The Last house on the Right
Cameron watched his trackers drive off into the night. He walked out of the shadows into the embarcadero proper and hailed a cab.
He handed the cab driver his address. The driver asked if he minded if they took 280 and Cam shrugged. He sat in the back seat and watched as they drove down the embarcadareo, past the ball park, and onto the entrance to 280. They drove over the warehouse district, took the 280 split and headed south until the Montery exit. Then up O’Shannesy to Carlile. Then up the hill to the UC enterence. The driver looked at Cam for assistance. Cam shrugged and looked out the window. He was surprised at the amount of parkland and open space he encountered. If there was a major city anywhere he hadn’t seen it.
Then the car came to a stop in front of a building. The driver looked questioningly at Cam and he nodded reached forward and took out his wallet. He looked took out a twenty and paid the driver and got out.
The driver drove off and Cam walked up to the front door. He took the keys he removed from the envelope earlier, took them out of his pants pocket and slid them into the door key. He turned the lock and the door opened. He looked past the open door and stared inside. He breathed deeply and then walked in and found a light switch and turned it on. He closed the door behind him and walked through the hallway to the main living room. The wall was of glass and revealed the city beneath him. From where he stood he could see the bay and golden gate, Oakland and the southbay. He breathed heavily and walked to the back of the house and found the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and found a beer. He opened the beer, returned to the living room and sat down.
The rain started and Cam drank down the beer.
He took the new gun from his jacket, a Walther PPK. Ironic and appropriate at the same time. He closed his eyes and saw, felt himself cutting open and pulling his ear forward, a flap away from his skull. You couldn’t do that sober. Pulling free the wires, slicing open his decoy and implanting the device in the ear.
He tried not to think about the boy he shot, but he did and eventually he fell asleep in the chair.
A scraping, almost pounding woke him. He reached for and held his gun, stood up and then made his way to the back of the house.
He opened a side door and saw a raccoon staring at him. The raccoon looked up at him and backed down the stairs.
Cam looked at the gun in his hand.
“Well,” Cam said, “At least you’re not some raven gently rapping on my bedroom door.”
The raccoon turned and Cam saw part of its fur had been peeled back exposing the flesh underneath. Cam guessed it had just been in a fight like himself and looked like hell. The raccoon turned to Cam and churped at him. Took two more steps to the trail head, turned again, churped. Then collapsed.
Cam wondered about the fallen animal, thought about closing the door, decided against it and walked up to the animal. He looked down at it. One of the raccoon’s eyes made contact with Cam’s. They stared at each other. Cam kneeled over the animal and pressed his gun to the animal’s chest. The raccoon stared up at him, breathing fast and shallow.
Cam looked closer at the raccoon. The raccoon looked away, down the trail. Cam looked into the darkness and back at the animal. Cam tried to justify walking away, maybe rabies. He knew he wouldn’t shoot it, because of what the sound of gunfire would bring. Cam dropped the gun into his robe pocket. He put his hand on the animal and gently held it there. The animal stared at Cam.
“Here’s the deal,” Cam said, “I’ll bring you into the house and have a shelter come and take you. How’s that sound?”
The raccoon did not respond and did not fight when Cam picked the raccoon up and carried the wounded creature to the house.
He placed the raccoon on the kitchen counter near the sink and started exploring the house. He opened a lower cabinet and found a half filled bag of cat food. Cam thought about the side door. There was a water and food bowl, both empty. Whoever had been at the house was feeding the animal. He opened a few more draws, found towels, hydrogen prioxide, and then he saw it, Miracle glue. Cam sighed in relief.
He held the glue and looked at the animal, “Well, I guess you figured out, Animal rescue isn’t coming. So here’s the deal, you cooperate and I’ll do what I can for you. You don’t, into the cooking pot. The raccoon didn’t think Cam would do it either. “I did kill someone tonight, one of my own kind. I’m not happy about that. I’ll be really pissed if you give me rabies. Despite the irony.”
The raccoon stared at Cam.
“You’re English is not so good, is it?”
Cam gently took the flap of exposed skin with his hand and applied the miracle glue to it. Then he folded the skin back into place and whispered and chortled to the raccoon, who struggled to be brave and still and good and succeeded.
