Page 142 of Chaotic Curse
For a second my brain refuses to believe what my eyes are seeing.The shape is wrong.That’s all.Reyes is slumped.Head down.I step closer.
The rope is cut.The rag I used to gag him in a heap on the ground.
I go cold and hot at once.
“Reyes,” I say into the dark.
Silence answers.
I cross to the stool where I left the plate.The fork sits on top and the plate is licked clean.He ate every bite.
Something glints at the base of the post.I crouch.A sliver of metal.
Fuck.It’s half a hacksaw blade.Where the hell did he get that?
I follow the scrape marks to the side door.Outside, weeds bend in two lines to the service path.Not footsteps.Knees.He crawled, or someone dragged him.The tracks vanish in the gravel.
My skin prickles.
I scan the rafters.The beams.
Nothing.
Motherfucker.
I pull my phone out of my pocket.No bars.I step toward the big doors.One bar.Then none.
He was tied.He was gagged.He was mine.And now he’s air.
Eagle’s voice punches through my head, slurred and stubborn.Outside your door.Didn’t want me telling you what I found about Dad… D-D-D…
Dad and what.Dad and who.Dad and D.
The barn tilts.
If Reyes is out, he’s either running or hunting.Maybe both.If he’s running, he goes home, grabs the diary, burns the pictures, resets the board before I can move.If he’s hunting?—
No.
I replay every knot I tied.Every check.Every lock.There’s a gap I didn’t see.There has to be.
I walk the perimeter again, slow this time, eyes on small things.I inhale.
Something hits me.
Motor oil?
No.Almost like soap, but stronger.
Fuck.
Cheap aftershave.
The same ghost Eagle muttered about through meds.Aftershave in a garage somewhere.A smell that doesn’t belong to my barn or to Reyes.
He didn’t get out alone.
My mouth goes dry.
