“Oh please, Gertrude. Don’t be such a p***y. Get back up on that bike and ride!” He slapped him on the shoulder.
“Ahhh!”
“Wrong one, faker.”
The room was in much better condition than before. The furniture had been replaced, the blood on the floor mopped up. Even the fireplace was cleaned and cleared of the charred husks of log and ash. Gertrude hovered in the hallway, stealing peeks over Zorn’s shoulder.
“Someone’s been here since we last visited,” Zorn observed.
Topher moved from lamp to lamp, turning each one on. Soon, light warmed the room “Me and Marvin. We fixed the door.”
The door was far from fixed. It looked like a team of six year olds had been let loose with scraps of wood and glue and nails. It hung cockeyed in the frame and wouldn’t close or lock.
“Good job,” Zorn said.
