Page 19 of When You're Broken
Emerging into the main concourse, he surveyed the gloom with a kind of private amusement.All those years this shopping center thrived, no one guessed it’d be abandoned and claimed by someone like me.Tiled floors were strewn with trash: crumpled fast-food wrappers, battered mannequins missing limbs, signage that once advertised blowout sales.The overhead lights had long since died, leaving only dim reflections from a few broken overhead windows.The entire place felt like an urban graveyard.Perfect for a hideout.
He navigated around an overturned bench.The hush amplified each footstep.From a distant corridor, a gust of wind rustled plastic sheeting that covered old displays, creating a scraping hush.Wendell recalled how, in better times, teenage employees would hustle around, cleaning up spilled soda.Now, no one roamed these corridors except for him—and occasionally, the poor souls he lured down into the basement.
At a cracked glass door near the east entrance, he slipped out into the night.The parking lot was equally deserted, weeds sprouting through fissures in the asphalt.A few broken streetlights stood like silent sentinels.He cut across the lot, footsteps echoing in the hush, until he spotted a figure standing near a blue sedan, the headlights off.The man looked around nervously, coat collar turned up against the chilly breeze.
Harry Renfield,Wendell thought, letting a faint smile curl his lips.He approached, noticing how Harry stiffened, recognizing Wendell’s silhouette in the gloom.
“You’re late,” Wendell said, though his tone carried a teasing lilt.
Harry coughed, glancing at the watch on his wrist.“Sorry.Traffic out of the city center.Took longer than I expected.”His voice carried the tautness of a man who’d rather be anywhere else.
Wendell eyed the man’s anxious posture.Harry was in his early forties, short hair receding, eyes darting around.Wendell guessed he’d prefer not to be seen with a killer, but he had no choice.He owes me a favor.
“It’s all right,” Wendell said lightly.“Any trouble securing the items?”
Harry inhaled, fiddling with the car keys in his hand.“No… no trouble.Just— Took a few calls.The passports are in that bag.”He nodded at a small holdall on the sedan’s hood.“And the gun, plus the extra magazine, is inside.The car’s got fresh plates.Shouldn’t be traceable.”
Wendell’s grin widened.“I do appreciate your resourcefulness, old friend.”He stepped closer, letting the faint glow from a distant streetlamp reveal the tension in Harry’s eyes.“You should be happy that I won’t call on you again to collect.”
Harry managed a weak nod.“I am.This squares us.I just… I just want to get out of here.”
Wendell set a hand on the holdall, unzipped it partially to confirm the contents: a black-market pistol, a small stack of new license plates, and a sealed envelope presumably containing the passport.He nodded, satisfied.“Your compliance does wonders, Harry.You always were a man who understands the stakes.”
Harry looked around the deserted parking lot, exhaling nervously.“If you say so.I— You’re sure no one followed you?I can’t afford to be implicated.”
Wendell chuckled."Calm down, you're safe.The only people who know I'm here are you and the poor souls in the basement.They're not about to chat with the police."
Harry gave a haunted half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.Wendell watched him closely, reading the flickers of fear.This man’s loyalty is purely terror,he mused.“So you won’t mention me to anyone, correct?”Wendell asked softly, though he knew the answer.
“Of—of course not,” Harry stammered, stepping back as if wanting to keep distance.“I value my life too much.”
Wendell nodded, feigning acceptance.“Excellent.By the way, your surname—Renfield—it always struck me.Reminds me of theDraculacharacter.”
Harry blinked, confusion mingling with apprehension.“Oh?I… never read it.”
“A classic.”Wendell tapped a finger against his chin.“In the novel, Renfield does Dracula’s bidding, enthralled by the Count’s power.A devoted subordinate.”He paused, letting the weight of that allusion settle.“Now, do you know what happened to that Renfield once Dracula no longer needed him?”
The slight tremor in Harry’s voice betrayed deeper panic.“I… I don’t know, I told you, I haven’t read it.”
Wendell’s lips twisted into a near-smile.He stuck out his hand.“Well, let’s not spoil it for you, then.”
Harry, swallowing, extended his own hand for a quick shake, obviously wanting to end the conversation.But Wendell gripped it firmly, refusing to let go.Harry’s eyes darted up in alarm.A flicker of confusion gave way to realization.
“Wait—what—?”
Wendell moved smoothly, his free hand whipping out a small, gleaming knife from beneath his jacket.Before Harry could jerk away, Wendell drew the blade across his throat in a single, swift motion.Warm blood spurted, splattering Wendell’s glove.Harry’s eyes bulged, an unintelligible gurgle escaping his lips.
Wendell’s expression remained almost placid as he held Harry upright by the handshake, feeling the life drain from him.He spoke in a low tone, half to himself.“If you do deals with the devil,” he said, “eventually the devil will do a great deal to you.”
Harry let out a strangled gasp, knees buckling.Wendell released his grip only once he was certain the man was beyond saving.Harry collapsed against him, a dead weight that threatened to topple them both.Wendell grimaced at the blood soaking his coat.
“Messy,” he muttered, scanning the area.The deserted parking lot remained silent.No watchers peered from the broken windows.The gloom provided perfect cover.The basement was hardly the only place to hide bodies.
Spotting a manhole cover a dozen yards away near a broken-down loading dock, Wendell dragged the limp body, boots scraping the cracked asphalt.Harry’s lifeless arms flopped with each pull.Reaching the manhole, Wendell pried the cover open—a mild strain, but it slid aside with a grunt.The stench of rancid water wafted up.
“No need for a funeral,” Wendell whispered, shoving the corpse into the darkness below.The hollow splash that followed echoed faintly.With a practiced motion, Wendell nudged the cover back in place.He crouched for a moment, wiping the knife on a stray rag from Harry’s pocket, discarding the bloodstained cloth next to the manhole.
He straightened, surveying the perimeter.The hush remained unbroken.The wind carried a faint rustle from the surrounding weeds.No sign of passersby.But there rarely were in such an abandoned place.Another loose end is gone.
