week eight: the baby shoes

I doubt I will ever amount to the prowess of Ernest Hemingway, but here we go:
             "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
This past week I visited "Secondhand Attire and Other Miscellaneous Items" a thrift shop I often frequent at least once a month. I've made a habit of going down each aisle to make sure I never miss any interesting articles. On this most recent visit, I happened to chance upon one of the most intriguing objects I've found to date. As I was walking down the row with mother and baby items, a peculiar sign caught my eye. It read as follows "baby shoes, never worn." I bought them without a second thought and at the checkout I asked the cashier if he knew the story behind the shoes. The kindly old bearded man told me that he unfortunately didn't have any extra information, but that I could go ask the worker in the unloading station if he might know. Following the instructions, I went back to the unloading station and met with the man. His name was Karl. Karl said that the shoes were brought in earlier today. A seemingly nice mid thirties man brought them in and luckily for me, "Secondhand Attire and Other Miscellaneous Items" has a sign in book for all people who donate so the employees can call and ask if they have any other items that they'd like to get rid of.  Luckily, the middle aged man had decided to fill in his information. Karl said it was alright if I tore out the man's page and took it with. I stopped at the nearest traveler's center and purchased a tri-fold map to find my way to the address he left on the paper. I went to the nearest Starbucks and sat down at an outside cafe table and studied the map. After about an hour I finally pinpointed the location. I got on the nearest red-line L train and then rode towards 95th/ Dan Ryan. I got off somewhere shortly before the loop, most likely the stop on Grand, and then followed the direction I wrote to myself. After a roughly thirty minute stroll, I arrived at a large apartment complex. I found the man's name, Johann Eickhoff, on the directory. I toned up to his apartment and awaited the original questions. What I wasn't expecting was German yelled through the intercom at me. I jumped back alarmed and then started to explain myself. After approximately fifteen minutes of conversation, he buzzed me in, while giving me directions to his room. I took the elevator to the sixth floor and went to the room marked 644. I knocked on the door and a fair haired man opened it. I happened to peek past him and saw a transparent tarp on the ground and was a little distressed, but then thought maybe the man was just doing some painting. I walked in and he hastily shut the door behind me. Johann showed me around his apartment a little bit and then I asked him about the baby shoes. A little bit off offhandedly he said things didn't work out as well as he had planned with his expecting wife. At that moment I started to realize that there was a bit of a weird tense in the atmosphere and I peeked around the corner to glance into the adjacent room where I first glimpsed the tarp. When I saw the bloody streaks on it and a woman's body in the partially rolled up tarp, I ran to the door as fast as I could. Just as I hastily unlatched the locks and burst through the doorway I heard Johann's footsteps coming down the hall. I ran to the stairs, because waiting for the elevator to come would have been the end of me. I jumped down four stairs at a time and then dashed through the entrance to the building. I ran all the way back to the thrift shop and returned the shoes. I no longer frequent the shop. In fact I haven't frequented anywhere lately. I jump at every shadow expecting Johann to be there waiting to tie up his loose ends.