Read Online Alan Price and the Colossus of Rhodes (The Nephilim Chronicles) by Jonathan Yanez - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Yanez
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out of instinct than will. The only thing that stopped his thumb’s
progress was the soft halt of the elevator and a dinging sound as the elevator
doors slid open.
Alan stuffed the phone back into
his pocket and shook the notion of calling the number out of his head. When he
raised his eyes to look down the hall to his penthouse door, he stopped in his
tracks.
He always left his door closed.
Always. Living on the run at an early age and having to look over his shoulder
on a daily basis instilled the habit of locking up after himself.
His door was cracked open. Alan
made his way down the hall. He could hear music coming from his penthouse.
Carmina Burana: O Fortuna played in the background. Alan only recognized the song because he owned it. It
was music that inspired him and one of the few things, along with reading and
exercise, that helped when his depression was at its worst.
The inkling to run or report the
break in to the police crossed his mind but only for the briefest of moments.
Any contact with the police would be bad. Too many questions could arise. Although
the less than upstanding citizen whom he bought them from assured him that his
purchased identities were solid, he didn’t want to test the theory.
Alan wrapped his pea coat tighter
around him and prepared himself to take off at a sprint in a moment’s notice.
Alan’s hand made contact with his
thick wooden door. It swung open without a sound. He wasn’t sure what to
expect, nothing happened. His penthouse looked normal. Everything was in place.
No signs of break in; no items strewn across the floor or broken.
Aromas of cooked meat and the
sounds of someone busy in the kitchen made Alan’s heart rate accelerate. Alan
left the door wide open in case he needed to bolt down the hall. He quietly
tiptoed through his family room, past his makeshift exercise and weight room
and into the kitchen.
Adrenaline pumped to every inch of
his body. Alan’s mouth was dry as he turned a corner and was met with the sight
of a slender man with his back towards him. Whoever he was, he was busy at
work. A towel draped over one shoulder; he was hunched over the stove.
“If I was going to hurt you, would
I be cooking you dinner? Mmmmm… let’s think here. No, probably not.”
Alan stopped and almost ran just
hearing the sound of the man’s voice. It sounded like a snake slithering and
dripped past the man’s lips in a way that would put anyone on edge. Alan hadn’t
made a sound coming in, he was sure of that.
“What do you think of my music selection?”
He turned and winked at Alan. “It’s a personal favorite of mine, so inspiring
and uplifting. I would listen to more but you know how it is, all work and no
play.”
Alan stood tensed as he examined
the intruder. He was tall with an inviting smile and dark hair. His wardrobe’s
elitist nature would have put any A-list celebrity to shame: a tailored buttoned-up
shirt with a light blue vest and tight fitting slacks. A spatula covered in red
sauce that reminded Alan of blood held poised in his right hand. Alan’s eyes
widened as he examine the man’s feet. “Are those my slippers?”
“Oh, yes, my bad. My feet were
killing me. I’m going to have to murder the shoe sales associate that pointed
them out. By the way, these things are like walking on clouds, pure orthopedic
bliss. Do you know if they come in Tiffany Blue?”
Alan’s face answered for him as the
man moved the conversation along. “Well, enough about me. I hope you’re hungry.
Dinner is about done. Let’s sit at the table like civilized folk.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is—well, you know
all about this, Alan. Known by one name here a different one there. But since
we are going to be such great friends, I’ll let you in on the secret and tell
you. My real name is Dominic Drencher. ”
Dominic was talking so fast it took
Alan a moment to realize what he said. “I need you to leave right now. Put my
spatula down and step away
progress was the soft halt of the elevator and a dinging sound as the elevator
doors slid open.
Alan stuffed the phone back into
his pocket and shook the notion of calling the number out of his head. When he
raised his eyes to look down the hall to his penthouse door, he stopped in his
tracks.
He always left his door closed.
Always. Living on the run at an early age and having to look over his shoulder
on a daily basis instilled the habit of locking up after himself.
His door was cracked open. Alan
made his way down the hall. He could hear music coming from his penthouse.
Carmina Burana: O Fortuna played in the background. Alan only recognized the song because he owned it. It
was music that inspired him and one of the few things, along with reading and
exercise, that helped when his depression was at its worst.
The inkling to run or report the
break in to the police crossed his mind but only for the briefest of moments.
Any contact with the police would be bad. Too many questions could arise. Although
the less than upstanding citizen whom he bought them from assured him that his
purchased identities were solid, he didn’t want to test the theory.
Alan wrapped his pea coat tighter
around him and prepared himself to take off at a sprint in a moment’s notice.
Alan’s hand made contact with his
thick wooden door. It swung open without a sound. He wasn’t sure what to
expect, nothing happened. His penthouse looked normal. Everything was in place.
No signs of break in; no items strewn across the floor or broken.
Aromas of cooked meat and the
sounds of someone busy in the kitchen made Alan’s heart rate accelerate. Alan
left the door wide open in case he needed to bolt down the hall. He quietly
tiptoed through his family room, past his makeshift exercise and weight room
and into the kitchen.
Adrenaline pumped to every inch of
his body. Alan’s mouth was dry as he turned a corner and was met with the sight
of a slender man with his back towards him. Whoever he was, he was busy at
work. A towel draped over one shoulder; he was hunched over the stove.
“If I was going to hurt you, would
I be cooking you dinner? Mmmmm… let’s think here. No, probably not.”
Alan stopped and almost ran just
hearing the sound of the man’s voice. It sounded like a snake slithering and
dripped past the man’s lips in a way that would put anyone on edge. Alan hadn’t
made a sound coming in, he was sure of that.
“What do you think of my music selection?”
He turned and winked at Alan. “It’s a personal favorite of mine, so inspiring
and uplifting. I would listen to more but you know how it is, all work and no
play.”
Alan stood tensed as he examined
the intruder. He was tall with an inviting smile and dark hair. His wardrobe’s
elitist nature would have put any A-list celebrity to shame: a tailored buttoned-up
shirt with a light blue vest and tight fitting slacks. A spatula covered in red
sauce that reminded Alan of blood held poised in his right hand. Alan’s eyes
widened as he examine the man’s feet. “Are those my slippers?”
“Oh, yes, my bad. My feet were
killing me. I’m going to have to murder the shoe sales associate that pointed
them out. By the way, these things are like walking on clouds, pure orthopedic
bliss. Do you know if they come in Tiffany Blue?”
Alan’s face answered for him as the
man moved the conversation along. “Well, enough about me. I hope you’re hungry.
Dinner is about done. Let’s sit at the table like civilized folk.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is—well, you know
all about this, Alan. Known by one name here a different one there. But since
we are going to be such great friends, I’ll let you in on the secret and tell
you. My real name is Dominic Drencher. ”
Dominic was talking so fast it took
Alan a moment to realize what he said. “I need you to leave right now. Put my
spatula down and step away
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