Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Cole’s mouth dried, but when Ned wouldn’t let go, he met the pleading green eyes and exhaled, descending to his knees. He didn’t like this. Leaving Craig alive meant having to forever remain watchful. Any other lawman would just move on once the Wolfman disappeared from sight, but for Craig the matter of whether Ned lived or died was personal, and he would never stop searching for his father’s killer.
Ned knew that better than anyone.
“And you say I’m dumb,” he muttered and uncocked the gun. His neck was stiff, as if already anticipating all the times he’d have to look over the shoulder to make sure Craig wasn’t following them. “You’re a far better man than I, Ned O’Leary. What have you ever seen in me?” he whispered.
Ned watched him, opening his mouth as if he was about to answer, and Cole wasn’t sure what to anticipate. A hurtful I-don’t-know-either, a dismissive your-cock, or maybe even an enigmatic one-day-you’ll-find-out?
He got neither, because he realized that some of the background noise coming through the window wasn’t the daily commotion. There was a rhythm to it, and a melody too, played on drums and trumpets. He jumped to his feet, and sure enough, a procession of colorful wagons was approaching on the street parallel to the one below.
“Fuck. They’re coming. The street’s littered with coppers!”
He tugged on his hair before tearing off the coat with police insignia. “Jan’s here early, and we’re stuck on this side of the Crying House,” he said, fiddling with even the most nonsensical ideas. It wasn’t the time of the year to wear costumes, but in the middle of the day any police officer would recognize them without fail.
If only there was something to alarm the passers-by and draw attention elsewhere...
Cole’s mind, which had been already boiling, now overflowed with heat, and he grabbed all four dolls before tossing the first toward the nearby crossing. He threw one more before a woman’s shriek echoed through the street like a whistle to call in all the lawmen nearby. The final two dolls flew out of Cole’s arms in all their finery, creepy smiles flashing in the sun as the bodies of fabric and porcelain made their final voyage.
“What are you—” Ned uttered, but Cole pulled on his wrist, searching for a passage that would lead them out of the damn attic and closer to their street, which grew ever louder as police whistles tore through the air.
“The dolls! It’s a sign from the girls. Oh God, those poor souls are still here,” someone cried in a shrill tone, and Cole shook his head.
“This will only keep them occupied for so long. We need to go now,” he said, breathless when he spotted the door close to the sloped ceiling on the other side of the attic.
Ned didn’t argue this time, resigned to his fate, and waited as Cole pressed on the carved handle and opened their exit, trying to make as little noise as possible. A dark, narrow staircase greeted them on the other side, descending steeply toward daylight. Cole didn’t waste time on establishing who might live here, with four depictions of murdered girls in their attic, or whether that person was home.
If the owners discovered their presence, Cole would deal with them. For now though, he made sure to keep the heels of his boots lifted and walked down, facing the wall, to minimize the risk of stumbling on the uneven, and short steps.
Wallpaper peeled off the walls in places, but someone kept the floors and furniture tidy, and while each room in the bright corridor was open, Cole didn’t bother looking for clues about the owners and went straight down a flight of stairs that were much broader, and conveniently covered with a bright red carpet.
He was surprised to find doors at the bottom of the steps, but a dense scent was present in the air even before he opened it, freezing at the sudden change of atmosphere. A heavy, velvet curtain hung beyond the passage, and as he pushed it aside, the choking aroma of spice and musk hit his nostrils. But what would have been intoxicating at another time now felt irritating and intrusive, like smoke filling empty spaces in his skull.
Sheer black curtains hung in all windows within sight, which made the light seep in more sparsely, but there was enough of it to reveal heavy, expensive furniture, and a lot of crystal glass in a variety of colors. Fabric framed grand paintings, as if there was ever a need to hide them from view, but as Cole faced the exit at the end of the hallway, what disturbed him more was a low howl coming from one of the nearby rooms.
Ned’s eyes grew bigger, and Cole could practically see his body hair bristling when the moan was joined by a rhythmical creak of some poor piece of furniture.