"Has anybody seen Paul?" Michael asked. "I know he likes to take off for a couple of days here and there, but it's been like four days. I'm getting worried."
"Don't worry," the mother said. "You guys are that age. You leave. You find girlfriends. Jobs. Other places to live. It happened to me. Happens to everyone."
"I know. Everyone just seems to be leaving all at once. Andy's gone. Laura's gone. Michelle's gone. I heard she was working that two story on Peach Street. Must be a lot going on over there."
"I really like David's girlfriend," the mother said, changing the subject, knowing what she knew. "I'm so glad she moved in. She likes to bake. I like that. She made chocolate cake the other day. Did you get a chance to try it? I'm not a big fan of chocolate cake, but I'll take it. I love her peanut butter cookies."
They sat in silence for a while before Michael excused himself.
"Be careful out there," the mother said. "Keep your eyes peeled."
"I know," he said, tired of hearing her going on and on about keeping his eyes peeled, to not let his emotions get the best of him, to think.
Michael made the usual rounds. Didn't find too much but came home satisfied. He found his spot and fell asleep. He dreamt of Paul. He didn't look well. His eyes were dull, his shoulders slumped. His neck couldn't hold his head which kept rolling around.
"Time will tell," he told Michael and disappeared in smoke.
That night Michael watched the girlfriend eating a sandwich. She was haunting. Pale white skin. Jet-black eyes. She made a phone call.
"Oh, I'm taking care of the fucking problem," she said, her black eyes scanning the kitchen. "It's disgusting."
David walked into the kitchen. He sat down and lit a cigarette. He looked at the base of the refrigerator where he set one up.
"I moved some of them around, " he said. "Put one behind the hutch. One by the sliding door. Who knows where they're coming in from."
They turned off the kitchen light and Michael darted from his hiding spot. He went to the trashcan. Zipped under the pantry door and shit in his regular spot. He went to the bathroom down the hall. On his way back to the kitchen something caught his nose. It overwhelmed him. He took a few quick steps in its direction but stopped and thought for a moment, his nose nervously bobbing in the air. But the scent was too much and overpowered the warning and his nose lead him to the refrigerator. He licked the top of the peanut butter. Snap. He couldn't see. He didn't know what was happening. Something heavy was crushing his neck. He tried to pull himself out, his feet frantically scrapping against the wood and tile. He stopped to catch his breath. The air swirled with panic. He tried one last time, his neck finally giving in.
"There goes another one," Michael told Shannon after hearing the trap close. "Another dead mouse."