Cam made a bed for the animal in the kitchen, pulled the four corners of the towel the animal lay on, lifted it by the towel and placed it on the bed. Cam checked to see if the wound had opened, but the glue held. He put some cat food and water, beside it and went again to the cabinets. He found a reduced salt chicken broth can and opened it. He found another bowl and poured some in and placed them beside the raccoon.
Cam turned off the light in the kitchen and returned to the living room. He found a secure place to lay down for the night, lay on the floor and instantly fell asleep.
Cam woke in the morning, stiff, brused, beaten, with a raccoon snuggled up against him. He reflected on the night. Mostly, he saw the flame of the gun burn into the boy. He disengaged from the raccoon and stared at it.
“If you could sneak up on me, that’s bad, very bad.”
The raccoon looked at Cam and went back to sleep. “Waking up next to a human probably wasn’t high on your list, either.”
With great difficulty Cam got to his feet. He felt dizzy and sharp pains ran up and down the length of his body where he had been kicked, which was just about everywhere. Some areas were worse than others and his left thigh gave out on him and grabbing a couch was the only thing that saved him from falling.
He walked to the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror. It was a shock. He wasn’t going out for the next few days, while the wounds and swelling started to heal. He decided to leave the rib bandages on, put pulled away the head bandages. His right eye was a bloody mess, but he could see out of it.
Cam went to the garage and found a bag of absorbent clay for oil from the car. It could do double duty as raccoon litter. He found a tray and placed it close to the sleeping raccoon. Cam watched him sleep, it was a boy raccoon. He carried the food and water trays to the prone animal.
His leg was screaming and he made it to the bedroom before it gave out. He crawled onto the bed and turned on the big screen tv and fell asleep.
He woke up with the sun and the raccoon was with him again. It slept soundly and had not torn open its leg by climbing up onto the bed. At the foot of the bed was a covered bench, which Cam assumed the animal climbed up on.
He walked into the living room and saw the animal had figured out what the litter box was for. He picked it up and took it to the bathroom and cleaned and flushed.
Then he went to the kitchen and made himself breakfast. The house was still covered in fog and he vaguely wondered if the house had a view or not.
He saw a staircase, he had missed the night before and discovered there were three floors below him. The second floor had a large entertainment center and gym, an office, a library and bedroom. The floor below that consisted of three small rooms, a storage room, and a pool table. The next floor down was a small bedroom, with a kitchen, shower, and closet. Possibly servant’s quarters.
Cam returned to the office and sat at the desk. He turned the computer on and waited. When it booted, he connected to the internet and began shopping for clothes. He went back upstairs and checked on the sleeping raccoon. Then it occurred to Cam that it was a nocturnal animal.
He was awake but wounded and the clothes wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. He wandered through the house, opening cabinets, taking mental inventory, and generally becoming familiar with what was now his home.
He returned to the second floor and went into one of the smaller bedrooms. He opened a door at the back of the wall, which he assumed was a closet, but instead it opened into a narrow walkway. He turned on the light and saw a massive wine cellar built into the wall. He entered the cellar, it went into the hill almost thirty feet. It was a basic tunnel structure dug, similar to those he had encountered in the Napa wine country. He walked past the rows of wine bottles, came across an wall of Opus 1’s and took one of the bottles and walked back out of the room and closed the door.
He went back to the the top floor, opened and decanted the wine, pouring himself a glass. It needed to air for an hour, but to Cam’s tastes, it would do.
Cam sat facing the massive windows at the front of the house and stared at the fog.
He sipped his wine and speculated about the property. Then the fog cleared and he saw the golden gate bridge, the marin headlands the bay bridge and downtown San Francisco.
“My life is good,” Cam said to himself and smiled.
He finished his glass of wine and dozed.
When he awoke, he was hungry again and made himself lunch, a ham sandwich and more Opus.
He looked in on the still sleeping Raccoon.
He wandered back into the bathroom, removed the last of the bandages on his head, but left the ones on his ribs. He was already showing signs of healing, the swelling on the face was going down, the brusies were not as pronounce, but his left eye was still a problem. He would stay home for the next few days and take his chances with delivery and the raccoon.
