Chapter Three
The one other oddity I have learned about this town is how much it rains.
This morning the weather was beautiful. The sun was warm and shining on my face, then out of nowhere, dark grey storm clouds filled the sky. Thunder booms and lightning bolts sound every few minutes. The violent rush of rain pelts against the ground and wind gusts push sheets of water to the right.
I stand on the police department’s front stoop under the narrow overhang to keep myself as dry as possible. The wet cold manages to seep through my purple trenchcoat, sending a chill over the surface of my skin.
Staring out into the onyx night, the sensation of someone watching me sends shivers down my spine. I survey the street my car is parked on, searching for any movement in the violence of the storm.
If there is one thing I know about myself, it’s that my instincts are never wrong. They have gotten me this far in life. I know when I’m being watched. I know when eyes are on me, and that’s the dark thrill I love so much.
I love the pit that grows in my stomach. The unknown of what could happen to me at any given moment has an inkling of fear rattling my bones.
I’m addicted to fear.
I think that is what drives me to be a good cop. Not only do I push past the fear, but I crave more of it. The action of facing a dangerous person always leaves me unfulfilled after. I want the adrenaline to last.
The racing of my heart? The slight sweat of my palms? The way I hold my breath when I’m holding my gun in my hand while doing a perimeter sweep? Chasing a suspect until my legs burn?
Those moments don’t even scratch the surface of what I crave, and I don’t think there is anything in this world that will be able to give me the fear I want.
Lightning cracks across the sky, the electricity so bright, its glow allows me to see the entire street. In the split second of light, movement in the alley catches my attention.
The files I have tucked under my arm fall to the wet ground as I pull my weapon free from the holster. I step into the rain, aiming towards the alleyway where I thought I saw someone.
I would say it is nothing in a town this small, but after meeting Creed, I know there is more than what meets the eye when it comes to this place.
The rush of raindrops hinders my vision. My hair becomes drenched, and my clothes become heavy with water as I walk down the steps.
Keeping my gun pointed ahead, I look left and right to check for traffic and cross the street. I try to be as quiet as possible, my steps light in the puddles forming in the road.
The street itself is quiet. No people are outside. No cars have driven by. Street lamps flicker in the heavy rain, strobing the atmosphere with an eerie warning.
Pressing my back against the brick building adjacent to the alleyway, I push my wet hair out of my face. My heart is pounding in my chest. My own breath is hard to regulate as adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream.
A throb forms between my legs, the search for danger igniting the lust that dangerous situations create. Nothing eases the desire until I’m home, my fingers knuckle deep inside my pussy.
Taking a deep breath, I turn and place myself in the middle of the entryway to the alley, aiming my weapon into the darkness. To the left are a row of dumpsters and recycle bins, and to the right are broken-down cardboard boxes that are now soggy from the rain.
“I’m Detective Lula Sanchez from the police department.
” I pull out my gold badge from my pocket, hoping whoever is in the alley can see it so they aren’t afraid of me.
“If you need help, please show yourself. I’ll put my gun away to show you I’m not a threat.
” I tuck the weapon into my holster, raising my hands to show I’m here with pure intentions.
I wait for someone to reply, to show themselves, but it’s only me standing here alone with the plummeting splashes of rain against the pavement.
“If anyone is here and you need anything, all you have to do is go across the street and ask for me by name, okay?” I raise my voice to shout over the abusive amount of rain.
I place a hand against my chest, giving myself a light pat when I introduce myself again.
“Ask for Detective Lula Sanchez, and I’ll help you.
I promise, okay? I can’t help you if you hide.
I understand you’re scared, but I won’t hurt you. I’m only here to help.”
I wait, standing there in drenched clothes while the rain hinders my vision. I lick my lips, the cool water drenching my dry throat. The longer I stand here in the dark, the more I know I’m not alone.
Someone is here. I feel their eyes on me, analyzing me, drinking me in. It’s almost like a thick grime slithering over my body, violating me from head to toe.
A cracking noise has me turning my head, whipping out my cellphone to turn the flashlight on to see what it is. I jerk the light back and forth, shining it on the walls on either side of me.
My breath comes out in quick, chilled clouds as I shine the light against the dumpster.
A long vine or maybe roots creep on the side of the dumpster.
I blow out a breath, relieved and sad; the sound didn’t belong to a person.
“I’m going to leave!” I shout just as a loud roll of thunder shakes the atmosphere, silencing my attempt to communicate.
“You can come into the station tomorrow and ask for me if you want. I’ll be there at eight in the morning.
” I scan the alley one last time, holding my breath when my mind thinks the bags of trash lining the ground are a body.
There’s no one here. I’m psyching myself out.
