Page 14 of Shadowed With Fear

Fuck. Liz.

She had probably been looking for me this entire time. The backstreet curved. I looked over my shoulder to see the man spitting and turning my way. A promise in his eyes of something far worse than any death. As I ran around the side, he was lost from my view, but I collided hard into something warm. Air was forced from my lungs as we stumbled. Hands gripped my upper arms, fingers slated in ornate rings. Arms covered in a deep colored jacket.

Thank God. It’s a security guard.

But it wasn’t.

Peering down at me through endless pits of darkness, a white mask reflected stray rays of red and purple from the neon lights filtering through the aisle entrance.

It was him.

Grayson

This was my favorite part. The waiting.

I had spent the better part of the day, camera in hand, taking shots of anyone who he crossed paths with, staying just out of sight.

It’s an adrenaline rush, honestly. Having a high possibility of being caught, and that thought alone has my blood rushing.

I don’t know what excites me more, not being seen, and seeing everything, or knowing it’s only a matter of time before I’m seen, and it’s up to them whether to choose fight or flight.

Me? I like the fight way more. The whole chasing thing is Alex’s thing. I like the thrill of anticipating the pain, their actions. Seeing their reaction when it’s my turn.

They don’t suspect the amount of bloodthirsty energy thrumming inside me. But once I see red, it’s hard to stop, not even when my knuckles are split, and blood is spraying across my face and up my arms. My vision is tunneled, and I can only think of the release it brings.

This fucking scumbag though, I kinda hope he sees me. He doesn’t seem like the type to run. And I know he’s okay with getting a little dirty if the photos Alex showed us of his kids covered in bruises are anything to go by.

Jerry.

I scoff at even the thought of his name. This dude has been pedaling his way through East End with the purpose of getting the high school kids hooked so he can move them on to his work buddies after they graduate. Fucker uses his job to get close to them.

It’s hard to tell how long he has been doing it, but we only got his name after the last “chat” we had with one of his little buddies.

I think the kid was Dahlia’s age, maybe younger. He spilled like broken glass not even five seconds after we grabbed him. Told us that he had been working from the inside for Jerry.

Jerry, though, poor, oblivious Jerry, hadn’t been keeping his movements very quiet. We would have moved on him earlier, but this asshole apparently doesn’t keep things routine.

I watched him for weeks before we got any kind of set times we could hit.

Now, he’s none the wiser. Moving around his house, windows open, curtains open, watching the football game with his volume maxed out.

I’d guess he was probably drunk, might have even dabbled a bit in his coke stash with the way he’s yelling at his television.

My camera is perched on the window of my car on the other side of the street, a few houses down. The lens gave me all the views I could ever need.

Jerry’s kids had already left for their Friday away from this hell house. I’m glad too because I couldn’t bare another night of watching him use his son like a fucking punching bag. I think Alex’s report said he was thirteen. His girl is eleven.

I was beginning to worry we would move on. Alex’s reports had a few assault accusations from moms at his last school. A middle school near West Ridge. I don’t even want to think of the shit he’d do to her soon.

As the sun creeps over the mountain range, a warm orange glow settles on the rundown street. There’s trash strewn across lawns, cars broken down, and into, sitting in driveways, glass covering the road. No amount of beauty from nature could bring light to this place.

Then again, all of East End is beginning to look this way. It started around six years ago, the drug problem. When it began, it seemed like this strange occurrence. No one had ever really heard of anyone overdosing here before. Of course, accidents happen, or the occasional suicide, but within months of the first report, there were dozens.

An epidemic, the papers say. And it’s true. It’s like the shit is contagious. Once the drugs trickled in, so did everything else. Crime rates spiked, deaths, poverty levels, and abuse reports. Alex had told us all about it. Brahm’s business skyrocketed in the higher income neighborhoods. Adam has had to Narcan so many fucking people I doubt he could even estimate a number.

We’d all talked about the changes in our town all those years ago. We were Juniors and Seniors in college, talking about ways we could make this place better, help it heal.

The last straw was Brahm’s mom. Mrs. Beckett was like a mother to all of us, but to me especially. I don’t remember mine much, but I remember everything with Marlene. How she would make us cookies and tuck us into bed when we were kids. She would also rustle my hair and complain about needing a haircut, but then she’d kiss my forehead and give me a bright smile.