Page 60 of Silent Road

Sheila tried to think of something else to say to keep the conversation going, but before she could do so, Wells looked at her, his eyes dancing with an inner, haunted light."Drop the weapon, Sheriff," he said."Or his moment of truth comes sooner than planned."

Sheila hesitated.She hoped Tommy was in position by now.He was a good shot—she'd seen his range scores.All he needed was a clear line of sight.

"I mean it."Wells pressed the blade deeper, drawing a thin line of blood."Your gun.Now."

Sheila slowly lowered her weapon."Okay," she said."Just don't hurt him."

"Kick it over here."

She did, watching the gun slide across the concrete floor.Wells released his hold on Mark, who slumped to his knees and picked up the weapon.

Now, Tommy.Take the shot.

But nothing happened.

Wells smiled as he aimed the gun at her chest."Predictable," he said."Just like all the others who think they're heroes."

The gunshot echoed through the facility.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The gunshot thundered through the facility, but Sheila was already moving.She dove sideways as Mark suddenly lurched upward, knocking into Wells's arm.The bullet struck concrete, sending fragments flying.

Sheila rolled behind a rusted piece of machinery, her heart pounding.Where was Tommy?And why the hell wasn't he shooting back?

"That wasn't very smart," Wells said to Mark, who had collapsed again, clutching his bleeding side."But I appreciate the authenticity of the gesture.Heroic sacrifice makes for compelling imagery."

Sheila peered around her cover.The chamber's high windows cast strange shadows, making it difficult to track Wells's movements.Snow continued to drift through broken panes, accumulating in small drifts that glowed faintly in the dim light.

"You can't hide forever, Sheriff," Wells called out."This moment needs its witness."

He was right about one thing—she couldn't stay hidden.Mark was bleeding out, and the temperature kept dropping, so she had to do something.But Wells had her gun, and she hadn't seen any sign of Tommy.

Had something happened to him?

A metallic groan echoed through the chamber as the wind picked up outside.The sound gave her an idea.She grabbed a piece of broken equipment and hurled it across the room.As Wells spun toward the sound, Sheila moved to a new position, hiding behind a support column.

"Clever," Wells said."Using the environment to your advantage.My father taught me that trick—how to work with natural elements instead of fighting them."His voice moved closer."He taught me a lot of things.Patience.Attention to detail.The importance of getting the perfect shot."

Sheila's mind worked feverishly to think of what to do next.The chamber had multiple levels, with a catwalk circling the upper walls.Staircases led up at intervals, their metal steps eaten by rust.Below, dark holes in the floor suggested maintenance access or drainage systems.

"You know what fascinates me about law enforcement?"Wells continued.His voice echoed strangely, making it hard to pinpoint his location."The performative aspect.The badges, the uniforms, the carefully maintained illusion of control.But underneath it all, you're just people playing dress-up.Pretending you can impose order on chaos."

Movement caught Sheila's eye—Wells circling toward her position, using Mark as a shield.She needed to separate the two of them, but how?

"Speaking of performances," she called out, "how long did it take you to plan those alibi photos?All that effort just to create a fake timeline."

"Fake?"Wells sounded genuinely offended."Those photos were completely authentic.Real animals, real moments.I simply adjusted when they were captured."He paused."Unlike your friend Mr.Davidson here, who stages everything for his followers.Manufactures false experiences for social media likes."

Sheila used his monologuing to shift position again, working her way toward one of the staircases.If she could get above him...

"The difference," Wells continued, "is that I use artifice in service of truth.These 'influencers' use truth in service of artifice."

A section of catwalk groaned overhead, drawing Wells's attention.Sheila seized the moment, sprinting to a new hiding spot closer to Mark.The young man's breathing had grown labored, his skin taking on a bluish tinge from cold and blood loss.

"You know what I think?"Sheila said, trying to keep Wells focused on her voice."I think you're just as fake as the people you kill.Playing at being some kind of artistic vigilante when really you're just another murderer."

The taunt hit home."You understand nothing," he snarled."My work reveals authentic moments.When I pose my subjects, capture that final image—that's reality in its purest form."

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