The Chain: Shattered: Books 1-4 of The Chain by P R Adams

Author:P R Adams
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Promethean Tales
Published: 2017-03-12T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

Autumn winds blew leaves noisily across the mansion’s lawn, kicking them along the browning grass until they were finally snared by bushes and other obstacles. The winds carried a noticeable chill and scents of death that promised an early winter, the end of the annual cycle of birth and death and rebirth. Afternoon sunlight cast everything in long, gray shadows.

Elliot climbed from Tammy’s Camaro, groaning and grimacing. His face seemed pale, and when he leaned against the car, he shook visibly. He coughed, but he couldn’t clear the dry, dirty taste of dust from his mouth.

“Dear God.”

Tammy exited the driver’s side and slammed her door angrily. “Oh, stop it.”

“Stop it? You nearly got us killed. What were you thinking?”

“Cut the fucking theatrics. I never once lost control.” Tammy crossed her arms in front of her. I didn’t, and you know it, you big baby.

“Tammy, screaming like a little girl when we’re doing a donut at twenty miles per—”

“You were the one screaming, not me!” She caught Luis watching from the front door as the yellow dust cloud she’d created slowly expanded over Harrison Lane. She jabbed a finger in Luis’s direction. “And don’t you start on me, either. That’s our road, and we need to know how to drive on it.”

Elliot closed the passenger door and staggered toward the front porch. “Mexican prison doesn’t seem so—”

“Oh, don’t even.” Tammy popped the hatch and dug out bags—groceries, accessories, towels, and cleaning supplies. “You’ve got a good arm—come get some of these bags.”

Elliot dug around until he found a few bags he could handle. He hooked his fingers around the straps and squeezed, watching to be sure of the grip. The numbness and tingling hadn’t faded yet, and he was coming to accept that they likely never would. Physical therapy and acupuncture could only do so much to damaged nerves.

At least he was still upright. So many who’d entered the orbit of their lives couldn’t say the same.

They set the bags on the oak table that had been returned to the dining room. Luis had sanded and refinished the table and chairs. He’d even scrubbed the tile that had been stained by the ward’s strike when Stone had first invaded their home. Only the faintest mark remained of the intrusion now.

Gone. Like the symbols. Elliot looked at the staircase’s spandrel. No trace remained of the symbols. It was as if they had been put there for a single purpose, then had simply disappeared. The mystery—how, why, who—was something he and Tammy chose to ignore.

For now.

Luis walked into the kitchen, working a stained towel that smelled of turpentine and acetone between his hands. He jerked his head back toward the front lawn. “El coche, que está loca.”

Tammy looked up from the grocery bags. “Loca, loco—crazy. I’m not deaf, you know, and I did have high school Spanish.”

Elliot put a packet of grilling utensils next to the sink. “Crazy car, not you.” He nodded at Luis. “Ese coche es el diablo.”

“Diablo—devil. Hello? I just told you I had Spanish in high school?”

“You had Chemistry in high school, too.

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