Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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Day one- nothing.
Day two- nothing.
Day three- you guessed it! Nothing.
The past seventy-two hours had gone by at a torturously slow pace, and I was beginning to lose patience. I empathized with the amount of trauma that Elliott's mother had gone through, but I'd have assumed that meeting her husband- whom she was still married to- after such a long separation would be something of significance to her.
Nevertheless, I had explicit instructions and I was not going to start disobeying them now.
In the mean time, I thought back to my conversation with Elliott... about my sister. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to go see her, as Mr. Grey suggested. If her address was within a drivable distance, then I could probably make it back, that is, when Ivetta Miller did decide to contact me.
I reached out and grabbed my phone from the side-table, the screen lighting up the dim space. I opened the messages app and typed out a concise request, pausing, as my fingers hesitantly hovered over the letters.
Eventually, I was satisfied with my draft and hit send, leaning back into my pillow and staring at the ceiling.
A spontaneous visit to my sister wasn't exactly part of my original plan for the week, but then again, neither was sitting around for seventy-two hours waiting for nothing to happen.
It had been over five years since I'd last seen Violet and I wasn't fully sure what to expect. On paper, it didn't seem like that long, but knowing my sister, she was probably leading a whole new life. I wondered if she thought of me as often as I thought of her. Even if she did, I doubt it was of significance, since neither of us had attempted to reach out to the other after we went our separate ways.
My phone buzzed almost immediately, snapping me out of my thoughts. Mr. Grey had sent me the details I'd asked for.
Upon perusing the attachment, I was relieved to see that the address he'd sent was only about a half hour away, but it was a... convention center?
Deciding not to question it, I got out of bed and threw on some clothes, grabbing my phone and car key to head out. Even if this was a hoax, it would at least be a diversion from the persistent boredom that had burnt through the past few days.
The drive to the venue was short and uneventful, with the morning light barely warming the city streets. My thoughts were scattered as I navigated the streets, drifting between Violet, Elliott and vague childhood memories. Occasionally I tuned into whatever song was playing on the radio to pass the time.
I pulled into the parking lot of the convention center, its building standing tall and modern; its glass facade reflecting the pale blue sky. I checked the dashboard clock: 8:26 a.m. I had more than enough time to spare before the event officially began at nine. There was no point in sitting idly in the car for what I predicted to be at least an hour, so I decided to hunt down some breakfast instead.
