Page 25 of Run Omega Run
Not the careful turn of a key in a lock that stuck and required patience, but the confident push of someone who didn't need permission to enter. Heavy footsteps followed, moving through the entryway with a deliberate precision that spoke of men who were very comfortable taking what they wanted without asking.
My blood turned to ice as I recognized the rhythm of those steps. Three sets of feet, maybe four, all wearing shoes that cost more than we spent on food in a month. Polished leather clicked against our worn wooden floors with sounds sharp enough to wake the children if they got any louder.
I pulled Mom's door shut quietly and crept toward the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs as I tried to convince myself that maybe I was mistaken, maybe it was someone else entirely. But the familiar smell of gasoline and expensive cologne drifted up from the first floor, confirming what my instincts had already told me.
Jude Serphent had come calling, and he hadn't bothered to knock.
I made my way downstairs as quietly as I could manage, bare feet silent on steps that I'd learned to navigate without triggering the worst creaks. The voices from the front room were low but carried through the thin walls, with a coldness that made my skin crawl with remembered fear.
"Interesting place," Jude was saying as I reached the bottom of the stairs. "Very... rustic."
I crept toward the doorway and peered around the corner to see him standing in the center of our small living area. He'dbrought his usual entourage—Zaff looming like a brick wall near the fireplace, Karver positioned by the window where he could watch both the street and the room's occupants, and Mazus examining the collection of children's drawings we'd taped to the wall with the intensity of a predator cataloging prey.
They moved through our space like they owned it, touching our belongings without permission, commenting on our possessions as if they were evaluating inventory. Jude ran one perfectly manicured finger along the mantelpiece, leaving a trail in the dust that had accumulated despite my best efforts to keep everything clean.
"Structural damage here," he noted conversationally, pointing toward a crack that ran from ceiling to floor near the front window. "And here." His finger traced another fissure that I'd been trying to ignore for weeks. "Foundation issues, I'd say. Earthquake damage that was never properly repaired."
"Boss is right," Zaff agreed, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer. "Place is falling apart. Probably not safe for occupancy."
I stepped into the room, trying to project confidence I didn't feel, while my hands shook with barely controlled terror. "We're not expecting visitors tonight."
Jude turned toward me with that smile that never reached his eyes, the expression of a shark who'd caught the scent of blood in the water. "Heather, my dear. You look tired. Stressful day?"
"What do you want?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. It was the same thing he always wanted—money we didn't have.
"Just checking on my investment," he said, moving closer with a predatory grace that made every muscle in my body scream warnings. "Making sure everything's... secure."
"Your investment?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but I was too exhausted and too scared to modulate my tone.
"Oh yes," he said, his smile widening. "Didn't you know? This property has tremendous potential. Prime location, historical character, close to the construction zones where property values are starting to recover." His eyes swept the room, taking in every crack, every worn surface, every sign of the damage we couldn't afford to repair. "With the right renovations, the right management, this could be quite valuable indeed."
"This is our home," I said, the words feeling hollow even as I spoke them. "The children live here. My mother—"
"Ah yes, your mother," Jude interrupted, his tone shifting to something that might have been sympathy if it had come from anyone else. "I heard she was feeling unwell today. Hospital visit, wasn't it? How... expensive that must have been."
The casual way he mentioned information he shouldn't have had made my stomach clench with fear. How did he know about the hospital? Who had told him about Mom's condition?
"That's none of your business," I managed.
"Oh, but it is my business," he said, moving to examine a framed photograph on the small table beside Mom's favorite chair. It was a picture of all of us from last Christmas. "You see, when someone owes me money and can't pay, I have to consider... alternative arrangements."
Mazus laughed from his position by the wall, a sound like breaking glass. "Boss has some great ideas about alternative arrangements."
"The property market is recovering," Jude continued, setting down the photograph with careful precision. “People need places to live, especially families with children.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “There’ll be good schools in this area once they rebuild them. Walking distance to the new construction jobs." His gazefound mine, cold and calculating. “Yes, I think this place could house quite a few families. Maybe a dozen or more if we converted it properly.”
The implication hit me like a physical blow. He wasn't just threatening to take our home, he was threatening to turn it into some kind of overcrowded tenement, stuffed with desperate families who would pay premium rent for substandard housing because they had nowhere else to go.
"Next time we meet," he said, straightening his expensive jacket and nodding toward his men, "it won't just be collection fees. I trust you understand."
Karver pushed away from the window with fluid grace, while Zaff cracked his knuckles in a gesture that was both casual and threatening. They moved toward the door with the same confidence they'd brought in, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne and gasoline that would cling to our furniture for days.
"Sweet dreams, Heather," Jude said from the doorway, his voice carrying a false warmth that made my skin crawl. "Give my regards to your mother. I hope she feels better soon."
The door closed behind them with a quiet click that somehow sounded louder than any slam would have. I stood frozen in the center of the room for several minutes, listening to the sound of their footsteps fading down the broken pathway, waiting for my heart rate to slow enough that I could think clearly again.
When I was sure they were really gone, I collapsed into a chair and shook, tears threatening to spill. What the heck was I going to do?
After a few minutes, I stood up and walked into the kitchen, picked up the stack of unpaid bills from the drawer, sitting down at the table. The single bulb overhead cast harsh shadows across the papers spread before me, turning numbers into evidence of failures I couldn't fix.
