Read Online The Truth Collector by Corey Pemberton - Free Book Online Page B

along, talking to himself and rubbing light brown hair that had turned white.
    Then there were footsteps.
    They came from somewhere behind them in the alley. Paul whispered for them to pick up the pace. Their ears were lying to them, he said. They must have been. Malcolm didn't see any shadowy figure weaving among the dumpsters and junk piles lining the alley. Yet still those footsteps came. Dainty, shuffling footsteps. Someone – or some thing – trying to be quiet but unable to silence the echo in the alley. Malcolm and Paul walked faster as those footsteps grew louder.
    Malcolm turned back. “Hey.”
    The footsteps stopped as suddenly as they began. But they started again when Malcolm and Paul pressed on, shuffling along to keep pace. Malcolm looked back into the alley – an alley that was and wasn't empty – then at the riverbank waiting at the end of it in front of them. “Run.”
    Paul took off, slapping his dress shoes through puddles and dumpster drippings and cracked pavement. Malcolm followed as fast as his hobbled ankle allowed. One more block. One more intersection then a little stretch at the end. Cockroaches skittered in front of him in all directions, and from behind some dumpster hideaway a rat squealed. They kept on, filling the alley with footsteps and ragged breathing. Maybe whatever was chasing them paused. Maybe it didn't. Malcolm didn’t bother to check. His eyes were on the little strip of riverbank in front of them. The moon cast its light down there unobstructed. There, they could face their pursuer instead of playing shadow games.
    Paul went through a little intersection where their alley ran into another. His ankle burning, Malcolm followed a dozen paces behind him. He looked over his shoulder just before he reached the intersection. Nothing moved there. No footsteps disturbed the lairs of rats and cockroaches. But he kept running anyway. The river was right there – right past the intersection.
    He went through it…
    Something seized his arm.
    He cried out as his momentum was redirected at the elbow and he crashed into a puddle of putrid water. He slid his hands beneath him just before his teeth hit the pavement. Little pieces of asphalt and glass broke off from the alley and into his palms, creating a hundred cuts and a pool of blood in the puddle beneath him. Malcolm looked up, found Paul facing him in the alley. “Get off of him,” he said.
    Only then did Malcolm notice someone was on him. They wrapped him up in a tangle when he tried to get up. A warm, fleshy tangle. A woman. Malcolm cried out and kicked at her. The way they lay entangled – the vacancy in her eyes – was almost identical to the scene that unfolded at the murder house. She held him by the arm with one hand and used the other to rub a bruise that had formed on her forehead. Her touch was gentle, and the harder Malcolm tried to scramble away the gentler it felt. But somehow she held him there without moving… or even rearranging the sad smile on her face.
    “Get the hell off of me,” Malcolm said. He finally managed to unhook his arm and scooted back across the alley, struggling to put his legs beneath him.
    The woman wore a dark dress which ended halfway down her thighs. Its tassels swished as she got to her feet and adjusted her hairband. “You and your friend looking to have a good time?”
    His bloody hands slid across the alley walls for something to hold on to. “What?”
    “Don't play coy with me,” she said. “I can blow your mind.” She batted her eyelashes a little and fiddled with the strands of pearls around her neck.
    “I'm sure you can,” said Paul. He bent down to help Malcolm up. “But we're done here. Stop following us.”
    “You sure? Give me five minutes. I bet I can change your mind.”
    Malcolm towered over her. “Stop following us. I mean it. Now get lost.”
    She laughed at him. “Not much of a threat – I already am lost.”
    “Whatever,” said Malcolm, turning away. “Thanks