Eye for Eye: A heart-pounding edge-of-your-seat crime thriller with jawdropping twists (Talion Book 1) by J.K. Franko

Author:J.K. Franko [Franko, J.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Talion Publishing
Published: 2019-03-15T16:00:00+00:00

DAY SIX

Thursday, May 3, 2018

Roy’s crossing to Miami had been somewhat choppy. Nothing serious for the Yellowfin, but making the journey back by jet ski in those conditions would be another story.

Roy had been preoccupied with watching the weather and keeping an eye out for other watercraft. He knew that, at some point, he’d need to think through everything that they’d done that day, but for that he wanted no distractions. He’d put it on the backburner.

He approached the mouth to his home canal at about midnight. Slowing the engines, he decided to hang out in the bay for a while to allow time for the neighbors to go to sleep. He was tired, though, and after half an hour, the amber lights and flickering of televisions hadn’t changed.

He started the engines and ran a bit south of the canal entrance, then dropped anchor to wait. He set his phone alarm for 2:00 a.m. in case he drifted off. Which he did.

He slept fitfully—really, he was more in that state of semi-consciousness that feels like the border between sleep and wakefulness. It was cold out on the water.

His dreams ran like a preview for a film called Killing Joe. The set-up, the boat ride, the drugged beer, the Hefty bag, the piss—that rancid smell of urine—and finally dumping the body. It was all bits and pieces. His mind replayed all the steps in the plan, everything they’d done, looking for mistakes.

He kept dreaming that the duffle bag had gotten stuck to the back of his boat somehow, and that rather than sinking the dead body, he’d been dragging it around behind him all night.

He awoke.

A rogue wave had jostled the boat, interrupting the natural rhythm of the sea that had lulled him to sleep.

It was 1:13 a.m.

Still early. Some of those lights were still burning bright.

As he scanned the neighborhood across the bow of the Yellowfin, his eyes settled on the coffin box where, just a few hours earlier, he and Susie had killed a young man. Roy had on other occasions sat there chatting with his daughter. Susie had lain there more than once to take in the sun while he fished.

The space was tainted now. It would never be the same again. He would wait a few months, then sell the boat.

As Roy contemplated, he felt engulfed by his surroundings. He felt buried in them, entombed.

Floating alone in the bay, as he looked to the east and south away from downtown Miami, the horizon melted—the division between the sea and the sky dissolved into one massive snow globe of darkness and water. Roy felt alone in a floating tomb.

Mercifully, when he looked to north and west, he could see the silhouette of houses along the coast—some with lights on—and all of them backlit by the lights of civilization. Light at the end of a long, dark shaft. That view made him feel connected with civilization, a part of the larger human story.

As he sat there, Roy struggled to curate and inventory his thoughts and emotions.

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