Nothing belongs to me

anymore.

Just like my voice.

Gone forever.

God, please, someone just help me get out.

Get out.

Get out.

Get out.

I want to be free.

For the first time in my life,

I just want to be me.

Whoever that is.

Run.

I want to run away from here

and never look back.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Even if it means beginning again.

Every single day, I tell myself

just to get in my car and

hold onto the steering wheel until the car runs out of gas.

But I’m in too deep to bail.

If I disappear, they’ll come looking for me.

They’ll make death look easy.

Words pour out of me as potent as my fear, spilling across the paper and splattering ink. With each stroke of the pen, I feel lighter. Freer. But then my “business” phone vibrates from inside my bag. Just like that, the lightness and freedom vanishes from my grasp.

I dig through my bag until I find the phone then swipe my finger across the screen and open up the text message.

Doc: Meet me in the back parking lot of the bar tonight at nine o’clock. We need to talk about something important. Don’t be late. And remember I hate being let down, so whatever I ask you tonight, it’s important that you answer right.

I swallow the massive lump wedged in my throat as my hands begin to shake. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones. Whether it has to do with me sneaking out Emery or with what Brooks said, I’m not sure.

The only thing I’m positive about is that I’ll never feel completely free again until this is all over.

Chapter 8

Death is in the Air

Ryler

By the time I arrive back at my apartment, the sun is descending behind the mountains and the sky is various shades of pink and orange. I linger in the stairway, smoking a cigarette and pretending to stare at the sky as the moon rises. Really, I’m trying to get a feel of my surroundings. If any cars look out of place. If any people look out of character. If anyone’s attention remains on me for too long.

From what I can tell, nothing appears out of the ordinary, so I head inside, lock myself in my room, and text Stale from my “business” phone.

Me: I think they might know about Brooks.

Stale: Ryler, we’ve been through this before. You’re always worried they might know, but everything’s always been fine.

I flop down on my mattress and rake my fingers through my hair, stressed out beyond imaginable.

Me: Brooks was acting strange today. He said someone is watching him. And the other day Doc seemed to know I took Emery out even though we didn’t tell anyone.

Stale: Brooks informed me of the same thing, but everything’s fine. In fact, I received a text from him earlier.

Fine. Fine. Fine. A fucking placating word he uses all the time.

Me: What did the text say?

Stale: That he thinks he has a lead to where the warehouse is. He’s looking into it tonight. This could be big, Ryler.

Strange…

Me: When did he say this to you? Because earlier he was saying he thought the warehouse might not exist.

Stale: He texted me just a couple of hours ago. Don’t worry about Brooks. We’re perfectly clear on what’s going on with him. Everything he’s been doing and saying to you has been calculated.

I shake my head. I’m being left out of the loop again. I could press for more details, but knowing Stale, he’s not going to tell me anything.

Me: I have to meet Doc tonight. I don’t want to, but if you think I should, could you at least send someone to follow me and keep an eye on things?

Stale: I can send Loroney. He’s good. He’ll keep an eye on things.

Me: Thanks.

Stale: And Ryler, what do you mean you took Emery out the other night? Why didn’t you tell me this before?

Me: Because it wasn’t a big deal. We just went to a concert. We were bored.

Stale: I think it’s good you’re taking her out. Just be a little more careful that Doc doesn’t find out.

Stale is always pushing for me to try to wiggle details out of Emery. He wants me to find out if she knows the location of the warehouse or if she knows any information about Donny Elderman that might be useful. I feel like an asshole for even thinking of using her like that, though, and avoid making any sort of agreement to do so.

Me: I didn’t let him find out that we went out. I’m pretty sure he has someone watching me and they reported it back to him.

I sit up and pull back the curtain. The view is of a park where a ton of people are running around, lying around, and having fun. What if one of Elderman’s men is down there, watching my bedroom window? What if they can see me looking out the window?

I release the curtain and lie down, fear pulsating through my veins.

Stale: Even if he does, you’ve done nothing wrong. All you need to do is make sure it stays that way.

Easy for him to say. He isn’t the one in the middle of a world where people get killed for saying the wrong thing. I could only imagine what they’d do to me if they found out I was working for the police.

I text Stale that I will and then hide the phone in my boot.

I’m irked as hell that I even have to go meet Doc. I lie in bed for another hour, drowning my thoughts in music, and fighting the urge to punch the wall until it’s time to go. I take my gun with me, something I normally don’t do, but it seems important tonight.

A half hour later, I’m pulling up behind the bar, a small building located at the end of town near a few stores and gas stations. I park my car beneath the bright stars and moon and silence the engine. Then all that’s left to do is wait for whatever comes next.