Chapter 1
I stuck out a gloved thumb into the chilly air, whistling patiently as groups of cars passed by. I knew I wasn't going to get much luck with Seattle drivers. Most of them were rushed businessmen that didn't have the time to pick up hitchhikers. But I waited anyways, there was still a chance that someone would stop.
The towering structures of Seattle blocked most of the view. The close quarters and mobs of hurried people made me claustrophobic, but nonetheless Seattle had been a magnificent stop. I knew I couldn't stay there for more than a week. And I had already stayed for two. Bad decision.
"Hey, man, need a ride?" A blue Toyota Civic slowed to a stop next to the curb. I glanced inside to see a young, unshaven man in the driver's seat. He was the kind of person that always look familiar. I didn't answer, instead assessing the newcomer. He was the type who would stop for hitchhikers, not a Federal agent. Younger, more fat than muscle, at ease behind the wheel. I nodded curtly and stepped inside.
"Where to?" The affable driver asked, sharply pulling off the curb. He lurched forward then braked in a hasty effort to merge with afternoon traffic.
I hesitated for a while, then answered, "Wherever you're off too."
"Great!" The driver beamed. His grin looked forced, a little too engaging and not matched by the eyes. Expecting some kind of reaction, he stared me down. I smiled back uncertainly, and then remembered, oh yeah! This is the part where you tell them your name! Social skills weren't on my pallet.
He beat me to it, "The name's Andrew." I didn't respond and just kept smiling like an idiot.
"Thanks for the ride." I finally spoke.
Andrew's old Toyota Civic looked (and smelled) like a family of bears had taken residence inside. Unlike my previous driver, though, he did occasionally run the air conditioner, for which I was grateful.
Andrew asked, "Blayne, right?"
I responded bluntly, noting that I never offered my name. "Yes. You can call me Ace, most people do."
"Ace, where'd a man like you get that nickname?" Andrew's unshaven beard annoyed me. I couldn't stop staring at the tangled mess of blonde hair that hung from his chin. I had always made it a top priority to shave before the hair reached a half an inch.
"I had it when I was young, never got rid of it." I resisted the urge to knock him out and continue the drive in silence. His green eyes, notably not focused on the road, were scanning my rugged clothes.
"Must have been quite the upbringing." Andrew continued cheerily, not aware of my hostility, or just not unnerved by it. The only thing that kept me from strangling him was the fact that he (surprisingly) knew the roads better than me. I didn't respond, because it had been quite the upbringing.
Contrary to what most stories would tell you, my parents were not military and I did live in the same place my entire childhood. That's what drove me mad. It was the same people, the same scenery, and the same routine every single day. If that doesn't drive a person crazy, I honestly don't know what would. So, in light of the repetition, I sought a new path. In other words, I left my family and lived on the streets at age 10. Using most of the day escaping the StandUp for Kids organization and finding food, I didn't have time to grieve for my family.
Sometimes, when I grew extremely desperate, I regretfully killed for food. I had become so skilled in the department of murdering others, the government actually hired me to be their dog. If they wanted a man dead, and didn't want anyone to hear about it, they sent me in.
After 18 years of death and destruction, I left my only other family again. It may seem demented and strange, but I did consider the government my new family, as they housed me, fed me, and cared for me. It was only until I was old enough to understand who I was and what I was doing that I mustered the courage to leave. Now, a former professional murderer, I dedicate my life to solving crimes instead of committing them. Though, I haven't yet found the audacity and determination to convict the government of all the felonies I had committed for it.
"That's when you're supposed to tell me your life story." Andrew urged.
I glared, "You wouldn't want to know."
"Yes, I do."
"Website creator." I lied, "Just interested in a little traveling." Andrew pondered this.
"You're lying." He accused decisively, and I rolled my eyes.
"Website creators aren't hitchhiking towards the Hollows right now. No one except us, of course." Andrew pressed on whilst almost hitting the side of a lone building in the countryside, but making a miraculous (probably accidental) recovery.
But something he said had intrigued me, "The Hollows?"
"Yeah, you haven't heard of it? Oh man, you don't want to go there." Andrew pantomimed an elaborate shiver. Or maybe it was a real shiver.
"What happened?" It was my turn to interrogate.
"Three couples, murdered in Marysville two nights ago. No one found the killer, just the bodies. Everyone's calling Marysville 'the Hollows' now. I thought you wanted to just pass through, but now it seems you actually wanted to go there." Andrew trailed off incredulously, "No one wants to go there. The place was basically a ghost town within hours of the murder."
"Really? Police haven't found anything?" I was hooked, the irresistible pull of the unsolved mystery tugged on every fiber of my being.
"Not a clue. Nothing that suggests suicide, but nothing that leads to any suspects, either." Andrew answered, taking a right onto a smaller side street. He seemed more subdued. That was strange, because I would have expected him to brighten up once I started talking.
I asked, "Can you take me to the site?"
He looked at me disbelievingly, "I just told you that three couples were murdered, and you still want to go there?"
