Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Go,” Detective Arroyo said to me, turning to her partners. “I’ll explain to them. Go.”
She didn’t need to urge me any further. I took off in a run across my front lawn, leaving behind my home to be turned over and picked through like a dead corpse by a pack of hungry vultures, hoping to all fucking hope that I wasn’t running toward another one.
16
GABRIEL FERNANDEZ
The address I’d gotten was about an hour away, closer to the mountains than the city, but with the speed I drove, it looked to be much less. Eric had jumped into my car at the last minute, sitting in the passenger seat under a vise of strained silence. I raced through the streets, zooming underneath yellow lights and cutting off slower drivers without remorse. There was no time to wave an apologetic hand, no time to feel bad.
All I kept seeing in my head was a tied-up Tristan, terrified and confused, wondering what the hell was going to happen to him.
I pushed down on the gas. The car’s engine gave a roar as I broke the speed limit on the highway. Rush hour was only just starting, the traffic picking up.
Just ahead were two large semitrucks on either side of me. One had its blinker on to switch into my lane. They started inching in. I sped up, getting pushed back into my seat as I threaded the car through the two trucks, earning a blaring honk from the one with the blinkers.
It was dangerous, but I couldn’t get stuck behind slow-driving trucks or lost tourists or frustrated commuters. I just had to get to Tristan. That was all that mattered.
Trist, fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m coming for you.
My grip tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turned a pale white, stark against my normally tan skin. The GPS cut through my focus by announcing the exit was coming up. I jerked the wheel to the right, cutting in front of a beat-up Honda. Eric held on to the “oh-shit” handle with one hand and the center console with the other.
I may not have to apologize to the truck drivers, but I definitely had to buy Eric a beer after this.
The exit dumped us off into a run-down town on the outskirts of the Blue Ridge Mountains. An abandoned gas station seemed to serve as the spot to meet up for all the drug dealers and their customers. The street was pocked with potholes, but I didn’t slow down. We were only ten minutes away, according to the GPS, and I was determined to make that in five.
The cracked road turned off into a rising hill, skinny trees encroaching on both sides, replacing the beat-up buildings and sketchy people. The houses here were tucked deep into the trees, separated by plenty of space. Mailboxes marked the dirt roads that led up to the small homes. We were almost to the destination. My heart pounded like a drum against my ribs. I was sure it couldn’t be healthy, but it only got more intense as I turned down the road, a cyclone of dust kicking up behind us.
“This is it,” I said, stopping the car in front of an unassuming home. It appeared normal, with white slats and a well-maintained front porch. But the red roof appeared to be needing a lot of work, and the iron bars on the windows gave an ominous hint as to what horrors went on inside those walls.
“Let’s stay together,” Eric said, grabbing his gun from his holster. I did the same, the heft of it in my hands acting like a comfort. If the Midnight Chemist was in there, then this nightmarish saga was about to come to an end.
We got out of the car, closing the doors as silent as possible. Gravel and rocks crunching under our feet mixed with the chorus of birds that sang all around us. I tried to pick up on any sounds of struggle or pain coming from the house but got nothing. It didn’t even appear like anyone lived inside. There were no cars, no furniture on the dirty porch, no lights coming through the shut blinds.
Except that the front door was left slightly ajar. The only sign of life. Eric watched my back as I inched toward the open door. Shadows slithered through the opening. I grabbed the doorframe, slipping my fingers into the shadows, and tugged the door open slowly. The hinges gave a low creak that made me freeze. We had the element of surprise here, and I wanted to make sure we kept it.
I opened the door all the way, revealing a barren living room with a stained beige rug and a ceiling that dipped in certain places. There was enough light coming from the open door to see that there were two simple lawn chairs placed in the center of the room, facing an ancient-looking television. There was a plate with a half-eaten and extra bloody burger sitting on the floor.