I Live For The Chase

Chapter 10

I wake up late the next morning to sound of a loud pound at the door.

It takes me a moment to fully awaken but when I do, my heart jumps into my throat as I scramble out of bed, my mind racing.

The pounding continues, insistent and unyielding. I throw on a robe and hurry to the front door, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

I fumble with the lock, my fingers slick with sweat. As I swing the door open, I'm greeted by a man standing on the doorstep. He appears to be the same age as my Dad. He is very tall and he doesn't look homeless but there is this aspect about his appearance that suggests that he has not seen a home in a long time. He smells of alcohol and sweat. His face is a mask of stern determination, his eyes piercing into mine with an intensity that makes me take a step back.

"Are you Jim's daughter?" he asks, his voice gravelly and low.

I swallow. "I am."

"Where is he?" He says in a tone that lacks any hint of patience.

I feel my throat tighten, my chest constrict. Words fail me as my vision starts to blur. I can feel the man's eyes on me, waiting, demanding an answer I can't give.

"Um... He's..." My words get stuck in my throat. "He's not here..."

"Well where is he?"

"Um..." I start stuttering nonsense but my nonsensical words are terminated when I feel an all too familiar presence emerge from behind me. Warm hands spread around my waist.

"We haven't seen him in weeks." The killers all familiar tone says with an impossible casualty.

"Where the fuck is he? He owes me a shit tone of money and I will fucking get it from that bastard."

"Sorry to hear that but as I said, we haven't seen him in weeks." I feel his thumb graze over my stomach and I shiver. Back and forth.

"Last I saw him was at a club three weeks ago."

"What day was that?"

"Thursday."

"Mhm." The killer ponders that for a moment—as if he actually gives a shit, his hand is posessively wrapped around my waist. "What did you do afterwards?"

"I left early, he wanted to stay. I don't know what he did after that?"

"How much does he owe you?"

"A grand."

"A grand, huh?"

"He's been dodging me for too long."

"Listen, I get it. But if he's smart, he's long gone by now. People tend to disappear when they owe the wrong folks."

"I don't care." He grunts. "I need that money."

"Good luck finding him. But if I were you, I'd cut my losses and move on."

"If he doesn't show up in the next week, there will be consequences, yah hear me boy?"

"Sure." He grins.

Dangerous game he's playing—and with so much confidence.

The old man seems to think about his words for an extended moment before apparently making a decision and leaving.

The killer closes and then locks the door and I let out a sigh of relief.

Once that relief dissipates and I come back to my senses I rip his arm away from my waist and push him away. When I step back I see that he is smiling—he finds this amusing.