Page 35 of Silent Neighbor

Lucas leaned forward, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he studied Sheila. The movement caused him to sway dangerously, and he had to grab the edge of the table to steady himself. "Yeah, we knew them," he said, his words coming out slow and deliberate, as if he was concentrating hard on each syllable. "What's it to you?"

"We're investigating their deaths," Sheila explained, watching Lucas's face carefully for any reaction. His eyes widened slightly at her words, a flicker of something—fear? guilt?—passing across his features before he masked it with a scowl. "We believe they may be connected. Can you tell us about your relationship with Jake and Brad?"

Lucas exchanged glances with his companions, a silent communication passing between them. The atmosphere grew tense, the air thick with unspoken words and shared secrets. Finally, Lucas turned back to Sheila, his face a carefully composed mask of nonchalance.

"We're all part of the same online group," he said, gesturing vaguely with his glass and sloshing some of its contents onto the already sticky table. "Extreme adventurers, you know? Jake and Brad... they were the best of us. Always pushing the limits, seeking the next big thrill."

Sheila's pulse quickened. They were finally getting somewhere. She could feel Finn tense beside her, both of them acutely aware of the importance of this moment. "This online group..." she began, choosing her words carefully. "Would you happen to go by the username PhoenixRising?"

Lucas stared at her blankly. "Why do you ask?"

"We've seen some of your exchanges with Jake," Finn interjected, his tone deceptively casual. "Particularly a heated argument about some of his posts. Care to elaborate on that?"

Lucas's demeanor changed instantly, his face hardening into a mask of defiance. "I've got nothing to say to you," he said, his words coming out in a rush. "You don't understand our world, what we do, why we do it. You're just looking for someone to blame, aren't you?"

The tattooed man stepped closer, using his bulk to try and intimidate Sheila. His breath reeked of whiskey and stale cigarettes as he growled, "I think it's time for you to leave, lady."

"Back off," Finn said. "Before I make you."

The two men glared at one another.

Sheila's eyes never left Lucas. She could see the wheels turning in his alcohol-addled brain, could almost hear him trying to figure out how much they knew, how much danger he was in.

"Mr. Raines," she said, keeping her voice calm and level, "we're not here to judge your lifestyle. We just want to understand what happened to Jake and Brad. If you know anything that could help us—"

"I said, I've got nothing to say!" Lucas shouted, his voice cracking. He stumbled to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. "I gotta take a piss."

He staggered toward the back of the bar, using tables and the backs of chairs to keep himself upright. Sheila watched him go, her instincts screaming that something wasn't right. She glanced at Finn, who was still engaged in a silent battle of wills with the tattooed man.

Trusting Finn to look after himself, Sheila made her way through the crowded bar to the restrooms. The press of bodies and the noise were overwhelming, the smell of sweat and alcohol nearly making her gag. She positioned herself outside the men's room, ignoring the curious and sometimes hostile glances from other patrons.

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Lucas didn't emerge. Sheila's instincts, honed by years on the job, began to prickle. Something wasn't right.

Then she felt it—a cool draft coming from under the bathroom door. It was subtle, barely noticeable in the stuffy bar, but to Sheila, it might as well have been a blaring alarm.

Without hesitation, Sheila kicked the door open, the wood splintering around the lock. Her hand instinctively moved to her weapon as she burst into the bathroom. The smell hit her first—a pungent mix of stale urine, cheap air freshener, and desperation. But the bathroom was empty, save for a single stall with its door hanging open.

And there, across the room, was an open window, the night air rushing in and stirring the fetid bathroom air.

"Finn!" she shouted, already moving toward the back exit. "He's running!"

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