Below Tommy emerged on the stairs of the second floor with his own gun and torch. Balaclava mask on his face. He knew these were the same steps that Frankie took; he’d seen him. Now he hoped to come across him as he whispered out his name. 

He knew he was supposed to be on the look out for the old woman of the house, but truthfully, Tommy wasn’t all too worried about her. This job was as good as completed to him, although he doubted they’d get away with too much because this house looked fucked up. He was at the kitchen right now (switched the lights on) and he could see that nobody had used it for a while. Fat cockroaches ran on the stove and the fridge. Grease all over the kitchen and floor; a few of Tommy’s steps were sticky. The cupboards were covered with moth and they damped out of their original colour. Some of the cupboards didn’t have covers. 

There was a large swarm of flies over a pile of unwashed dishes on the rusty sink. Tommy twisted open the tap but no water came out. Even through the mask Tommy could still smell the stench of the place, he couldn’t identify what smell it was but he knew it was of something rotten. He dreaded to open the fridge – he might puke at what he finds there (puke on the mask and face) – so he just walked past it. 

Where the hell was Frankie? He suspected he may have passed the kitchen due to how dirty it was and there was nothing valuable they could take here. Whatever it was they could leave with, they’d probably need to clean it first before they could sell it, or even fix it first. 

Tommy rushed to the empty black kettle on the corner, not sure if it was working. He took it, proceeded to the microwave near the dusty cracked window when his phone rang. Frankie Calling…

Tommy answered in a whisper: “hey! Where are you?” 

He heard a scream on the other line, a male scream. 

“Frankie? What’s…what’s going on?” 

“She’s – she’s not…alone! She’s not alone!” Frankie screamed. 

“What?” 

“She’s not alone! Be caref –” Frankie’s last words. 

“Hello? Hello? Frankie? Shit!” The call was over. Tommy called back but he couldn’t get through. He stood in the middle of the kitchen with the kettle in hand. Nothing but confusion. She’s not alone? 

Tommy heard over the phone that Frankie himself was not alone. Behind his scream there was another sound Tommy heard; a growl – sounded like it, and the voice of the growl was really strange, like it’s not human. She’s not alone! It was like Frankie was still screaming in Tommy’s brain. 

He remembered the growl. The old woman couldn’t have made that growl. He deduced that she shares the house with someone else, something else. She’s not alone.