I can hear one behind me somewhere, crashing through the bushes, giving chase. I can’t keep this up for much longer. I can’t run, have never been able to. But I have no choice other than to keep putting one foot in front of the other. My lungs burn. My sides hurt. My throat is dry while sweat cascades down my face. And I’m breathing so hard I think I could puke at any second. Another branch hits me in the face and it stuns me. I stumble, my vision darkening, my blood-covered overalls snagging on a bramble… and then I’m in a clearing. I have no goddamn idea where I am. But there’s a house in front of me, right in the middle of this leafy glade. That’s got to be good, right? To my left, a laugh. Jesus, there’s more than one of them now.
3 minutes ago: “Did you make contact with the principal’s office yet?” Armstrong asked. “Oh no,” interrupted Mitchell as they climbed out of the car. “Kids are already out.” “Classes had just finished when they finally picked up,” the reply came back over the radio. “Students were already loose in the halls. Too late to try detain the boy.” “Shit. Could they give you a description or a more up-to-date picture of what the kid looks like now?” asked Madden. “There was no need.” “How come?”
1 hour twenty-five minutes ago: “Ever seen anything like this before?” Detective Armstrong said. “Only when I worked in San Fran,” the chief firefighter replied. “Saw houses that looked like this after the big quake in ’89. Broken apart like they were Lego.” “Minnesota is not exactly notorious for its seismic activity,” said Armstrong. “Mystery solved, partner,” said Mitchell, jogging up to the two men. “Caterpillar parked up in the trees around back. Still got roof tiles, glass and chunks of brick in the bucket. Looks like someone took it to the house like they were cutting up a birthday cake.” “Anyone inside the building?” Armstrong asked the firefighter, nodding at what was left of the once palatial home. “No, no one in. But if you’re going to investigate, I’d be careful. Can’t tell how sound, structurally, the place is.” “We’ll bring our umbrellas, just in case.”
1 hour 16 minutes ago: “Jesus Christ,” Mitchell said, as the strip lighting in the garage sparked into life. “I’ve seen some vandalism in my time, but this is some next level.” “Sacrilege is what this is,” said Armstrong. “The furniture, the TV, the clothes: all that stuff can be replaced, but this is a 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302. Super rare. And this one was mint, until some asshole drove an angle grinder down the middle.” “It’s the same M.O. throughout. Everything cut, or attempted to be cut in two.” “Let’s find out who the homeowners are, and where they are,” said Armstrong. “Poor fuckers are going to come home to a nasty surprise.” Mitchell let out a long whistle. “They’ve really cheesed someone off, whoever they are. This is some cold-blooded revenge right here.”
“Hey,” said Ray. “Where do you keep the cable ties?”
The store keeper, stood at the far end of the aisle, barely acknowledged Ray’s question, scribbled something on a clipboard, then simply walked away.“Jesus,” Ray muttered. He didn’t want to call after the dude, that would be rude. In the same way pretending to not hear someone and walk away was. He went back to scanning the racks, up and down, left and right. Impossible to know if this was where the cable ties should have been. Or not. There was no discernible system to how the shit in this store was sorted. No signage overhead to say if this was the aisle for hand tools or plumbing supplies.
Place was a mish-mash, nothing in its right place.
“Do I know you?” said Packer. “No, you don’t,” said the man. The stranger had stepped into the elevator just before the doors closed and fixed eyes on Packer. That gaze had not faltered. “It’s just I swear this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you today,“ said Packer. “You would have been stupid not to,” said the man. “I’ve been following you since I spotted you at the diner.” “The diner? That was hours ago,” said Packer. “It was. Four and a half of them, to be precise,” said the man.
