Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Neon
The words rattled in Marcus’s ears like shrapnel. An armed abduction. Helen hadn't just reported him; she had turned him into an active threat in the eyes of every state trooper within a five-hundred-mile radius. In the eyes of the law, every officer who spotted his license plate would approach with their hand on their holster.
""Frank, I don't have a weapon,"" Marcus said, his voice dropping to a harsh, desperate whisper so Emily wouldn't understand. ""She fabricated this. She’s abusing them.""
""Doesn't matter what’s true right now, kid,"" Frank rasped. ""Helen’s father was the presiding judge in this county for twenty-five years. Half the brass in the department owe their pensions to that family. If they pull you over on a dark highway, you won't even make it to a jail cell to tell your side of the story. You get me?""
Marcus felt a cold sweat prickling across his hairline. ""Where do I go?""
""Ditch the car. First thing. Every traffic camera from here to the interstate is scanning for your plate. There’s an abandoned auto repair shop on Route 9, behind the old bowling alley. Old man Miller used to run it before he passed. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes. Don't use the highway.""
The line went dead.
Marcus glanced at the navigation screen, swiftly shutting off the GPS. He took a sharp right onto an unlit access road, cutting through an industrial park where rusted shipping containers loomed like prehistoric monuments. In the back, Leo had finally succumbed to exhaustion, his head resting heavily against Emily’s lap. Emily stroked her brother’s curls with a gentle rhythm that broke Marcus’s heart; a six-year-old child shouldn't have to possess the maternal instincts of a survivor.
""Dad?"" she whispered softly.
""I’m here, baby.""
""Is Mommy Helen mad at us?""
Marcus swallowed the burning bile rising in his throat. ""Helen is sick, Em. She doesn't know how to love people. But I’m here now. I promise you, I’m never leaving again.""
He pulled into the overgrown lot behind the abandoned bowling alley. The structure was a decaying hulk of corrugated metal, shrouded by tall, unkempt weeds and the dim, intermittent flicker of a failing neon sign across the street. He cut the headlights and glided to a stop behind a row of rusted vehicle chassis.
Marcus unbuckled the kids, wrapping Leo tightly in the fleece blanket and scooping him into one arm while holding Emily’s hand with the other. He locked the car, threw the main smartphone under the front wheel, and crushed it beneath his boot heel until the glass cracked and the electronics died.
He led the children toward the side entrance of the auto shop, the gravel crunching softly beneath his shoes. The rusted door creaked open, swallowed in absolute blackness.
May you like
""Frank?"" Marcus called out into the dark.
From the shadows, a flashlight beam suddenly snapped on, blinding Marcus instantly. Behind the harsh light, the unmistakable click of a revolver’s hammer cocking echoed through the cavernous room.
