Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Kyle’s jaw tightens. “I’m Kyle, alright? Now I’m not just a nobody. I’m Kyle, a guy with a name, no one special, a resident in this town like anyone else. Please let me help you.”
The man squints at him. “If you’re Kyle and this is Jeremy, then you wanna tell me who the fuck’s Henry?”
Kyle freezes.
What name did he just let slip out of his lips?
Even Jeremy looks at him, confused through the terror in his eyes.
“You’re one of them,” decides the gunman, eyes widening, whites flashing.
The words come out in nearly a hiss.
An accusation.
One of them?
The gunman presses the cold tip of the gun to Jeremy’s forehead, causing him to whimper out in terror. “My wife and child are innocent, they’re fucking angels, and you godforsaken demons still want to test me? I’m the one with the gun!”
Kyle frowns. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about. What demons?”
“Tell me where they are,” he growls, and for the first time, Kyle hears fear in his voice. “Tell me or I’ll shoot this kid in the head right now, I swear to God in Heaven, I will end his life.”
Banging at the front door, glass rattling. Gasping, breathy noises indicate Jeremy has started to cry, tears falling free from his squeezed-shut eyes. Kyle stares at the teen, feeling strange, out-of-body, faraway, as if this is all happening to some other nobody in another small desert town. What should he do?
“Tell me,” says the gunman. “I’m done with you. I’m done with all of you … y-you fucking bloodsuckers.”
Kyle’s eyes snap to the man’s at once. “What’d you just call me?”
That’s when the front doors of the pawnshop fly open. The table that blocked it topples over with a booming crash, sending items strewing across the floor. Police lights flood the room.
Kyle doesn’t think. He grabs hold of the gun at once in an attempt to wrench it away. Jeremy screams out in terror.
The man aims the gun at Kyle’s face instead.
And squeezes the trigger.
15.
No One Special.
—∙—
Light. Blinding, searing, annoying light.
Kyle moans with discomfort and lifts a hand to shield his eyes, only to find his wrist stuck to something.
He cracks open an eye.
Hospital room. He’s on a bed, one of his wrists handcuffed to the railing. A hospital curtain hangs nearby, beige and yellow striped. The light is artificial, a fluorescent above him. He’s in his same clothes, but blood stains the front of his shirt.
Standing next to the bed is the police chief staring down at him, stony-eyed and stern.
That sobers Kyle at once. “S-Sir …?”
The chief wastes no time. He leans forward so far, Kyle has to lean back in his bed, causing it to creak. “You want to explain to me what the hell happened in that pawnshop?”
Kyle blinks, looking around. “Am I in a hospital?”
“The clinic. You know damned well this town doesn’t have a hospital.”
“What happened …?” rasps Kyle, bewildered.
“That’s what I want you to tell me, Mr. Rosenberg. What the hell happened, and how the hell you’re still alive.”
Kyle gapes at him, lost.
A door opens somewhere, unseen. There’s a noise from behind the curtain. “Dad?”
The chief rolls his eyes and turns. “Jer, damn it, I said to stay outside!”
“Is he awake yet? Has he woken up?” A distant door shuts. The hanging curtain is swept aside. Jeremy rushes up to the bed, astonished. “Henry! He’s alive! Henry, oh my god, thank you, you saved my life, thank you!!”
“Jer, that’s enough!” snaps the chief again.
Jeremy can barely contain his excitement. “S-Sorry, Dad, I just—” He shrinks, but his big eyes practically bounce inside his skull as he stares in wonder at a rather bewildered Kyle. “You are … are so amazing …”
“Out. Hallway. Go.”
“Thank you, Henry,” repeats Jeremy, then finally gives in to his dad’s orders, albeit reluctantly, backing away and leaving the room. Kyle sits up to watch him go, dazed.
What the hell happened?
How did Kyle even get here?
“You saved my son’s life,” says the chief.
Kyle looks at him, still dazed. “Huh?”
“You saved my son’s life,” he repeats. “I’m indebted to you. Literally took a bullet for him. In the damned face, at that.”
Kyle blinks.
The bullet.
The hooded man in the store.
Cold barrel of the gun kissing his forehead, then snap, the trigger, the bang, and—
Kyle brings his free hand to his face, as if wondering if he might find a crater there. There aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby to check. He keeps touching his face, bewildered.
What happened?
“But that’s where my debt to you ends and my questions begin,” says the chief. “Now I don’t care how crazy it is, what you’re about to tell me, whether you’re a demon, escaped from an institution somewhere, got a magic skull made of tungsten or a voodoo priest blessed you as a child, all I want is the truth, the goddamned truth. I want you to explain to me what I, my son, and that criminal shithead witnessed tonight.”