I’m swayed towards dumping him in the lake about ten miles from here, because I’d probably set the forest on fire with option two.
“There’s a diner down the road. Let’s eat there,” I say, tugging on my hoodie and puffer vest.
Regina scoffs. “I bet they sell human stew. This place is creepy as shit, Indie.” She rubs her arms up and down her coat.
I don’t disagree. The town is so spread out that there’s a constant presence in the air. I can’t put my finger on it, but whenever I’m outside, my skin prickles.
John went to bed as we travelled here. He hasn’t made much movement at all.
Either I’ve missed it when I’ve taken my eyes off the screen, or he’s a lazy bastard.
It’s also been pouring with rain all through the night, and it’s heavier today. So the cameras have been about as useful as a fart in the wind.
I drag a reluctant Regina out into the car park, and we drive the car to the diner to get a proper breakfast.
It’s dead when we walk in, and she mutters something aboutnot even the residents can stand this place.
We take a seat in the booth, and the bored-looking server takes our order.
“After this, we’ll head out and scope around the area. I think I should head over this morning,” I whisper, and Regina’s eyes go wild.
“What?!” she all but shrieks.
Thankfully the two other people in the diner don’t even acknowledge her.
I don’t think they’d notice a bomb going off—they’re like zombies.
“I could take your drone down and capture what’s going on inside before I head in, see if I can spot anything…suspicious.” I swallow the lump in my throat.
It’s morbid, I know, but the fact the kid isn’t with him, I can’t help but think the worst.
What if there’s a body on the upper floor?
“Are you fucking high? You’re not a damn Navy SEAL, Indie. When he’s not home, totally fine, but he’s there…what if he sees it?”
I shrug. “I probably have as good an aim as them.”
She rolls her eyes at me, throwing herself against the black leather seat. “I knew it would come one day.”
I frown at her. “What are you talking about?”
I watch her slowly shake her head at me, a lopsided smile on her face. “All that”—she glances over to the serves, then back to me—“killing has finally fucked with your head. You’ve become a cocky serial killer. What is it they call it? Evolving?”
I bite my cheek, trying to keep my laugh contained.
“Devolving, and no. Jesus Christ, Gina. I’m still sane; I’m not out here ready to butcher a town. You’re forgetting my dad taught me how to shoot.”
Willing to take risks to prevent further harm?
Yes.
Losing my sanity through psychosis though?
No, that’s still sharply intact.
The fractures are put back together by glue, but it isn’t loosening anytime soon.
I don’t have an underlying condition that spurred this on.