He went back to the second and third levels, examining the back walls, by sitting in a chair, sipping wine and slowly examining each inch. By late afternoon, Cam walked out to the stairs and sat on them.
Examining the construction of the stairs, the wood was covering reinforced steel. Heavier than what was necessary for a residential home by several orders of magnitude. The staircase was straight and aimed directly at the large middle bedroom.
He went back upstairs and walked straight to the corner glass wall. Unlike the main and opposite side wall, this corner of the house was not suspended in space, but only a few feet above the ground. Cam examined the glass panels and followed the wall of glass to a structural support. There was a small painting on the wall and Cam went to lift it and discovered the painting was hinged on the wall. He swung open the painting and saw a toggle switch on the wall. He flipped the switch and the glass wall opened and moved aside. Cam closed the windows and returned the painting to the wall.
Cam suddenly realized he had been walking around the house armed only with a glass of wine and without his gun. Cam poured himself another glass, decided it made sense to open another bottle and let that sit in a decanter before drinking it.
Once he finished with the decanting, he returned to the stairs and sat at the bottom focusing on the room in front of him. He had a good idea what he was staring at, but was unaware of any of these things on the west coast. He knew Copland’s job was to hide things, but Cam doubted Copland knew what those things were. Cam was in no shape for a fight and he lacked the necessary weaponry. That would have to wait for another day. He also wondered if the “previous owners” knew what they were sitting on.
Cam got up and started to work his way through the trashcans in the house. He found a few receipts and a few other items that gave him a clearer picture of Copland’s activities. It seemed he was renting the house out as a sublet, presumably for cash, but if the owner should return…too bad for you. No doubt Copland had a manager to take care of the place, who thought he was getting a good deal, but without a precise knowledge of what this house was hiding.
Much depended on how off-book Copland kept this place, but Cam was willing to gamble the house’s existence was essentially unknown. It was a double-blind and not a lot of trust to go around.
As evening fell the raccoon woke and started scratching at the side door.
“You don’t want to eat first?” Cam asked, “You still look like shit you know.”
The raccoon ignored Cam and continued scratching. Cam opened the door and the raccoon ran outside.
Cam watched it disapper down the trail. It still limped on its wounded leg. Cam thought the glue might hold, but he doubted it. Cam closed the door and looked at the large empty home. He went to the bathroom, opened the motrin and washed them down with wine.
He turned on the television and started flipping channels. He stopped when he reached Oprah.
“Jesus,” he said, “I really must be sick.”
A few minutes later the door was scratched and pounded upon.
Cam opened the door to the raccoon.
“Miss me?” he asked.
The raccoon dropped something on his foot and stepped back. Cam looked at it trying to figure out what it was. Ugly as hell, that was for sure. He bent over to get a closer look. It made a weak, seagull sounding noise.
“That,” Cam said, “Is not a baby raccoon.”
The raccoon walked back down the stairs and walked to the edge of the trail, then turned back to Cameron. Cam picked up the tiny creature and held it in one hand. It tried feebily to suckle on his thumb.
Cam looked at the raccoon. It had re-torn its leg open.
Cam ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a small bucket under the sink. He ran back to the door and the raccoon had already disappeared down the trail.
“Wait up, goddammit,” Cam shouted as the lept off the stair and landed on his bad leg. It collapsed under him and he fell to the ground.
“Ouch,” he said, picking himself off the ground. Standing up, his leg fired and stabbed into him, but he walked as fast as he could down the trail. Fortunately, the raccoon was not in much better shape and walked on three of its legs.
They limped and made their way down the hill in the darkness and the thick overgrow of the trees in the canyon. The raccoon turned off the trail and Cam followed as best he could and then the raccoon disappeared behind a fern.
Cam kneeled down and saw a hole as the raccoon emerged with a second tiny furball. Cam moved the raccoon aside and reached into the hole. He removed three more of the tiny animals, placing them in the bucket.
“Is that it,” Cam asked, the raccoon peered into the bucket, dropped to the ground and began sniffing. Moments later it picked up a sixth kitten covered in maggots and plopped it on Cam’s shoe.
