A large dark figure was motionless, seemingly awaiting my passing. I slowed my pace, and tried to control my breathing. Approaching cautiously, with utter and complete care, I crept closer. The shadowed object was actually an old rusted pick up truck. In appearance, it was ancient; a relic from the great depression at least. Only, I knew the car hadn't acquired that many years, based on its emissions sticker on the greasy smeared windshield. Near by was another shadowed object, which came into focus as a black and white police car. Bewildered, I studied both cars, checking for any sign of life. I ran my fingers over the rough metal body, and sent my gaze downward at their bottom half. The force of my discovery crippled me.

Both car tires shared similar marks, and the same that marked my tires as scars. There were obvious bullet holes in each of the tires; it had been the same attacker. In a craze, I grasped the handle of the police car and thrust the door open. It took little to no force to almost break the door from its hinges. Frantically, I searched for anything I could manage to uncover. Nothing but cigarettes, soda bottles, and scraps lined the interior of the police car. However, something long and rectangular caught my eye on the passenger seat. I snatched the rectangle from the leather seat cushion, and managed to blow off the thin layer of dust.

No doubt, it was a letter, almost exactly like mine. Ransom note font, the pleas for help; it was all identical. The owner of this letter had apparently been on the same mission as I was. Amber had said there would be somebody else in this with me.

. I was hyper ventilating as it began to come together. That ad on the gas station had said, CHILL, and the writing on the photo warned, don't let the chill in the air influence your temperature. The pick-up truck, the address, it had to be more than coincidence. I fished for the skeleton key in my pocket, and jammed it in the keyhole of the truck, and the cop car. Nothing. Apparently this key was meant for another purpose. I took off sprinting, faster than ever, away from the police car and truck towards the semi-abandoned gas station.

I was done being a paranoid coward; it was time for the truth. Determination flowed in my veins, and I refused to give up this time. I would find Amber, because I knew she was alive somewhere; she let me hear her voice on the phone line. Her subtle clues would not go to waste. No more regretting the past, or fearing the future. The golden rustic pumps came into perspective, and I reached them with a sense of achievement. No more giving up, I would find her, if it was the last thing I did. This whole journey had truly helped me to find myself; it was all a blessing in disguise. I made a beeline for the door, but my path was intercepted by a stocky man in a blue police uniform.

FREEZE! he demanded, gun in hand.

His glistening golden badge made itself apparent. Scott was holding me pinned to the ground, and the shadowed figure of John the pirate was behind him with a crow bar.

*

...To Be Continued

Learn more about this author, Kevin Tiernan.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

• << previous page
• 1
• ...
• 9
• 10
• 11

---

Add your voice

Know something about Short stories: Mystery?
We want to hear your view. Write now!