An engine roared in the distance. Jack fought the urge to throw himself into the bushes.
He’d passed two other houses so far, both relatively modest. Even if 1380 Castle Drive belonged to someone in the mob, it wasn’t fair to assume that every other house on the cliff did, too. Or was it?
Maybe he should’ve asked more questions. Since the mob house was clearly a topic of interest, he might’ve even gotten answers.
The engine grew louder, but Jack couldn’t silence the echo ofBoris’s warning. He dove into the trees just as a dented maroon sedan rounded the corner and sped off into the distance.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
The breeze turned cold.
He’d just made it back to the road when he heard it again: the rumble of an approaching engine.
He ducked behind a thick oak and waited. The car sped past in the opposite direction, taillights flickering.
Same car, thought Jack uneasily, noting the damage to the back wheel well. Was this just someone messing around? Or someone on patrol?
Afterward, he kept to the woods, staying just close enough to the road to follow it without trouble. At every fork, he emerged to check the street signs, searching for Castle Drive. He found Castle Circle and Castle Street, but Castle Drive evaded him.
Still, he was nowhere near the top of the hill. It made sense that Castle Drive would be the furthest from town.
Thirty minutes later, Jack cursed his poor navigational skills. He was still lost, wishing for a map, a bottle of water,anythingthat might help. At this rate, he’d have to cut through yards to find the castle. But did he want to risk trespassing in a place like this? In the city, he probably wouldn’t be shot, just yelled at. Out here, in a place populated by mobsters? Who knew.
But he had to know more about the mysterious woman. Had to know why she called him on some days and not at all on others. If every day was more or less the same, then why didn’t she call consistently?
Jack found Castle Drive after two hours of staggering through the woods. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and shivering. The sun had all but set behind the trees. Jack was guided only by the occasional flickering streetlamp, casting pools of peach-tinted light onto the asphalt.
Castle Drive was nondescript, just a long, winding road surrounded by forest so thick that he could not be certain what lay beyond. More houses? Cemeteries? An entire wood filled with shallow graves?
At long last, the castle itself came into view. The road changed from asphalt to cobblestone. As he rounded the bend, he found a gate, wrought iron and easily ten feet tall. Stone walls stood on either side, covered in creeping ivy.
1380 Castle Drive, proclaimed the bronze plaque.
Screwing up what was left of his courage, Jack pressed the call button.
At first, nothing happened. Somewhere far in the distance, an owl hooted. Crickets chirped. Jack glanced around, feeling foolish. What if someone was watching? Would they expect him?
Then came a loud beep, and the gate creaked open. Jack took a deep breath and darted through, half-afraid that it might slam shut on him.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, hoping that leaving would be just as easy. Already, he regretted this.
Where was the security? Shouldn’t there be security? This house belonged to the mafia, right? Jack’s stomach churned as he imagined snipers on rooftops or hidden between the trees. Did they know he’d been invited? If they didn’t, would they shoot him once, or riddle him so full of holes that his own mother wouldn’t recognize him? Would they take him hostage in the basement and torture him? Would they believe him if he said he was just really, really lost?
Probably not, Jack admitted to himself. Maybe if he acted like he belonged here, no one would ask questions.
In his ill-fitting suit, satchel at his side, he was going to attract attention.
But Jack had to explore every possible avenue. If the body wasn’t the key to the time loop, then maybe whatever awaited him here was.
So, he kept walking. All the way up the long drive, past the perfectly manicured rose bushes and the fountain in the courtyard, hands deep in his pockets, breath coming in short bursts. Anxiety crept up his spine like a centipede, wriggling and itching. He fought the urge to shake it off like a wet dog.
A gigantic stone porch awaited him. Up close, Jack realized itwas made of smooth river rock and pale brick, not the old, craggy stones he associated with castles and old fireplaces. Its marble pillars were thick as tree trunks, surprisingly soft to the touch, like something he imagined one might find in an ancient Greek ruin.
The door swung open.
“Get inside,” hissed a voice, feminine and angry. “Why’d you use the front door? Don’t you have any sense?”
A light clicked on. Jack glimpsed a woman, short and slender, with a great puff of permed, caramel-colored hair. “I guess not,” he said, stepping inside.