“Hay, Dios mío,” I say to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose at my own actions. I can’t believe I’ve run into a dark place, alone, without backup, again.
It’s another reason why I left New York City. My captain was tired of me running into the unknown without my partner to keep me safe. He didn’t understand that I didn’t want to be safe. I didn’t want a safety net.
There will always be a part of me that wants to be caught.
I begin to walk away, my shoes squishing with every step I take since my socks are drenched to my skin.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laaa.”
I pause mid-step, turning my chin to my shoulder to see if I heard my name like I thought. A few long seconds pass without anything but the steady pounding of rain.
“You are being ridiculous, Lula,” I say to myself, looking left and right down the street before I cross it.
One car drives by, its headlights so bright, I have to lift my hand to cover my eyes. Once the coast is clear, I step onto the street, needing to get into my car and head home. The time has gotten away from me, and it is much later in the evening than I initially thought.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laaa,” is breathed on the back of my neck.
My skin rises in goosebumps, and the need to run for my life screams inside my soul.
I spin around, my hand on my weapon, but no one is there. It’s just me standing in the middle of the road in the middle of the night and imagining wild scenarios because I’m sleep-deprived.
Leaning against the side of the car, I pat my pockets for the keys when it hits me that I had the files in my hand before I felt someone watching me.
“Fuck,” I curse, jerking my head up to the files spread out on the front steps of the police station.
“No. No, no, no.” I dash to the steps, gathering every single piece of paper that fell from the files when I drew my weapon from its holster.
“This can’t be happening. Not on my first day.
” I don’t bother inspecting them. There’s no time to waste.
I shove the scattered papers into the folder, uncaring if the information becomes mixed together.
I can always separate everything once I dry out the papers.
“Why do you always do that? You sabotage yourself just to chase a ghost that is never there,” I scold myself, holding up a piece of paper that is so wet, water drips from the corners.
I groan in frustration. “This can’t be happening.
” It’s my fault. It always is, but these files have to be saved.
I spent the entire day researching and studying old case files that were never solved.
Not because the sheriff couldn’t handle it, but they didn’t have the resources to dedicate to solving these cases with such a small police force.
After going through the cabinet of ‘Unsolved Mysteries’, which is what Zig calls it, I plucked four files and studied every single sentence in them belonging to the alleged suspects.
Once the files are tucked under my arms, I dig my hand into my pocket and press the unlock button of my car, then run through the rain.
Opening the driver’s side door, I peek at the alley one more time, and the sensation of someone watching me is still there. Not wanting to waste any more time in the rain, I slip into the car and slam the door, not pressing the lock button.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laaa.”
I freeze when I hear the creepy song again. It reminds me of the children in horror movies who sing in the dark, only this voice is much deeper. It cracks and breaks, almost as if there is a constant growl or a foreign object is caught in their throat.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, a pair of black eyes stare back at me, and I scream at the top of my lungs. I turn around to look at the creature who broke into my car, but nothing is there.
No one is there.
“You are losing it tonight, Lula.” I blow out a breath mixed with disappointment and relief that no one is in my vehicle.
I’m ready to go home, take a hot shower, and go to sleep.
The ride home is quick since the town is so small. I follow the same main road, passing Demi’s Diner on the right. Jake wasn’t lying when he said they had the best food and coffee in town. I could see myself eating there three times a day.
I crank the speed of the windshield wipers, needing one more additional speed with how fast and hard this rain is falling. At this rate, I won’t be able to see the road at all.
The tall trees blend together in the night, appearing to be dark holes in the world instead of a forest. A bolt of lightning allows me to see the long road, and someone or something standing in the middle of it.
The closer I get, the more I realize he isn’t going to move. My eyes widen, unable to see what he looks like between how dark it is and the heavy flow of rain. I slam my fist on the horn, pressing the middle of my steering wheel in long beats to warn the guy to get out of the way.
I can’t brake. I’m going too fast, and the tires will slide against the pavement with how wet it is.
“Move! Muévete! Move out of the way!” I scream at him even though he can’t hear me.
I yank the steering wheel, swerving to the left. That familiar thrill buzzes my body, and the panic and fear sprinkle on top. The terrifying moment the car fishtails, I try to correct myself, turning the wheel left, then right as the metal box changes direction.
The tires hit the grass, continuing to skid. I fly over the ditch. I can’t see out the windshield. The rain is still slamming against the glass, blurring whatever is hopefully not in my way, but all motion has to end, right?
Marilyn Manson’s voice creeps through the speakers, life still moving on even if I’m seconds away from impact. The car becomes darker; the windows covered by a shadow. Metal creaks, the frame crunching, and I come to a sudden hard stop.
The momentum has my head smashing against the steering wheel, sending me into the darkness of sweet dreams.