"𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞."
Lou Johnston and Eddy "Boone" Higgins, two former best friends whose paths diverged after high school. Now, years later, they find themselves inexplicably draw...
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My head throbbed, and the world around me was a blur of broken branches, muddy puddles, and the remnants of a life torn apart by the storm. The tornado had moved on, leaving behind an eerie stillness, but my gut told me the worst was yet to come. It wasn’t just the storm that had me on edge. No, something darker was circling us—something human.
Boone and I stumbled through the wreckage, our boots sinking into the wet earth with each step. The storm had scattered debris everywhere—trees were uprooted, fences twisted like metal vines. But what was worse, what gnawed at my gut, was the silence that followed. No birds, no wind. Just the soft squelch of our footsteps and the occasional groan of the landscape settling in the storm’s wake.
"You think the others are okay?" Boone asked, his voice gruff.
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure. "They’re tougher than they look," I said, trying to sound confident. The truth was, I didn’t know if anyone was okay. I barely felt okay myself.
The maniac. He was out there somewhere, lurking in the chaos. That much I knew. The idea that the storm had given him cover, that he’d planned this somehow, made my stomach twist in knots.
Boone looked over at me, his face set with determination. "We’ll figure this out, Lou. We always do."
I didn’t respond right away, keeping my eyes on the muddy path ahead. My mind was a mess, and my body ached from the strain of everything—the storm, the fear, and the knowledge that we weren’t alone out here.
Boone was right—we did always figure things out—but this felt different. The tornado had knocked us off balance, sure, but the maniac? He was the real storm, creeping in when we least expected it.
"I’ve been thinking," I said, my voice quieter now. "About why he’s doing this."
Boone frowned, slowing his steps as he glanced over at me. "The maniac?"
"Yeah." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "It’s not just random. I don’t think it ever was. He’s been targeting us specifically, Boone. This whole thing—it’s personal."
Boone’s jaw tightened. "But why? We haven’t done anything to him. Hell, we don’t even know who he is."
"That’s the thing," I said, my mind racing. "Maybe we do. Maybe we just don’t realize it yet."
The pieces were starting to come together, slowly but surely. The man who ran us off the road that day, the way he watched us at the gas station—it wasn’t some random act of road rage or a stranger having a bad day. No, this had been building for a while. We just hadn’t seen it.
"I keep going over it," I said, my voice low. "Why he would go to all this trouble. Why he hates us so much."
Boone let out a breath, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. "You think it’s someone from our past?"
