Abandon
“Abigail’s head was killing her, and the left side of her face was hot, swollen. Her headlamp revealed a place of absolute decay, the wood-paneled walls warped and blackened with mold. They passed through a small sitting area and arrived at a pair of French doors. Lawrence pushed them open, the hinges grinding rust into rust.
As they entered a short hallway, Lawrence pointed out the first door on the right. “That was Bart’s office,” he said. “Door on the left opens into the guest room.”
Abigail shone her light inside—sparsely furnished, with two single beds, their posts and headboards smashed, mattresses disintegrated into mounds of rotted down, a capsized chest of drawers, fireplace, wardrobe.
They went on, passing large picture frames that had fallen from the walls and lay in pieces on the floor.
“So what you got in that notebook that brought you to this wing?” Isaiah asked.
“In 1889, Packer hired an architect named Bruce Price to design this mansion. I had a breakthrough last winter... at the New York Public Library, when I found Price’s notes on the final floor plan.MoreLess
As they entered a short hallway, Lawrence pointed out the first door on the right. “That was Bart’s office,” he said. “Door on the left opens into the guest room.”
Abigail shone her light inside—sparsely furnished, with two single beds, their posts and headboards smashed, mattresses disintegrated into mounds of rotted down, a capsized chest of drawers, fireplace, wardrobe.
They went on, passing large picture frames that had fallen from the walls and lay in pieces on the floor.
“So what you got in that notebook that brought you to this wing?” Isaiah asked.
“In 1889, Packer hired an architect named Bruce Price to design this mansion. I had a breakthrough last winter... at the New York Public Library, when I found Price’s notes on the final floor plan.MoreLess
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