Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“I wouldn’t dare,” my father says, and I can practically see the smug smile on his face. Jules. I grit my teeth in anger.
“I imagine you’ll be here soon?” he asks with a thin veil of arrogance.
“I’m ten minutes from the station,” I answer grudgingly. I hate that he’s involved and interfering, but if he wasn’t, she would have talked. She has no idea what she’s done. She’s put herself in danger.
My foot presses down harder on the gas pedal with each passing thought. I need to get to Jules before she says a fucking word.
Jules
I’ve been picking at the same snarled thread on my sweater for nearly fifteen minutes now.
My sneaker taps nervously against the leg of the simple wooden table; they’re still damp from the snow. Something feels off and wrong. Crossing my arms, I look away from the mirror. Anywhere but the mirror.
The stranger in the car kept asking me over and over what was wrong, but I could barely speak. I was so cold, and nothing would come out except that I needed the police. I was lucky he pulled over and offered me a ride. The concern in his pale blue eyes was comforting but only so much that it allowed me to get in the car. His checkered sweater slid down his bony arms as he drove, and he kept looking over at me in the passenger seat. He had to be in his fifties, or maybe sixties. The wrinkles around his eyes told me he was at least my father’s age.
That comfort is long gone and a different sensation took over the second he stopped in front of the station. I have no proof, no evidence. I don’t know if anyone is going to believe me. I need to tell someone, though. I swallow thickly, realizing I don’t know where to begin or if a soul will believe me or do anything at all.
The old man stayed with me while a young officer gave me a blanket and told me it was all right. Whatever it is, you’re safe now. Dressed in his blues, the man was maybe in his mid-twenties and didn’t have a clue what I was there for. It was such a spectacle, but even though they were kind and open I still couldn’t spit out the words.
Then I was handed over to Detective Myer.
He’s much too young for someone in his position, clean-shaven and tall with dark brown eyes. He has to be around the same age as the officer who greeted me warmly. There’s no warmth to Myer, though; he’s all corded muscle, although he doesn’t have the broad shoulders or height to him to balance out his body. Even with his badge and prying stare, he doesn’t have an air around him that commands authority.
There’s something else as well, something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel as though I’m not safe. Like I should have changed my mind and headed back out into the snow and never stopped running. I don’t trust the detective. I didn’t when he told me to sit in here and twenty minutes later, what little hope and faith I had has faded.
Maybe I’m being paranoid and it’s all in my head, but it seems wrong he never asked any questions. He simply told me to follow him back here and sat me down while he went to talk to the commissioner. I’m alone and left wondering what the hell I’m doing here at all.
Guilt worms its way through every bone in my body. Every tick of the clock tempts me to get up from this table. I’m going to choke on my words. I can’t do this. They’ll never believe me and I can’t say the truth out loud.
Just as the notion hits me, the door opens and I stand mostly out of instinct, but also possibly fear. The need to run is overwhelming, but when my eyes catch sight of the imposing man walking in behind Detective Myer and another man who I assume is the commissioner, my knees go weak.
I don’t need to be told he’s Mason’s father. I don’t need to be introduced. His gray eyes and sharp cheekbones give it away. He even clears his throat like Mason as he unbuttons his suit jacket and sits in the empty chair across from me.
My eyes flicker to Detective Myer’s, who simply crosses his arms and leans against the wall in the far left corner. His dark eyes bore into me and send a chill down my spine. The commissioner makes a show of closing the door and then taking a seat at the far end of the table.
“Sit, sit,” Mason’s father insists. “Jules, isn’t it?” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.