The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,227

how he’s struggling to get the paper.

“It’s a letter from Gabriel,” he says.

His pupils shift left to right as he scans the page.

“Fuck.” He looks up and locks eyes with me. “Guys…fuck.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Trinity

I’m about halfway through my search of the basement when my foot hits something in the dark. With a metallic gong I’m sure could be heard a mile away, a dog bowl flies away with a clang, clang, clang before finally coming to rest.

My foot’s wet.

I think there was water or something in there.

Now the smell’s stronger. I gag and shake my leg, trying to get the water off.

Hell, I hope it’s water. I’m not so sure anymore.

I hold my breath for a moment, wondering if anyone upstairs heard the ruckus. Then I start moving forward again, trying to remember which direction I was headed.

The smell is so much stronger now.

Stagnant water, is all.

My foot touches another mattress. Unless my imagined dimensions of this place are wrong, I’m close to another wall. I’m guessing this mattress is pushed up against it.

I lean forward, but I don’t feel a wall where I should. So step onto the mattress and stretch—

Something bumps my foot.

If I hadn’t clapped my hands over my mouth, I would have screamed. In fact, I do still scream, but the sound is muffled.

I jump back, my heart clanging in my chest almost as loud as that dog bowl.

What the hell was that?

I wait for something to happen. A sound that indicates movement, perhaps. More rat claws maybe.

But there’s nothing.

So I crouch down and grope in the dark until I touch the edge of the mattress.

My fingers brush the surface as I move them reluctantly forward.

I’m almost sure I can make out the incredibly vague, pale outline of the mattress. But if so, then there must be a big stain in the center, because that area is dark.

God, I wish there was more light down here.

I swipe my fingers left to right over the mattress, with no idea where I’d felt the thing on my foot.

But there’s nothing there.

Probably because I chased it away.

And I have no idea if I’m relieved or grossed out by the thought that I touched a live rat with my foot.

I’m just about to stand when my fingers snag something.

I freeze.

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what I’m touching.

Hair.

I leap back.

My scream echoes back to me, but I couldn’t give a fuck if everyone above me heard. I scramble away, tripping on the edge of another mattress and falling hard on my ass. Then I’m on hands and knees, crawling. I hit another dog bowl but this one’s dry and doesn’t splash me.

I’m half-sobbing, half-choking by the time I get close to the other side of the basement—arms outstretched as I search out the wall I know is getting closer.

But instead of hitting the wall, something slams into my stomach. I fold in half, gasping in pain, sobbing with shock, and grab for something to hold onto.

I ran into a bar of steel.

A railing.

Stairs.

I’m up them a second later. Now my sobs are tearing me apart. Bile vaults up my throat, but I choke it down with a ragged gasp.

My hands bang against something.

A door.

I slam my fists onto it.

“Let me out! Please, please!” My throat burns as I shriek out a string of desperate pleas. “Let me out!”

As if someone on the other side of the door hears my prayers, it swings open.

I fall forward, stumble, catch myself, and go hurtling into the light. I can’t see a thing—it’s just white, and there’s shouting and movement.

I run into someone.

They grab me.

Is it Hoody? The man with the polo shirt under his sweater? Or the woman with the gun?

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I swipe my hands over my face, push hair out of my eyes.

The man in front of me, the one I ran into, he spreads his arms.

Smiles.

I recognize that smile.

But I don’t know how.

Because the man staring at me is a stranger.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Apollo

“Trinity’s dad faked his own death?” I murmur.

I’m still staring at the letter Cass passed me. He read it out, but I’m reading it again. I was hoping I could get something—anything—by the font or type of paper he used.

But it’s a standard font in Word printed on ordinary, cheap, letter-sized paper.

Even the signature just reads ‘Gabriel’ with an indecipherable flourish that could be anything.

Cass blows a plume of cigarette smoke out of the car window. “It would appear so.”

We moved the car to the