Left to Envy (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Six) by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2020-12-22T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The prophet drove through the night, observing every speed limit, following every law down to the smallest. An airplane was too easy to track—flights could be followed. He hadn’t made it this far by abandoning caution, no—caution was king in this bloody business.

The prophet rolled his fingers, tightening them around the wheel. His eyes flicked up to an old factory behind a sign advertising diet cola. He cared little for the sign, but the factory itself intrigued him. An older construction—perhaps twenty years old. The support beams would have been hauled from a well-known lumber company two towns over. Given his previous job, his previous success, the prophet could regard any building and see its skeleton, its inner workings.

Just another language he’d learned along the way. The language of concrete and steel. But, also, the language of pillars and stained glass. He knew it all, the archaic and contemporary. He knew them well.

As a harbinger—a herald and trumpeting servant, it was on him to remind the world, to remind them all what lay in store for desecration.

And this next one… He smiled, allowing himself the rare expression across his countenance. Once upon a time, he might have cried, even, at the thought. Well, perhaps not. He didn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Perhaps thirty years ago? Hard to recall.

But at the very least, he could feel a flutter of excitement at the knowledge of his next stop. The next message.

An important one. Personally important. This one was the oldest of them all, the firstborn of a long forgotten history. No steel beams there. People needed to remember. He enjoyed his task of jarring their memories.

He glanced across to the duffel bag on his floor and, eyes still on the road, leaned over, tucking the knotted rope back out of sight into the bag itself, then zipping it up the rest of the way. He patted the bag and returned his attention to the road, his gaze flicking from building to building, stripping them down in his mind like a lecherous man regarding a cavalcade of flesh. Yet to him, peering beneath the skirts of mortal kind carried nothing in comparison to peering into the hearts of structures—behemoths of age and architecture that told stories for centuries.

He breathed a shuddering sigh of pleasure and, through hooded eyes, watched the scenery, the flitting buildings on either side, ignoring the cars, ignoring the traffic. To him, the people might as well have not existed.

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