Page 134 of Evil Bones
Had my ears detected movement?
Every muscle tensed as I strained to listen.
Eventually, far off, a muffled sound tickled the stillness.
My breath froze.
The sound grew louder, fractured into rhythmic gritty sloshing.
Footsteps?
Whose?
Pay attention!one functioning portion of my forebrain screamed.
I twisted my head to face in the direction of the footfalls.
Moments, heartbeats, then the darkness along the lower edge of the blindfold eased almost imperceptibly.
Tipping my head backward at an excruciating angle, I could see shadowy contours in the gloom around me. I was in a long, narrow space. A dark cutout suggested an entrance point.
The footsteps grew closer.
The cutout brightened.
A figure appeared in the opening, flashlight in one hand, pointed at the ground. All I could tell was that the person was wearing a jacket with the hood raised. Otherwise, he—or she—was a featureless silhouette.
The figure cocked an elbow and a bright light hit me.
A hand flew up to cover my eyes. A reflexive but futile response. My arm could move only inches. And my orbits were tightly swathed in fabric.
The figure approached.
Since I could see little, I counted steps.
Two. Five. Seven.
The footsteps stopped beside me.
In my fingernail sliver of vision, I saw two shapes that had to be feet. Noted that the feet were wearing leather boots with yellow laces.
New odors rode the dank air. Sweat. Cigarette smoke. And something else. Not unpleasant. A blend of cedar and oil.
The owner of the boots didn’t speak for what seemed an eternity. Then,
“Thanks for coming.”
The voice was male. Young.
I answered without thinking, my attention focused on taking in data.
“Hardly my choice,” I said.
“Good point.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll do the questioning.” Midwestern accent. But with an odd robotic lilt.
