Read Online INK: Vanishing Point (Book 2) by Bella Roccaforte - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bella Roccaforte
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bedroom. Either one of those
could be my downfall tonight. It’s too much to ask for but I
really want Shay to wreck me in the bedroom like she always does,
leaving me unable to move, but at what cost?
Carl clears his throat, drawing me away
from the thought, which is good because standing here in front of him
at “half staff” probably isn’t my slickest move.
“You want something to drink? I’ve got soda, water, milk
and some juice. I also have a shit ton of mixers but no booze.”
That’s a fucking lie; that bottle of Johnny whispers my name.
“Water, please.” Carl
smiles; his southern drawl really doesn’t fit him and it makes
me wonder if it’s a put-on.
“So Carl, where’re you
from?” Let’s see what he comes up with; probably go for
the obvious like Mississippi or Georgia. Honestly if I had to guess
I’d say Texas. Not to mention the sheer size of this
motherfucker. Everything’s bigger in Texas, right?
“The Philippines,” he states
simply.
His answer stops me in my tracks. “The
Philippines?” I’m dubious, considering I’ve never
heard anyone from the Philippines with a thick drawl like Carl’s.
“Yeah, I came to the States when I
was ten.” He takes the water.
“Where did you land then?”
“All over really; been a little
bit of everywhere.” He nods confirming his nomad status.
“How long have you been working
with McFruitcake.” I can’t bring myself to take that guy
seriously. I mean, Carl seems like an okay guy. Anyone willing to
stand guard for Shay like he did is all right in my book.
“McNab and I have been associates
for a long while.” He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t
appreciate my personification of Sir Fruitcake.
“So you take all of that
seriously? The paranormal crap.” I really can’t buy into
it. I’ve heard so many bullshit stories in the courtroom. Now
having someone try to peddle this line of hocus pocus is just
ridiculous. Carl is a grown man; he’s got to be in his
thirties, old enough to know better.
“Don’t you?” he says,
leaning across the breakfast bar.
“No.”
“So what’s your explanation
of what’s happening with Shay?” he challenges.
“I think it’s all some sort
of misunderstanding.” I really don’t know what to make of
it, but I’m not buying his ghost stories.
“Ghost stories?” He
straightens up raising an eyebrow.
Shit did I say that out loud? “Yeah,
I’m not buying this Specter story. It’s just not
plausible.”
“McNab will figure it all out; I’m
confident he’ll be able to help her.”
“I hope so; I’m not sure how
much longer I’m going to have a job if this keeps up. I’m
not Aiden Roth, born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” I choke
on his name when I say it. I’m so fucking mad at him. I really
do think he’s lost it. He tried to kill her.
“You should lighten up on Aiden;
you don’t know what he’s going through.” He says it
sympathetically as though he does know.
“Are you ever going to tell me
what happened that night?” I know there’s more to the
story than he’s telling. I just don’t understand his
motivation for not helping us get him.
“I did tell you what happened. I
heard two gunshots. I entered the home and Shay was lying on the
floor alone. I called 9-1-1 and got her out of there when I saw the
fire.” He says it simply, he’s just not talking. This is
useless.
“You want to watch the game?”
I abandon all hope of him filling me in. I know Shay will get her
memory back and she’ll tell me what happened.
“Sure, why not.”
Chapter 7
Reach Out & Touch Carl
Shay
My dreams have been so restless lately;
as if someone or something is trying to break through but I can’t
reach them. It’s as though I’m watching from far away or
on a TV with a bad antenna. Looking around trying to see where I am,
it comes in a little clearer: my living room. The windows are broken
and the curtains wave with the wind snagging on the broken glass.
could be my downfall tonight. It’s too much to ask for but I
really want Shay to wreck me in the bedroom like she always does,
leaving me unable to move, but at what cost?
Carl clears his throat, drawing me away
from the thought, which is good because standing here in front of him
at “half staff” probably isn’t my slickest move.
“You want something to drink? I’ve got soda, water, milk
and some juice. I also have a shit ton of mixers but no booze.”
That’s a fucking lie; that bottle of Johnny whispers my name.
“Water, please.” Carl
smiles; his southern drawl really doesn’t fit him and it makes
me wonder if it’s a put-on.
“So Carl, where’re you
from?” Let’s see what he comes up with; probably go for
the obvious like Mississippi or Georgia. Honestly if I had to guess
I’d say Texas. Not to mention the sheer size of this
motherfucker. Everything’s bigger in Texas, right?
“The Philippines,” he states
simply.
His answer stops me in my tracks. “The
Philippines?” I’m dubious, considering I’ve never
heard anyone from the Philippines with a thick drawl like Carl’s.
“Yeah, I came to the States when I
was ten.” He takes the water.
“Where did you land then?”
“All over really; been a little
bit of everywhere.” He nods confirming his nomad status.
“How long have you been working
with McFruitcake.” I can’t bring myself to take that guy
seriously. I mean, Carl seems like an okay guy. Anyone willing to
stand guard for Shay like he did is all right in my book.
“McNab and I have been associates
for a long while.” He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t
appreciate my personification of Sir Fruitcake.
“So you take all of that
seriously? The paranormal crap.” I really can’t buy into
it. I’ve heard so many bullshit stories in the courtroom. Now
having someone try to peddle this line of hocus pocus is just
ridiculous. Carl is a grown man; he’s got to be in his
thirties, old enough to know better.
“Don’t you?” he says,
leaning across the breakfast bar.
“No.”
“So what’s your explanation
of what’s happening with Shay?” he challenges.
“I think it’s all some sort
of misunderstanding.” I really don’t know what to make of
it, but I’m not buying his ghost stories.
“Ghost stories?” He
straightens up raising an eyebrow.
Shit did I say that out loud? “Yeah,
I’m not buying this Specter story. It’s just not
plausible.”
“McNab will figure it all out; I’m
confident he’ll be able to help her.”
“I hope so; I’m not sure how
much longer I’m going to have a job if this keeps up. I’m
not Aiden Roth, born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” I choke
on his name when I say it. I’m so fucking mad at him. I really
do think he’s lost it. He tried to kill her.
“You should lighten up on Aiden;
you don’t know what he’s going through.” He says it
sympathetically as though he does know.
“Are you ever going to tell me
what happened that night?” I know there’s more to the
story than he’s telling. I just don’t understand his
motivation for not helping us get him.
“I did tell you what happened. I
heard two gunshots. I entered the home and Shay was lying on the
floor alone. I called 9-1-1 and got her out of there when I saw the
fire.” He says it simply, he’s just not talking. This is
useless.
“You want to watch the game?”
I abandon all hope of him filling me in. I know Shay will get her
memory back and she’ll tell me what happened.
“Sure, why not.”
Chapter 7
Reach Out & Touch Carl
Shay
My dreams have been so restless lately;
as if someone or something is trying to break through but I can’t
reach them. It’s as though I’m watching from far away or
on a TV with a bad antenna. Looking around trying to see where I am,
it comes in a little clearer: my living room. The windows are broken
and the curtains wave with the wind snagging on the broken glass.
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