Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Heard there was an incident with a vehicle this afternoon,” I say, opening the conversation without preamble, speaking in a brisk tone that’s not too officious, but makes me seem like I know what I’m doing. I slide an ID over the polished wood counter of the station desk. Neither of the officers bother to look at it.
“Yep, she drove like a bat out of hell. Don’t know how she managed not to flip, but we don’t have enough cruisers or enough mechanics to be pulling those kinds of moves out here, so she got away.”
These officers had a run-in with my mate, so I believe based on chatter from their scanner. I am using all the techniques I have learned over the years, along with all the resources available to me. It’s not that it is hard to find Callie’s trail. It’s just almost impossible to catch up with her, let alone try to predict what she might do next.
She has proven to be an almost impossible quarry. I am torn between some kind of pride and very real concern for what will happen if I don’t get to her before the full moon—which is just days away.
The scientists at the laboratory, or should I more accurately say, the survivors, are sending me information that indicates her escalating behavior is probably linked to the waxing of the moon. When it becomes truly full, we are all in trouble.
“So this is your lady friend, you reckon?”
One officer drawls the question at me in an unhurried and some might even say unbothered tone. Rural places see a lot of chaos of various kinds. They’re not as quiet as you might think, especially when it comes to vehicular misadventure. Bored youths find ways to entertain themselves in cars that would make a lot of city people scratch their heads and ask why.
“I’m Federal Agent Ramses, and my wife is experiencing a medical event,” I explain. “She’s not herself at the moment. We need to get her back into treatment as quickly as possible.”
“Crazy wife, huh, buddy?” The older of the two men is immediately sympathetic to me. It’s sexist as hell, but it’s working in my favor. We can have a feminist discussion about mental health issues later.
I believe Callie is sane. She’s always been very logical and rational, even in the face of world-class gaslighting.
“Not crazy,” I say. “Unwell.”
“In that case, her driving was so… unwell, we had to abandon the chase. She was going to get somebody killed, and we don’t have helicopters out here to follow in the sky,” the younger cop says.
“She was lucky,” the older man says.
“She’s gotta be brought in. She’s a real danger.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to catch up with her.”
“You said you’re a federal agent.”
“I did say that.”
The cop leans on his desk. “You think they’ve got aliens at Area 51?”
Apparently the matter of the reckless driving is already forgotten about in favor of getting to ask a federal agent a few hard questions.
“They’ve got all sorts all over,” I say, letting my tone drop to a conspiratorial level. “I haven’t been inside the facility myself—it’s military, not federal, but there’s rumors.”
“You ever catch a serial killer?” the younger officer asks. I glance at his name badge as he turns to me. Johnson. Matches the older officer’s name too. Johnson and Johnson.
“Don’t get many serial killers these days. It’s gone out of fashion.”
“People don’t have the same work ethic they used to,” the older Johnson says.
The younger Johnson rolls his eyes.
“Was there any word from other jurisdictions bordering yours about the vehicle or driver? Have to assume she didn’t start being a model citizen after driving into the wilds.”
“Let us check,” Johnson says. “I can put a call through to nearby stations and see if anything’s come in.”
“Thank you, that’d be much appreciated.”
I sit in the waiting room and reflect on the fact that this is the opposite of what Orion and the pack wanted. They wanted the whole thing to go away, to stop drawing attention. Instead, she’s ending up on god knows how many internet videos, and is starting to attract a following.
She’s even got a hashtag: ‘#HeiressCrashout.’
I bring up one of the latest videos, hoping there’s some clue in it. Sifting through social media is tiresome, but occasionally there are cues.
“We love an heiress crash out. Calista Hart managed to hold things together after a super tragic childhood, but as she heads into her mid-twenties, she is freaking the fuck out. Very on brand given what her parents did,” a young man wearing a graphic t-shirt says.
“What’s that?”
“Crash out of the sky.” He grins like he said something funny. The young woman laughs politely, ensuring he makes more jokes like that in the future.
I close the app just as the younger Johnson leans over the counter.