F.L.Y.N.N [ Book no.1 of "The Fouling Damned duo"]

02: 07 | who am I to say?

~Tempest's POV, continuation~

SHORTLY AFTER Sheriff Hernandez had given me his business card, he tells me that I can contact him anytime I feel like I want to join. The three of them made their way, and soon (after two weeks) I was instructed by Granny Dorothy the address of my house:

1302 Salisbury Drive, 77678

Salisbury, New York City, United States

Once I walked over to the front of the house, an old Victorian-style type of house, I hear a creak behind me. The hairs on my arms go up, and I glance every so slowly...

Behind me.

" W-who a-are you?"

" I'm your enemy." The voice answers, in a deep, dark tone of voice. He chuckles, and out of instinct, I grab the small handgun that the sheriff gave me and point it at his forehead.

" Reveal yourself, or you'll be sorry!" I say, scared for my life. My hand holding the handgun is shaking, and he realizes how scared I am, and grabs my shaking hand, and twists it.

" Urghh." I let out a moan. I can't feel my wrist.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

" What was that?!" I look around, and behind me:

But the man is gone.

The man from the magazine... Was that just him? Did he just attack me?

But, what scares me the most is that he didn't kill me, leaving me in pain on the doorstep of my house. He's nothing like I've seen before, he's a true killer.

But I start to have this strange sensation. This feeling is causing my head to spin, and my heart to beat so fast, it might've gone out of my chest already.

RING!RING!

Silence.

The voicemail.

" Who is th-this?" I mutter into the phone call.

I think I've made a big mistake.

The mistake of not telling the authorities what I really remembered.

*****

A chill runs down my spine when I answer the call. Tried and true, there are four things to consider when the price of survival runs dry: one, whether or which I curious to know, two, if I'd like to run through this situation, and more so, become a lamb raised for slaughter, three, even when considering the two above, If I'd even make it out alive, and finally, four, if this damn flashlight continues to flicker on and off, I'll end up dead, tried and true.

The strange voicemail spoke of the address to a dark alleyway in Salisbury, New York. The male voice in the voicemail prompted me to this address, so I had no choice but to hope and pray that I wouldn't be led into this meticulous trap, and head over there.

Darkness surrounds me, as I reached the end of the underground tunnel, with only the sound of the creak of my mountain bike and the crickets aiding in comforting me. "Creak, creak," the sound of the bike ran along the rigged pavement, hustling along in speedy motion. I've gotten so used to the sound of this old wheeler that I've never noticed how loud it squeaks, and how the quiet that envelops all around me, has made it ever more obvious.