Speaking Evil by Jason Parent

Author:Jason Parent
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, mystery, cult, police, detective, female sleuth, woman detective
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing
Published: 2021-06-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Michael winced and wagged his injured hand in the air. His bandages had caught on a nail and tore away as he climbed up to the treehouse. Every subsequent rung pressed into his raw, exposed wound, sending shockwaves of pain through his arm.

Reaching the top, he allowed himself a moment to relax, the first time he felt even the slightest bit safe since an ax had split his apartment door. He’d taken the high ground, and though there were two ways down from the treehouse, there was only one way up. He thought he could defend the ladder if he had to. I wish I had a bat.

Trying to keep his wound clean, he slapped the dirt and splinters from his hands, squealing but enduring the pain. Hand over hand, he shimmied the handlebar up the pulley system to have it ready should he need it. Then, he headed into the treehouse, grabbed the binoculars, then knelt before the window. His watch would be vigilant. At least it had been for an hour or so.

Fear slowly transformed into boredom, and adrenalin depleted into exhaustion. Still, there was nothing to do in his little hideaway but sit and watch. He had only the binoculars and Dylan’s copy of Moby Dick discarded on one of the chairs to keep him company.

He sat on the empty chair beside the book, picked it up, and flipped through it. He read the first page before tossing it back onto the chair. Talk about being vigilant. That’ll put me to sleep. He sighed, crossed his arms and his ankles way out in front of him as he slouched, and listened to the sounds of the forest.

“I knew you’d come here.”

Michael jolted upright, fist raised. He turned toward the saloon doors to see Dylan freeze partway through them.

“Woah! Easy there, Badass.” Dylan creaked the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

Slowly, Michael brought down his arm, eyeing the boy from head to toe, looking for weapons without realizing he was doing so until a few seconds later. Dylan’s hands were empty. His pockets were flat. Still, he could have had a knife tucked in the back of his pants or something worse hidden outside the treehouse, beyond Michael’s view but not Dylan’s reach.

Hands still balled up but at his sides, Michael kept what little distance he could from Dylan. He dared not blink, scrutinizing his friend’s every movement and expression, always on guard. “I saw them grab you. How’d you get away?”

Dylan pointed to a gash on his neck that Michael hadn’t noticed despite its conspicuousness. Smeared blood stained the skin beneath it, and dried flakes fell like scraped rust from his T-shirt’s collar as he ran a finger along it. “Wasn’t easy.” He shrugged. “I guess they were just more interested in you. I saw the other two going after you. The one that had me seemed old and out of shape, kinda had a wimpy grip on me. When I saw

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