Chapter 39
Payson
The further I drive away from the city the longer the roads stretch.
Hours pass, and eventually time starts blurring together.
The radio does work, and I had it on for a little bit, but the further into the mountains I drive, the quieter I want it to be.
The chirps of the crickets and hoots from the owls are the only thing I can hear over the hum of the engine.
Gas stations with flickering lights, paper cups of coffee that go cold before I can even finish them, have been the only constants since I left the city.
I don’t rush, just take my time. The further away I drive the better I start to feel.
Maybe this was what he left me. Maybe this is what he meant by saying only I would understand.
By the time the road starts to wind, there’s nothing left but trees.
Endless amounts of trees, tall, and closing in just enough to make the world feel smaller.
The mountains rise around me gradually shifting the air, the temperature, and the roads which are now curving with the mountains.
The Chevelle handles it with ease, steadily pushing through like it knows exactly where to go.
I roll the window down at one point. The air is much cooler and…
cleaner. It fills the car, mixing with the faint trace of aftershave that still lingers in the leather, and for a minute it feels as if he’s guiding me.
The road narrows the further I drive down it, darker now and the trees become thicker, nearly suffocating, until a driveway appears.
A driveway that screams someone with money lives here, though no one would ever see it way out here, out of place from the rest of the world.
My grip tightens on the wheel as I slow, turning onto it.
The car moves up the incline with ease, gravel shifting beneath the tires as the pavement ends and rock takes over.
Coming into view with clean lines. Sharp edges.
Modern in a way that feels almost unreal sitting in the middle of nowhere.
It reminds me of something I once saw in one of those vampire movies.
Too perfect to belong here, but onscreen not so much, but the difference; the glass is dark, reflective, and I can’t see through it.
I pull up slowly, the headlights washing over it briefly before I cut the engine.
I wonder if I have the address right as I sit there just…
looking at it. This is where he sent me.
Why? I reach for the keys, pulling them from the ignition and step out.
The air is cold, and I suck in a deep breath.
It’s weird how different the air can feel and smell between the city and out here in the middle of nowhere.
Not to down my phone company, but I am very surprised it brought me here without losing service.
Top notch. I move toward the front door, my steps steady and even as something low in my chest tightens.
There’s a faint glow from inside barely bright enough to be seen unless you peek through the panels beside the door. Someone’s here or was.
Knock, knock, knock. Nothing. No movement, no sound other than the chirps from the crickets.
I wait a few seconds longer, and when I don’t hear anything, I grip the handle, pressing the button and pushing it open.
It’s unlocked, which is strange to me, but I guess not so much out here.
The air is warm when I step inside. A welcome to the cold.
Everything is neatly placed and clean like it’s been staged, similar to an Airbnb before the next guest arrives.
I close the door quietly behind me, my gaze moving carefully across the room.
The furniture is pristine, and there are no signs of clutter or signs that anyone has been here.
Not that I can tell. My eyes land on the empty fireplace, and the space beside it where wood should be stacked, a barely noticeable outline of where there has been some before.
The soft leather couch sits low and wide with a plush blanket draped across one side.
The second I take a seat, I realize just how tired I am.
Not just physically, but emotionally as well.
The weight of everything I haven’t let myself feel there, ready to escape.
I sink deeper into the fabric, letting it consume me as my eyes drift to the table in front of me where a half full glass of bourbon sits.
That shouldn’t be here. My fingers twitch slightly against the edge of the couch as I try to think if I ever heard Jay mention this place before, but the thought never leaves because exhaustion hits me harder and heavier than ever.