Library

32

The home felt like it was holding its breath. Lazarus stood in the living room and took off his button-up shirt, which was caked in dirt and cobwebs, revealing his white tank top underneath. He began searching the rest of the house. He started with the bedrooms.

The master bedroom belonged to Emily. Lazarus switched on the light, taking in the dresser, bed, and walk-in closet. On the dresser, he noticed photos of Sophie with friends and family, all neatly arranged.

He looked everywhere: closets, under the beds, in the kitchen, basement, guest room, Paul’s old study, and the pantry. Then, he went upstairs to search Sullivan’s room. He stood outside the door and took a moment before going in.

Posters up on the walls, mostly movies, no sports. Several stuffed animals were shoved into the closet, probably because the boy didn’t want his friends seeing them when they came to the house.

Lazarus noticed a worn-out comic book on Sullivan’s nightstand. Its pages were dog eared, and a small, handwritten message on the cover read “To my brave superhero, Sully. Keep soaring high, Mom loves you.”

The night was hot, and he was drenched in sweat. He went to the sink in the boy’s bathroom and splashed cold water on his face and dried with a towel that was hanging up. The towel had a cartoon figure stitched to it. He folded it neatly and placed it by the sink.

Suddenly, the air conditioner hummed to life. Cold air enveloped him; it didn’t emanate from the vent on the floor, but from above. It was a stray draft, most likely from the attic.

Lazarus went to the forensic reports on his phone and searched for a house layout, eventually discovering a hand-drawn one. The only entrance to the attic was through the garage.

A cover in the ceiling hid some stairs, and he needed to find a ladder to reach it and pull it down. He found one against the wall of the garage.

He pushed the cover aside quietly and smoothly. He raised his head into the attic, shining the flashlight around carefully. Old chests, clothes, and dozens of cardboard boxes covered in dust were scattered around.

The ceiling was just tall enough for him to stand, but he had to be careful of protruding nails.

The attic stretched endlessly into the darkness. Lazarus moved his hand along the wall and detected a draft about halfway toward the house. He stood quietly a long time and looked over every inch of wood.

Something caught his eye—a nearly invisible detail unless you were searching for it. A hairline crack extended from the floor to the ceiling. The wall didn’t fit snugly.

As he pressed on it, the wall shifted slightly, creating a ten-inch opening. Lazarus attempted to squeeze through, but the gap was too tight. Resorting to his phone’s flashlight, he recorded a video by extending his arm through the gap, scanning from side to side.

When he played it back, his heart raced. It was a cramped room, no larger than a closet, and it held a worn sleeping bag, a notebook, flashlight, and unopened cans of Fanta.

The floor creaked behind him.

Slowly, his fingers reached for his gun, feeling like time had stopped. Then, from the darkness, he heard a noise—a rough, heavy inhale, like someone struggling to breathe through sand.

He turned quickly, shining his flashlight and pointing his gun at a man who raised his dirty arms to shield his face.

“LVPD, on the floor now!” Lazarus shouted.

The figure sprinted toward the opening in the floor and leapt down into the garage, vanishing into the house. He was fast.

Lazarus followed, his heart thumping like a jackhammer.

The door to the home had been shut and locked. Lazarus stepped back and then crashed his heel into the flimsy wood, breaking it around the doorknob. The door flew open with a sharp bang, but the figure was already at a window, jumping outside before Lazarus could raise his weapon.

The figure was small and thin. Easily half Lazarus’s size. He wore little more than rags, and for a moment, Lazarus thought it was a kid. But he saw the tattoo on the calf as the man jumped out of the window.

Lazarus vaulted over the windowsill and touched down on the patio. The figure was sprinting directly toward the street through the neighboring field. Lazarus dashed after him, gaining ground quickly. He wondered if the figure was either injured or deliberately waiting for him.

Lazarus kept his weapon low as he raced forward, darting through a field that led to another neighborhood. Up here, the homes were unfinished, like skeletal structures with construction materials scattered around.

The person was audibly grunting now, and Lazarus had closed the distance enough to hear it clearly. He appeared short and slender, wearing tattered clothes that hung off his body like flaps of dead skin.

The figure abruptly turned and entered an unfinished home, vanishing from view.

He took out his phone and dialed into dispatch. “This is Holloway, badge 72915. I’m in pursuit of a suspect on foot near the vicinity of 111 Oceanside Drive heading northbound toward Ash Street. Male, short height, wearing torn and dirty shorts and a T-shirt and is possibly armed. Tattoo on the right calf. Notify units in the area to be cautious, suspect is extremely dangerous.”

A gust of wind swept through, causing the bare bones of the house to emit a haunting groan.

He went inside.

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.