Lost Game Notes (Novel)

Chapter 27: A Sticky Situation

 Dawn walked along at a normal pace, scanning the side walk, looking for cracks hidden by the shadows of the night. Street lights at intervals every few steps offered only a dim glow of light. She kept her back stiff and straight; she wouldn't let the chill in the wind get to her.

 She looked the part of a local, older than her age, even, going home after a long day of work. It was anything but. In fact, she had gotten turned around so many times she ended up in a farm. Besides that that, she had spotted Mr. Pig Eyes after her near escape at the motel and had to hole out in a bad and breakfast for a while, to loose the trail. Thankfully she hadn't seen him after that, but it did slow down her journey a great deal. Now she was almost there. One more road until she reached Riverbend Street.

 The clang of metal gave her heart a leap, and she spun around. Behind her, two cats tore through the darkness. The lid of a trash can wheeled in a hypnotic circle, then dropped with a final clang.

 Dawn drew in a deep breath and clutched her satchel tighter. Just stray cats scrounging for tid-bits. She titled her chin up, clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from chattering, and pressed on. The vast, inky black sky looked down on her, speckled with millions of shimmering stars. One shone particularly bright, glimmering and winking at her.

 "Don't worry, mum. Everything will turn out right," she promised in a whisper, her voice strained from not having used it in hours. "I'm almost there. Then all this will be over, and you can finally rest in peace in your grave."

 Dawn's throat tightened and she had to stop talking. She blinked hard to stop tears from spilling out of her eyes. She missed her mother. Even though life had been hard, and often she went to bed with a stomach queasy with stale crackers and soda, the reassuring smile of her mother had been enough. It hurt Dawn to see her doubled over, weeping silent tears, when she thought Dawn was sleeping.

 Dawn never turned away. She would go right up to her mother and do what she could to comfort her, bringing tissues and hot tea. Eventually, in several different moments of history, pieces of the story had been told. Dawn had kept a diary, noting down her later discoveries and findings. Bit by bit, she had uncovered each secret and put them together to create a big, complex puzzle, and only when you stood at a distance did you understand.

 Dawn hoped Alex understood.

 Her eyes caught on the sheen of light hitting the surface of a metal signpost, highlighting the words Riverbend Street. Dawn's heart drummed faster against her ribs.

Almost.

In the distance she could see the short, one-story-high buildings evenly spaced. There were five of them.

 "Dawn! Behind you!" A voice bellowed from somewhere across the street.

 Dawn whirled around to see a figure, several feet away, swaying on his feet as though drunk or distorted. A pale hand extended before them, clutching a glossy silver pistol. Dawn felt her tongue go dry and stick to the roof of her mouth. Her mind went as blank as a sheet, and she felt blood rushing out of her head.

 "Lawrence?" She wheezed.

Lawrence's eyes were fastened on his target: Pale strands of blonde hair peeked out from under the hat Dawn wore, and a big, bulky jacket hid her wiry frame. When he spoke his voice was low and trembling. "Dawn Brooke. I should have known better. You're just like your mother."

 For a moment, Dawn felt a pang of sadness for the man. He sounded so vulnerable. Maybe under the layers of callousness a childhood with an abusive father, he was truly just as human and sensitive. The wicked, pale fingers that curled around the pistol reminded her of reality. Why else did she have to go through all this?