Annette was still dumbfounded by the table that had been rather carelessly put into the room she shared with The Builder.
Grabbing a leg, she pulled at the cloth that seemed to be stitched at the ends. Something about it seemed weirdly human.
She then patted around the rest of the table, trying to figure out what it was made of. Trying to lift it proved worthless. It was much too heavy.
Now Annette poked the top of it, surprised to see it give a little under her finger.
“I can’t exactly see this being used to hold magazines,” she muttered to herself as she pulled at the fabric.
Finally, the fabric at the top gave way. The image she saw under caused her to shout out in dismay.
Hearing her cry, The Builder popped into the doorway. They pouted at seeing what she’d just ripped off.
“Aww, you wrecked the nice table I made for you!” They said as they put their hands on their hips. “You weren’t supposed to tear that part off.”
“Why…” Annette dropped the torn fabric, pointing to the tattoo on the dead man’s chest. “Why would you do that to him?”
The Builder shrugged, and walked over to the gruesome item. “Well, think of it this way, Netty dear! This way he gets to be worth something to people that matter!”
“But…” Annette glanced at the table again. “He was worth something to me. He was a person that had value and-”
“Value?!” The Builder just scoffed. “Like Carpet-Fresh Hell he had value! He was worthless as a person, and he was worthless as a zombie!”
Here they slammed their face onto what used to be her nephew’s stomach. “Ooh, but he makes some damn good furniture.” They then poked the corpse’s chest. “Might have to iron the man-boobs out, though.”
Annette was appalled at how they were acting. She knew she should have expected it by now, but The Builder kept finding new ways to disgust her.
“Or, if you don’t want him as a coffee table, he works as a foot rest also! Or even a really big footstool!”
They began to cackle madly as they wrapped themself around the grisly piece of furniture. Annette just backed away out of the room, trying to distance herself from what had become of her nephew.
When she was out of there, Annette went off in search of hidden passageway. She needed to be away from their disturbed creep of a spouse.
“So does Uncle Dudley know where Sinbad lives now?” Shark asked his father as the two approached the station.
“Hm?” Dennis was a little distracted by Sagebear, bounding ahead of them in her latest new ensemble. “He said he did.”
By the time the two of them got up to the steps, Sagebear was already nosing her way past the doors. When Shark and Dennis got inside, she’d clambered over to Dudley.
“Now, aren’t you a cute little girl,” they heard Dudley say when she caught up to him. “I bet you could be the most fashionable dog on the circuit.” He looked up at his brother and nephew now.
“I suppose I know why you’re here. Hold up a moment…” He rifled through the files he had on hand, pulling out a piece of paper with an address written on it. “Last I checked, this was where Mister Rotter lives now-”
Shark quickly grabbed the paper out of his uncle’s hand, and ran out of the police station. He couldn’t contain his excitement at the chance to apologize to his ex-fiance for everything.
The other three watched him go, thinking how desperate Shark was going to see him again.
Making sure they had everything packed, Marc and Harwood scrunched themselves into the passenger’s side of Sinbad’s truck.
Sinbad himself pulled the keys out of his pocket, and jammed them into the ignition.
“So how long is the ride to Bridgeport?” Sinbad was still reeling over the news that Harwood had sprung on him and Marc.
Apparently, he was finally given a chance to come out of retirement and go back into sculpting. The only drawback was that they had to move to the city.
Despite it being on such short notice, Sinbad was still able to tell his boss he needed a job transfer. Thankfully, she was understanding about it all.
He just wished it wasn’t so hard to say goodbye to her and his co-workers. After their teary farewells, he waved to them and continued on out of town.
“I’ll tell you when we get on the road,” Harwood said as he tried to get more comfortable in the truck.
Now they passed the ruins of Racket Mansion, and then the town sign. Sinbad felt a twinge of sadness at what he was leaving behind.
He then told himself there wasn’t anything left for him in Twinbrook. The love of his life didn’t want him anymore, and anyone else he considered a friend was either dead or also broke contact.
Taking one last look at the quickly fading town, Sinbad breathed deeply, and kept his eyes on the road.
“Sinbad!” Shark’s yelling could be heard over the eerie silence of the little island. “Sinbad, it’s me! I’m sorry for what I said before!”
He paid no heed to the “For Sale” sign that was up on the front lawn. All Shark could think about was seeing his ex-fiance again.
Running up the steps, Shark began slamming his hand against the glass door. Even in his excitement, he knew not to hit it too hard.
“It’s me, Sinbad! Please say something! Please, I’m sorry!” The inside of the house was dark, indicating no one was home. He tried to open the door, but it was locked tight.
He then looked sadly at the inside of the place. The address was right and everything, but there were no signs of life.
Sliding down to his knees, Shark tried to figure out if there were some kind of error. All he could do now was whisper, “Sinbad?” to the emptied house.
Crawling over to the steps, Shark looked at the sign he hadn’t noticed before. His hands were trembling with sadness and bewilderment.
“Did…did you leave because of me?” He tried standing up, only to collapse again.
Falling to his knees, Shark clutched at the ground, trying to figure out when Sinbad had left.
“Why…Why’d I have to throw you out? Why didn’t I listen to you explain everything?” He shuddered with tears of sorrow and pain.
“It’s all my fault. It’s my fault you’re gone.” He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth. “Why am I so stupid?”
Shark then tilted his head skyward, letting the tears drip down his face. His anguish was evident when he shrieked his last, one-word question: