Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“No,” I say. “I’ll know when I see her.”
Pushing the button to disconnect from the call, I feel my vision tunneling in.
I’ll know just by the look in her eyes.
Or at least I hope I will.
Part of me wonders if it’s been there the whole time and I’ve ignored it.
Something has felt off, was it this?
Was this her plan?
Was it her plan to have me followed?
A cold chill shoots down my spine, joining the pit in my stomach.
Fingers tightening on the steering wheel, I growl.
Did she betray me?
Highway hypnosis.
I’ve heard the term a couple of times, and it pops into my head whenever I experience it, wondering just how the hell I ended up wherever I am.
The drive back to Eden’s after I hung up seems to have happened in the span of an instant, but also somehow took an eternity.
A blue VW Tiguan that’s seen better days sits in the spot in front of her townhouse.
It wasn’t there earlier when I left, and I don’t remember seeing it when we came in last night.
Another sign that something is quite amiss, setting each and every hair on my body on end.
The neighborhood is too quiet, the only noises I hear are birds and some dogs off in the distance.
Here, in the close proximity of her house, it’s too still.
Moving quickly up to the door of the townhouse, I look around for any unsavory fellows like the ones who chased after me.
I highly doubt they would have come in that piece of shit car out front, but I still pull my gun from its holster.
Pausing by the door, I hear muffled voices then a high-pitched scream that quickly gets muffled.
Before I can even form a plan of action, I’m stepping away from the door while rearing back to kick it open.
Some things, I suppose, are too ingrained. Violence has always been my first reaction.
The doorframe shatters open without much resistance. That’s a shame in a community like this. They should be reinforced to prevent people like me from just lazily kicking them open.
It’s silent inside, and I can instantly see why no one makes a move.
Standing over my battered wife, some asshole twists his body to look at who interrupted his little-dick energy.
No man who hits a woman has a real dick.
“You must be Kyle,” I say as the world around me goes completely quiet except for the whimpering of my poor wife.
My bruised and battered Eden.
Lying there, naked on the floor, a towel flopped around her body haphazardly, it’s apparent she fought back.
She was at least able to leave a long set of claw marks on his face.
“Who the fuck are you?” the revolting pile of shit spits out at me.
The voices in my head have provided my life with a cacophony of sound from the moment I was born.
Always whispering, screaming, or singing to me. Every moment of every day, they speak to me, telling me to do things of unspeakable vileness.
For once in my life, they’re silent.
They make no noise.
It’s maddeningly quiet inside my head.
For once they don’t make demands. They don’t plead or beg. They don’t cajole or promise.
In a world of noises, my world has focused down to two of them outside me.
Kyle breathes harshly as he stares into the abyss, and Eden tries to muffle her sobbing behind her hand.
There’s blood on her fingernails…
Looking down at the watch on my wrist, I see that it’s twenty minutes past the hour.
I look back to Kyle.
Kyle’s voice comes out in snarling blasts of air, as if beating a woman is tiring work for him. “Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”
Removing my suit coat, I drop it to the floor.
Quietly, I explain to the shitstain of a human, “It’s twenty minutes past the hour, that would explain the silence. It’s said that during these silences, humanity is listening to the angels sing. But I don’t think you’re listening to them, Kyle. If you were, you wouldn’t be hurting one of their kind.”
My body tenses as Kyle moves away from my poor, delicate angel.
I’d shoot the stupid fuck where he stands if I didn’t feel the purest flame of hatred for him.
He’s going to die, but it will be by my hands.
As if reading my mind, his beady, piggish eyes look to the Glock holstered on my hip then back to my face.
Moving towards me, he snarls. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are getting between me and my wife, but you’re going to regret it, boy. Do you know who my father is?”
Shrugging my shoulders at his meaningless threat, I say, “No, and I don’t care.”
“You will. It’s Conroy Phillips, asshole.” He snickers, as if that name should strike fear in my heart.
I grin back at him. “My boss is Lucifer.”
It takes Kyle a long time to make the connection, but when he does, I grin even wider.