Falcon
Mr. Ortega’s house is a little further out than Warren Corvina’s place, but it’s virtually identical in size and design. The lights are on in a few of the rooms as we approach, and the front door is wide open. His sobbing died down the closer we got to the edge of the woods, and now he looks like a slack-faced zombie that we’re dragging along while he shuffles his feet through the dirt and grass.
“Home at long last,” Owen says as we get to the porch.
I can’t say I’m not relieved to almost be done with this part.
The walk through the forest was arduous at the slow pace dictated by our captive.
Ortega doesn’t show a shred of recognition as Owen leads him up the steps towards the open door to his dimly-lit hallway. I give up his arm and walk behind them as Owen brings the broken shell of a man into his house.
It’s messier than Corvina’s place.
There’s dirt on the floor, and the coat rack by the door is empty, yet there’s a pile of jackets, both male and female fashions, dumped on the ground underneath it.
Yeah, this guy isn’t doing well.
He should be in a psych-ward.
“Close the door, and stay down here,” Owen tells me, before he starts to help Ortega up the stairs.
I find out the keys are in the inside of the door when I close it.
It’s so quiet inside the house that I can hear Owen putting Ortega to bed like he’s an old man who can barely take care of himself. I guess that’s kind of what he is, even if he’s not exactly elderly.
A door closes and Owen darts down the staircase, waiting until he’s at the bottom to get his phone out of his pocket.
“The signal was non-existent upstairs,” he says, as he moves the phone around.
“Well, we are kind of in the middle of a forest.”
“I’ll have to go outside for this. I need you to wait here. Make sure he doesn’t get back up.”
I sit down on the stairs. “Don’t worry, he’s not getting past me if he tries.”
He leaves the house, closing the door behind him.
I’d rather know what’s going on, but I know one of us needs to stay here.
Leaning back, I listen intently for any sounds that might indicate movement from Ortega’s bedroom. There’s nothing to hear until a few minutes pass.
Then the sound of a lawn mower sputtering starts, and I relax.
He’s snoring loudly enough that Owen will be able to hear it when he comes back.
Another few minutes pass before I decide to get up and move over to the window panel by the side of the door. I look out intothe night, and I can see Owen pacing around, talking on his cell phone.
It didn’t take him long to get to me when I called the academy earlier, so I hope it’s not going to take forever for him to pull guards from Goldcrest out to this house.
The sooner I’m inside the academy walls, the better I’ll feel.
This threat might have been neutralised, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be another.
In fact, from what Owen told me about Warren Corvina, it doesn’t feel like he’s a threat that’ll be going away anytime soon.
He must have others like Ortega, if he’s pulled this shit before.
He could already be taking someone else over right now.
