Henry Franks by Peter Adam Salomon

your step.”
    â€œI have a basement too, you know,” she said, closing the door behind them and walking past him down the stairs.
    The hanging bulb cast a weak light over the piles of boxes.
    â€œBack here.” Henry led the way through the basement. “This box, it had pictures in it.” He flipped the flaps open and shone the flashlight into the empty corners. “The next day they were gone. I searched everywhere but couldn’t find them. Everything was cleaned up; even the spider webs had been swept away.”
    â€œâ€˜So, Justine, what did you do today?’” she said. “‘Well, Mom, I went into the creepy house next door and all the spiders were gone. It was just terrible.’”
    â€œYou only think you’re funny.”
    â€œNope, I have a certificate and everything. It’s official; I’m funny.” She stood there looking up at him. “I’m sorry. I can stop if you’d like.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWell,” she said, a smile teasing the edges of her lips, “I could try to stop. For you.”
    He turned and worked his way to the opposite end of the room, picking a box at random to open. “I think you’re funny,” he said, not looking at her.
    She popped her head up from the other side of the room. “I heard that!”
    â€œNot deaf, but definitely funny.”
    â€œI’m sorry, did you say something?” She opened a box, closed it, opened the next, working her way toward him. “Someone sick?”
    â€œWhy?”
    She pulled out an unopened box of face masks. “There are lots of medical supplies in here.”
    â€œMy dad’s a doctor,” he said.
    â€œSee, that’s why you’re seeing a shrink.”
    â€œStill not funny.”
    â€œWhat kind of doctor?” She closed the box and moved on to the next one.
    â€œForensics.”
    â€œLike, with dead people?”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œThis really is the creepy house. Does your shrink have an opening for me?”
    They worked their way from one end of the basement to the other, box to box, until they met in the middle.
    â€œWhy would he hide them?” she asked.
    Henry rubbed his eyes. Sweat beaded his skin and his palms were moist; his scars itched in the heat. He closed the last box with a sigh.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œMaybe he was just cleaning?” She walked back to the circuit box. “It obviously needed it.”
    â€œThen where did he put them?”
    â€œThrew them away? Maybe they weren’t his.” She opened the original box, still empty, and turned it upside down, shaking it.
    â€œI remember them,” Henry said, his voice quiet as he sat down on the stairs at the other end of the basement.
    â€œWhat?” she asked.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Justine said as she sat down next to him.
    â€œNot your fault,” he said. “Thank you for helping.”
    â€œWasn’t much help.”
    A door slammed upstairs, the sound loud in the close space. She jumped, just a little, scooting closer to Henry, her hand resting on his arm.
    Footfalls were loud against the wood flooring as someone walked around the house. Henry stood up, pulling Justine with him. He reached up to pull the light cord, plunging them into darkness .
    At the top of the stairs, the door stayed closed. Her hand was moist in his, her skin soft and warm.
    â€œHenry?” she whispered, squeezing his fingers.
    â€œProbably my dad.”
    â€œWhy are we hiding?” she asked.
    The footsteps faded away before another door slammed and then there was silence, save for the constant hum of the air-conditioning.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, and started to reach for the light cord.
    â€œShh,” she said, tugging on his hand.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDid you hear that?”
    â€œHear what?”
    In the darkness, she gripped tighter on to his