“Ahh, hell,” Cam said, then the kitten moved. Cam put the kitten in the bucket with the others and shook his head.
“You are a raccoon,” Cam said, “don’t you eat these things.”
Cam looked at the raccoon. It breathed heavily and was bleeding, dirt covering its wound. Cam slipped the bucket on his arm by the handle, then gently slid his arms under the raccoon and picked him up. The raccoon looked thoroughly humiliated.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Cam said and made his way back up the hill.
Cam placed the bucket in the sink and reached for the fauset. He stopped himself and stared at the raccoon sitting on the counter.
“You fucked up my handywork,” Cam said, pointing a finger at the raccoon. Cam removed the bucket and turned on the water to a slow but steady stream.
To his amazement the raccoon did not resist when he guided the animal to the water and washed clean the wound. He opened the draw, took out the miracle glue and stitched closed the wound again.
Cam returned the bucket to the sink with the water still running. The kittens panicked and the raccoon stared fiercely at Cam. Cam turned off the water. He opened a cabinet and found a large calendar and unceremoniously dumped the kittens into it.
He turned the water back on and picked up the first kitten and washed its back and then its belly. As soon as his thumb touched its belly the animal pooed and peed on his siblings.
“Great,” Cam said. He rubbed the tummy so more, cleaned it off put it on a towel and picked up the second kitten. He rubbed the second kitten’s tummy to the same effect.
Cam looked at the raccoon.
“Do you know about this?”
The raccoon declined to answer.
Cam cleaned the maggot infested kitten last. He picked off one of the maggots and the raccoon edged closer. Cam tossed the maggot onto the counter and it barely touched before the raccoon ate it. Cam started picking. By the end of the picking the raccoon was licking them directly off his fingers. It occurred to Cam this was a terrible idea for a variety of reasons but decided to hell with it.
“One problem solved,” Cam said, “now how do we feed them?”
Cam went to the refrigerator and took out the milk and put it on the counter. 2 percent. Cam limped downstairs to the computer, searched kitten formula and went back upstairs. He found a cooking seringe that would have to do and picked up his first victim. It ate much to his surprise and he smiled at the animal and raccoon. The raccoon seemed happy too. He fed the six kittens and then washed them all over again. Not the best dad in the world, he thought, but it’s a start. He sighed and shook his head.
He made a few telephone calls and an hour later, his cab driver knocked on the front door with kitten supplies. Cam paid the driver and went back to the job of feeding kittens.
If nothing else Cam, thought, it would keep him busy while he healed.
By the next morning, the kittens were doing much better, keeping Cam up much of the night. The raccoon stood guard, making sure Cam did not back-slide and drown the little fuckers. And so it went, Cam feeding, the kittens eating, sleeping, and shitting.
That evening the raccoon decided to explore the rest of the house and made its way down stairs. Cam watched it disappear into the middle room and he quickly followed down the stairs and went into the room.
The raccoon found his way to the back wall and what appeared be a bookshelf built into the wall.
“I don’t believe it either,” Cam said as the raccoon looked at the lower shelves.
Cam walked forward and knelt to the raccoon’s level. There was a switch.
“That was easy,” he said, and threw the switch. Nothing happened and Cameron stood up, reached to the side of the book case and pulled. The bookcase swung open and revealed a recessed wall, creating a corridor. The raccoon started to move forward and Cam put his hand on the animal to stop it. Cam shook his head no. He closed the bookcase and sat back on the floor. On the wall to the side of the book case was a painting, hung a few inches below the ceiling. Cam placed a chair under the painting and stood on it. Like the other painting it was on a hinge, except this one lifted up. Cam opened the square door behind the painting. The smell was faint, but Cam recognized it. By the time he closed the door the raccoon was running up the stairs. By the time he lowered the painting ,it was scratching at the door.
Cam removed the chair from below the painting and walked up the stairs.
He found the raccoon at the door with one of the kittens in his mouth.
Cam kneeled before the animal and put his hand out.
“You can’t save them all, my friend,” he said, “you can’t keep them and neither can I.”
The raccoon let the kitten drop into Cam’s hand and Cam opened the door.
The raccoon turned at the trailhead turned and they stared at each other. Then the raccoon turned and was gone.