"You also told me that there was an unsolved murder, and that's something I may be able to change." I retorted, immediately regretting saying that after. I had just revealed that I had familiarity with crime.
"You, solving a murder?" Andrew laughed, not noticing my slip up. He was right, my features didn't really match that of a detective. Most detectives looked either cool, calm, and collected or buff and threatening. I was neither. I had a small, lean frame, unsuited to fighting and intimidation, and icy blue eyes and black, shortly cropped hair. To Andrew, I must've looked like a young teenage hotshot who thought he would rule the world, and the ladies bathroom. Then again, after 18 years of homicide, I knew my stuff.
I stared at him coldly, "Yes. Me." Andrew snorted, turning his attention to the road for the first time that drive.
"At least take me there, " I pleaded, "You don't have to go, I just need you to drop me off."
Andrew thought about what I said, "You sound pretty desperate. What's a kid like you doing on his own, anyways?"
"I'm not a kid." I scowled, "I'm probably older than you."
"27." Andrew challenged, taking an onramp back onto the freeway. With glee, I noticed the sign read Marysville 20 miles.
"29." I smirked, "I shave." Andrew seemed offended.
He put on his right blinker, cutting in front of a white Honda Pilot, "Just don't say I didn't try to tell you." Something flashed in his eyes, whether it was guilt or fear, it was too quick for me to judge. With Andrew quite on the wheel and nothing else to do, I decided to rest the last 20 minutes of the drive.Resting was nearly impossible with the disastrous driver, but I managed to fit in a suitable amount of shuteye. Andrew had surprisingly stayed quiet, maybe he felt that it was courteous to not disturb a sleeping man. I agreed.
We passed a clean stone sign that was supposed to read Welcome to Marysville, but instead, the "Marysville" had been crossed out and replaced with neon red spray paint spelling death. Andrew flashed me a pointed look, but did not say anything as we crawled along the asphalt road. Maybe it was out of respect for the dead, or foreboding, but we both stayed silent the remainder of the drive to the town.
The town wasn't much. The place didn't have the overgrown, dilapidated image of a ghost town you would see on television. Instead, the town looked astonishingly well taken care of, due to the fact that there was absolutely no one there. We were literally the only car on the street.
The only thing that set Marysville apart from most modern day towns was a giant water tower that loomed over what I assumed to be a water park. It was on a small edge of Comeford Park. The place should have been occupied, but considering the recent events, it was no shock that it wasn't.
"Pull into that park." I directed. A hint of yellow police tape was peeking through the trees.
Andrew looked at me despairingly, "You sure you don't want to eat first, or something? I saw a Jack in the Box somewhere back there."
"Fine." I conceded, "You're the..." bad "...driver here." Andrew gave a relieved sigh and pulled into a u-turn. We bumped up the curb and back onto the road we came from. After a few confusing series of turns (for such a terrible driver, he had a good memory) we came to a stop at an abandoned Jack in the Box. I climbed out, stretching languidly after the three hour trip. The owners had obviously left in a hurry, because they had forgotten to lock up. But the darkness inside confirmed what I believed would happen.
"Maybe we should try another place." Andrew proposed hopefully, stepping out behind me.
I raised a brow, "You know no other place is going to be open either. And we're lucky this door is unlocked." I walked up to the door, but Andrew stopped me, "But isn't this stealing? Like, isn't this illegal?"
"If the door is open, it isn't theft." I winked at him, then sauntered into the gloomy restaurant. Andrew threw his hands in the air and gave a loud huff of exasperation. I paid it no heed, because I knew that he would follow. His stomach would make sure of that.
If there was any light, the tables would have been shining. Everything looked pristine, straight out of a little girl's dollhouse. I ignored the seating area and went directly to the register and past the flap into the kitchen. Some leftover breakfast croissants were sitting on the silver tray. I groped my way around the dark kitchen towards the food and grabbed one for Andrew and one for me. I grabbed a second one and stuffed it in my inside pocket. Andrew was waiting in the doorway, eagerness and remorse fighting for a place on his face.
"There were only two." I lied for the second time, tossing him a croissant. He caught it deftly. We ate in silence, watching the wind rock the trees. The town really was abandoned. I had assumed Andrew had been exaggerating, but the place was completely vacant. It was interesting. The murder of six innocents had scared the rest of the inhabitants to the point that they left in such a hurry, they forgot about everything else. The restaurant was unlocked, and all the other houses probably were too.
Is it possible for a place to go from 150,000 to 0 in the span of a day? And wouldn't at least some people stay behind, maybe not by choice, but because they had to? Questions I couldn't answer, not until I saw the cause of their departure.
"Let's go to the site." I stood and stretched. Andrew looked crestfallen, but regardless, he drove out of the parking lot and back towards the park.
YOU ARE READING
Karma: A Blayne Mitchell Novel
Misterio / SuspensoBlayne "Ace" Mitchell, ex-government mercenary retired at age 29, was born with a knack for solving crimes. He was passing through Washington when greeted with caution tape and sirens. Unable to resist the urge to solve the mystery of a three dead c...