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Authors: Brian J. Jarrett
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and tossed carelessly onto the floor.
He turned to the dresser. It sat against the wall, the drawers open, the clothes inside removed and tossed to the floor. Max walked toward it, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. At the dresser, he knelt down and reached behind it, feeling for the DVD.
It wasn’t there.
Max pulled the dresser away from the wall in order to get a look behind it and his eyes confirmed what his fingers had already told him. The disc was gone, taken by whoever tossed the house.
Max’s heart ratcheted up a notch, beating harder than before. He turned, expecting to see someone there in the room with him, probably with a gun. He wondered if he’d feel it when they put a bullet in him and left him lying on the floor of his bedroom in a pool of his own blood.
But the room was empty as he stood there, thoughts racing and head buzzing from the shock of it all.
He had to get out of the house right away. He couldn’t stay there. He left the bedroom, still half-expecting to find someone waiting for him elsewhere in the house.
But the house proved empty; violated, but empty.
Max went to Josh’s room and found the door open and the contents scattered about. Anger surged inside him as he looked upon Josh’s bed, the sheets stripped off and the mattress lying on its side. Whoever did this had disturbed the sheets Josh had made up the day he’d died. They’d ruined everything, Max found as he looked around the room. Max had left everything as Josh had left it and now it was all destroyed.
He glanced at Josh’s desk and found they’d taken his son’s laptop as well.
He left the room quickly and retrieved a duffel bag from his closet. He stuffed it with some of the clothes that had been tossed onto the floor and slung the bag over his shoulder before grabbing his laptop and power cord on the way out to his car. He threw the items into the back seat, glancing furtively around for the perpetrators to arrive.
Seeing no one, he slid in behind the wheel and started the car. He shifted the transmission into reverse and paused, foot on the brake. Where would he go? He had his credit cards; he could get a hotel room for now, until he had time to think. Time to figure out what to do next.
He took his foot off the brake and allowed the car to drift backward down the driveway and into the subdivision street. He shifted into drive and pulled forward. As he did his phone buzzed in his pocket, the text tone chiming softly. He retrieved the phone, unlocking it and staring at the screen. There he saw an unknown phone number and a single sentence:
They’re following you
Chapter Nineteen
Max nearly dropped the phone as he read the words on the screen. Questions lined up for roll call in his mind, sounding off one by one. Who sent the text? Who ransacked his house? Who took Amanda’s DVD?
He wasn’t sure, but the last four digits of the number looked familiar. The same person who texted him in the basement of that flophouse? Possibly. But he didn’t have time to check now.
Now, someone might be following him.
Max glanced in the rearview at the street behind him. A small, red Camry trailed a reasonable distance behind. Max had no idea, however, if the car was following him. And how could he? What had he expected to see, another black Lincoln Towncar bearing down upon him? He supposed that’s exactly what he expected. Truth was, he couldn’t assume anything anymore.
The Camry pulled off after a mile, leaving Max to the two-lane road on which he now traveled. He found himself continually glancing behind, his eyes now locked on a black Nissan Altima. Did Russian human traffickers typically drive Nissans? Did they typically drive Lincoln Towncars? What in the hell constituted typical with people like this?
Max didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. He’d never before felt so out of his element, so in over his head. His mind kept going back to that severed rope in the garage, the cut that
He turned to the dresser. It sat against the wall, the drawers open, the clothes inside removed and tossed to the floor. Max walked toward it, feeling a sense of dread wash over him. At the dresser, he knelt down and reached behind it, feeling for the DVD.
It wasn’t there.
Max pulled the dresser away from the wall in order to get a look behind it and his eyes confirmed what his fingers had already told him. The disc was gone, taken by whoever tossed the house.
Max’s heart ratcheted up a notch, beating harder than before. He turned, expecting to see someone there in the room with him, probably with a gun. He wondered if he’d feel it when they put a bullet in him and left him lying on the floor of his bedroom in a pool of his own blood.
But the room was empty as he stood there, thoughts racing and head buzzing from the shock of it all.
He had to get out of the house right away. He couldn’t stay there. He left the bedroom, still half-expecting to find someone waiting for him elsewhere in the house.
But the house proved empty; violated, but empty.
Max went to Josh’s room and found the door open and the contents scattered about. Anger surged inside him as he looked upon Josh’s bed, the sheets stripped off and the mattress lying on its side. Whoever did this had disturbed the sheets Josh had made up the day he’d died. They’d ruined everything, Max found as he looked around the room. Max had left everything as Josh had left it and now it was all destroyed.
He glanced at Josh’s desk and found they’d taken his son’s laptop as well.
He left the room quickly and retrieved a duffel bag from his closet. He stuffed it with some of the clothes that had been tossed onto the floor and slung the bag over his shoulder before grabbing his laptop and power cord on the way out to his car. He threw the items into the back seat, glancing furtively around for the perpetrators to arrive.
Seeing no one, he slid in behind the wheel and started the car. He shifted the transmission into reverse and paused, foot on the brake. Where would he go? He had his credit cards; he could get a hotel room for now, until he had time to think. Time to figure out what to do next.
He took his foot off the brake and allowed the car to drift backward down the driveway and into the subdivision street. He shifted into drive and pulled forward. As he did his phone buzzed in his pocket, the text tone chiming softly. He retrieved the phone, unlocking it and staring at the screen. There he saw an unknown phone number and a single sentence:
They’re following you
Chapter Nineteen
Max nearly dropped the phone as he read the words on the screen. Questions lined up for roll call in his mind, sounding off one by one. Who sent the text? Who ransacked his house? Who took Amanda’s DVD?
He wasn’t sure, but the last four digits of the number looked familiar. The same person who texted him in the basement of that flophouse? Possibly. But he didn’t have time to check now.
Now, someone might be following him.
Max glanced in the rearview at the street behind him. A small, red Camry trailed a reasonable distance behind. Max had no idea, however, if the car was following him. And how could he? What had he expected to see, another black Lincoln Towncar bearing down upon him? He supposed that’s exactly what he expected. Truth was, he couldn’t assume anything anymore.
The Camry pulled off after a mile, leaving Max to the two-lane road on which he now traveled. He found himself continually glancing behind, his eyes now locked on a black Nissan Altima. Did Russian human traffickers typically drive Nissans? Did they typically drive Lincoln Towncars? What in the hell constituted typical with people like this?
Max didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. He’d never before felt so out of his element, so in over his head. His mind kept going back to that severed rope in the garage, the cut that
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