Page 185 of Chasing Infinity

“Do you think we should call Grace and see if she’s seen Addie?” Charlie asks.

I nod and pull my phone out now to call Addison’s best friend. The conversation is short though Grace’s voice grows shrill with alarm when I tell her that Parks is missing. She says she’ll start calling around to see if anyone else has heard from her.

As soon as I end that call, Charlie steers the car onto the gravel road toward the Witch House. My chest tightens with anxiety the closer and closer we get to the run-down shack. I absentmindedly rub at my sternum, trying to ease the ache growing deeper and deeper.

It’s nearly midnight by the time Charlie finally parks his car. He turns to me as soon as the vehicle is off. “Don’t be a hero, Noah. If they’re here, we gotta be smart about this.”

I nod my head solemnly. “What’s the plan?”

Charlie runs his hand through his sandy blonde hair. “We go in together. If there’s someone in there, I’ll handle them, and you look for Addison.”

“You sure you don’t want to go ahead and call backup just to be safe?”

Charlie shakes his head. “We’re thirty minutes outside of town. If I call them out for nothing, that leaves no one in town to cover any calls. I promise if something does come up, I’ll call right away. You got a weapon on you?”

I nod my head, my stomach churning at the prospect of having to use it. I won’t hesitate. If Addison’s in danger, I’d demolish the entire town to keep her safe. I just had the idea of her having to see me use it.

Charlie inhales deeply and then breathes out through his nose. “Alright then, let’s go.”

We both exit the car and make our way to the Witch House. The run-down shack is creepy at best in the daytime but in the dark? I fight off the chill that threatens to creep down my spine at the thought that this is where my father has been running his business. A part of me hopes I’m wrong and that he hasn’t been under my nose this entire fucking time, and yet, for Addison’s sake, my pride can take the hit.

I better be correct, and Addison better be here; otherwise, there’s no telling what I’ll do.

I cover Charlie in tactical formation as we walk up to the Witch House. He doesn’t waste time, kicking open the front door to the run-down building and maneuvering inside. The house is dark and dusty, with cobwebs covering every visible surface. I cough when a few dust particles make it down into my lungs.

It appears that there hasn’t been any type of human life in this place since the dawn of time. As we enter the main living area, I lower my gun, seeing no signs of any other presence besides Charlie and me.

“Well fuck,” I mutter, turning to the police chief. He’s lowered his weapon, too, giving an apologetic grimace.

“Sorry, man, this is exactly what it looked like the last time I was here.”

I sigh and rub the back of my neck, my eyes tracing over every surface in the room. I come up mostly blank until, finally, I spot something amiss. “Wait, what’s that?” I point over to the ratty orange couch positioned haphazardly in the middle of the room. There, standing out against the dark wood of the floor, are two noticeable prints in the shape of boots. The floor throughout the rest of the room is covered in a thin layer of dust, except for areas clearly denoted as footprints, now that I’m looking closer.

I flick the safety on my gun and stick it in my pants as I bend down to look closely at the footprints. Charlie comes up next to me, crouching to see better too.

“I wonder–” I trail off, my eyes traveling to the heavily worn couch. I stand up and push it out of the way, wincing at the sound of the pegs scraping against the floorboards. Charlie helps, moving the piece of furniture all the way against the far wall.

Sure as shit, as soon as the couch is moved away, a trap door remains in the floor. Charlie and I share a glance. He winces sheepishly at me. “I didn’t see that the last time I came up.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have unless you moved that monstrosity out of the way,” I tell him, clapping my hands together to dislodge the dust and grime accumulated from the couch.

The two of us crouch down to have a closer look at the door. A black iron handle right in the middle matches two black hinges on the opposite side. I reach out a hand to grasp the handle, planning to swing it open and take a look at what’s hidden underneath.

Before I have the chance to, we hear a car door slam and then the sound of deep voices. Charlie and I look at each other in panic, and then we split, scrambling to find somewhere to hide. I hop behind the couch, taking shelter. I don’t know where Charlie went to hide, but his footsteps echo as he scatters away from the trap door.

The voices move closer, and then the front door flies open. The newcomers stop whatever they are discussing and come to a screeching halt as soon as they walk into the living room.

“What the fuck?” a man asks. “I swear I didn’t forget to put the couch back, Boss. I was just here a few hours ago, and IknowI moved it back.”

“Really?” a low deep voice asks. The sound of his timbre sends shivers down my spine. I’d know that voice anywhere, and though I’m not surprised that my father is the Boss the other man is addressing, the reality of it still stings. “Then tell me, how did the couch get pushed against the wall? Did it walk by itself?”

“N-No,” the other man replies in a shaky voice. “Probably not.”

“Hmm, probably not,” my father repeats. Though I’m hidden behind the couch, I can imagine the condescending expression on my father’s face. I’ve seen it so many times I could draw it from memory. “So then, who moved it?”

“Beats me, Boss.”

“Do you think that maybe, you shouldfigure it out?” my father snarls at him, and I swear the other man whimpers from the venom dripping through my father’s voice.

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