Flash Drive by Foster Peter C

Author:Foster, Peter C [Foster, Peter C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amazon, Thriller
ISBN: 9781977010858
Google: 85EQtQEACAAJ
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2018-01-29T23:00:00+00:00

36

Ryan left his coffee unfinished on the kitchen counter. He gathered up all of Chantal’s things from the table, put them back in her big cloth bag, took the bag into his bedroom, and deposited it on the floor in the back of the closet. Then he got dressed and went for a walk. He went out the back door of his building onto Coffee Street. He turned left, then right, and began walking along de Maisonneuve Boulevard, heading east toward downtown Montreal.

It was still early Saturday morning, not much after seven, and little was going on. The odd car cruising along de Maisonneuve, a couple of joggers, a cyclist on the bike path, some guy walking his dog, and that was it. The air was clean and cool. There was a light breeze which felt good on his skin.

When Ryan gave up the booze almost five years ago, this was what he did: he walked. He walked for miles through the streets of the city. He walked and he thought, brooding, ruminating, turning events over in his mind, analyzing things. He walked every day that year, in good weather and bad, for hours at a time, enough to develop blisters and callouses, and pains in his ankles and knees. Crissie said he had replaced one obsession with another, but in his case she thought that was okay.

“Go for it, dad,” she told him. “Whatever works for you.” She even walked with him sometimes, an hour or two here and there.

He guessed she was right about the obsession, and eventually he gave up this one too, more or less. But to this day, in periods of stress or emotional turmoil, or when he just needed to think, he would lace up the old running shoes and set off across the city. “Just going for a walk,” he would say.

Today he was alone as he paced along, lost in his thoughts, which were not pleasant. He thought his life was going to hell in a number of ways, and he didn’t see any way out.

There was Crissie. She was his emotional anchor. She meant more to him than she knew. She had been so proud of him when he stopped drinking and joined A.A.

“I know you can do this,” she had said. “And I’m with you. I’ll always be with you.” She wasn’t with him now, not anymore. Now she was telling him to go back to the booze.

“That’s all you’re fucking good for,” she said this morning.

Then there was the police, and the investigation into the death of Carl Herron. Louis St-Laurent thought he was the killer. It was just a matter of time before he was arrested.

And there was Chantal. More than five days had passed since she disappeared, and he still had no idea what had happened to her. The famous forty-eight-hour window had closed long ago. He tried to avoid thinking about it, but the thought kept pushing in all the same: he was afraid she was dead, murdered, like Carl Herron.

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