Page 11 of Fire in Stone

The metal cot made a terrible screeching sound every time I turned. Somehow, I must’ve fallen asleep despite it, though, because a loud crashing noise woke me up.

It sounded like an explosion, sending me out of bed in a rush.

“What the…” I blinked groggily, then crouched behind the cot for cover.

What was happening? Had the Miller Brothers found me?

Sleep flew away. Alarm jolted all my senses to full alert.

It was pitch black inside the windowless apartment. I reached for my cellphone on the side table by the cot.

I was glad I’d slept in my long t-shirt, sports bra, and underwear. To get dressed now, I only needed to put on my jeans, grab my hoodie, and shove my feet into my shoes. Always be prepared. Life had taught me that.

The shuffling of someone’s feet sounded close by. Way too close! A long sigh came next.

I wasn’t alone.

“Who’s here?” I yelled, willing my voice not to shake.

Turning on the flashlight on my phone, I jerked it toward the noise. The ray fell on the tall male figure as he stepped out of the broken crate. Pieces of plywood littered the floor. The crate was decimated.

Did he do that?

“Don’t move!” I warned.

He chuckled.

“No, thank you. I’ve spent way too much timenotmoving.” He rolled his wide shoulders, taking in a deep breath. “Now I’ll move, jump, run, and dance if I feel like it, since I finally can.”

What was he talking about?

I glanced around, searching for something I could use as a weapon if needed. Though he didn’t look like he was about to attack me. He didn’t appear to have any weapons on him, either. He didn’t even have a shirt on.

I kept the cellphone turned his way while I inched along the wall toward the light switch.

Save for the slab of granite, the broken crate was empty. The obsidian winged man was gone.

They’d taken him!

“Where is the statue?” I interrogated the man, who blinked in the light. “And who the hell are you?”

He raised his arm, shielding his eyes from the ray of light from my cell phone.

“I am the statue.”

Was he insane? Or mocking me?

“Listen, buddy…” I hit the switch, the weak light of the grimy light bulb under the ceiling illuminated the room.

I quickly scanned the place for any sign of his accomplices and found none. The roll-up door was still down, the padlock in place. There were no clues as to how the man got in and how the statue got out.

“You better tell me the truth,” I demanded. “How did you get in here?”

He lowered his arm. His dark eyes no longer squinting, he gave me a slow once-over.

“You…” he drawled in a deep, low voice.

His face split with a wide smile, as if he met a long-lost friend, or—judging by the way he kept devouring me with his eyes—a long-lost lover.

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