Breaching the Under-Shelf

I pushed past the thick carpet fibers and ducked under the heavy wooden overhang. Dust motes drifted in the dead air. Ahead, jammed between a tangle of speaker wire and the wall trim, sat a discarded plastic eyepatch. Small. Yellowed tape on the band. I picked it up with both hands, tested its snapped elastic, and pocketed the fragment. Footprints through the grime showed someone dragged a weight toward the far baseboard corner. The trail is fresh. I am closing the perimeter.