basement. It made sense that everything that controlled a house might be in the basement. The power box was in the basement at the Shorts' farm, why not Warhead Dale?
He only knew one way to the basement; he needed to go down a narrow corridor then take the elevator. Since JT's memory was not the best, it took just a minute, but he remembered the hallway he and Kali had stumbled upon and the tiny room at the end of it. As he flipped the little wooden covering off the elevator button, he placed his thumb on it and thought of Kali. He knew her thumb had been on the very same button. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment. Did she ever think of him?
The door slammed shut and the tiny room toiled its way to the lower room. The ride was dark and claustrophobic, but, when the door flew open at the bottom, light rushed in. From where, he did not know, but it was comforting to be able to see and nice to know he didn't have to find light. He peered at the wall in front of him. The mahogany door waited behind it, just a few feet away. He touched the wall of the inner room, now sealed. Disturbed dust covered the floor around him; three sets of footprints were still visible leaving the inner room to the elevator.
“Billy?” JT mumbled. His voice cracked in his dry throat. He wanted anything to make sense at that moment. He waited for a reply, straining his ears for an answer from the wall, but to no avail.
He turned and walked down the hall, noticing something he hadn't seen before. The floors in the basement did not match the floors in the main house. Maybe they were just built that way, but the floorboards beneath his feet seemed much larger and thicker, much more like planks than floorboards. It was odd when he thought about it, but he shrugged and went on, deeper into the basement. JT felt as though he were entering a different part of the house. The hallway seemed somewhat narrower.
He rounded a few corners and searched a few storage rooms filled with junk, papers, and boxes. Then he noticed an odd metal door; the sign on it read, “Danger—High Voltage.”
“Bingo!” JT crowed. “That's gotta be it!” He knew he would probably have to call the power company to come and fix something, but at least now he could tell the workers where to go.
He opened the door, the metal hinges whining as it pivoted open.
JT's eyes were wide. In the dank, dark room, water leaked from somewhere and pinged on hollow metal pipes. Just like he had in the little room off the stage in Michael's castle in Bruinduer, he instinctively felt for a light switch on the wall by the door. He found one, but then, there was no power. The switch flipped up and down futilely.
The room smelled of wet wood, metal paint, mold, and a sweet salty smell that could only be found near the ocean. It is hard to describe, but it could be compared to the smell of a rusted bathtub filled with sea water.
JT's eyes adjusted to the dark and he continued to search along the wall. He felt a metal box. Looking very closely in the small flood of light coming from the hallway, he made out the words, "IN CASE OF EMERGENCY." Finding the clamps, he opened the box and discovered a flashlight.
Doubt it works, JT thought as he slid the switch, which was slightly corroded. A light burst in the room.
Bugs and other creatures scattered as the light hit the very large generator in the room.
“My grandfather was definitely prepared,” JT said the words aloud, thinking about the journal and his grandfather's search for the evil Munch.
With some coaxing and ingenuity, JT was able to start the generator. Power hummed through the house. He had no idea if that was safe, but JT was happy that energy flowed through the walls and switches.
The lights in the generator room flickered and crackled until they came on fully.
Power on, JT thought. Fumes from the diesel generator filled the room as exhaust leaked from the pipes. JT coughed and gagged. The powerful odor curled the hairs in his nose.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take it, the engine warmed up, running more efficiently. The clanking and clanging turned to a more modest hum, the smell lightened as the exhaust shaft drew some of the fumes away. The generator was obviously high quality craftsmanship, though the house needed a new ventilation system, new wiring, and maintenance on the generator. At least there was electricity.
JT left the generator room and took the rusty elevator back up to the main part of the house. He passed through the hallway into the great hall and found a thermostat attached to the wall. The clean, brisk air of the fall had turned quite chilly, so he pushed the switch to heat.
A rumble came through the walls and JT scanned the room in case the house blew up, but luckily air began to blow from the undamaged vents. JT noted a burning odor, like a pot cooked dry on a stove, but only for a moment as the air pushed through. The almost instantaneous warmth of oil heat relaxed him.
His knee hurting, JT limped back into the great hall and plopped onto the big green couch. He almost could not believe that he was back, sitting in his grandfather's house. He had been almost certain that he would lose it in the courtroom that morning.
The idea that the house belonged to him started to sink in. Many thoughts rambled through his brain. The Shorts' were always there. He thought about calling
Gregory to ask his opinion on the matter, but decided not to. He stared at his grandfather's faded portrait above the fireplace, the painted eyes blazing right through him. JT couldn’t decide what the small smirk beneath his white beard was saying to him. Was it “Way to go, JT, you've done it. You've succeeded.” or did the devious smile say, “Way to go, JT, you've done it. You are on the path to ultimate failure.”
JT looked around the house at all the work he needed to do. He knew he had to get started, but as, he contemplated his grandfather's expression, his eyes turned to the old sailor's journal.
“The work can wait.” JT picked up the old leather book and started where he had left off.
April
Today's date is not important. In actuality, I could not tell you the date if I wanted to. The days seem to run together as we hunt this animal. I will not call this thing a man. A man, a true human, could not perform such acts of brutality.
Some of the men have asked if what we will do if what we are tracking is not human at all. I would wonder as well, but the fact remains that its mother is human. I will accept that fact, otherwise I will just be getting into an argument with myself that I cannot win. No, I believe this monster I hunt is a man; if not, I will make sure he bleeds like one.
The many scorched dolls and trinkets, no doubt belonging to murdered children, left behind in these hollowed out villages, make my blood to boil. It is shameful that war infests this beautiful land, but this brutal killer loose in its jungles only adds to its woe.
In all honesty, I am trying to keep my emotions in check. I must be at my keenest if I am to succeed in hunting my prey. I dispatched a scout to track down the young man who brought the note to me. I am not sure of why, but I had a feeling that the young man might know something, either about who I was tracking or about my mysterious employer. Either way, as the Munch leaves a trail of broken and deluged villages in his wake, it is only a matter of time before I reach him. Moreover, soon there will be no more communities to plunder or citizens to kill.
JT couldn't imagine what his grandfather was thinking, though the words on the page were clear. If the old sailor caught up with the Munch there would be a definite battle. JT continued reading.
April
It's still April, I think. The jungle is starting to become a sauna. The sun is getting hotter and the humidity thicker. I will continue to track this madman no matter what the weather and no matter if I have to go to the four corners of the world. The prize will be mine.
Our dispatchers returned with the young boy who delivered the note. His name is Tichoke and he was sworn to secrecy, promising not to reveal where or from whom he got the letter. I was not about to torture the young man for the information, but the situation was dire. If this young boy did know any information about this Munch or about my employer, then it would be unforgiveable for me not to abandon that information. Is it right for one to suffer in order to save thousands? Millions?
I tried to persuade the boy to reveal any information about my prey, but in vain. As soon as he left, I deployed two of my most trusted crewmen to follow him to look for anything that may lead us to the Munch.