Page 33 of Not This Way

The stars above seemed to mock him, their cold indifference piercing through the veil of night. He had always been afraid of nature and the sky, but he could not escape them. They were omnipresent, looming over him like a dark specter from his past.

“Is this what you want?” he muttered, his voice a barely audible whisper as it was carried away by the wind.

A sudden rustling sound caught his attention, and he turned his gaze toward its origin. A small squirrel had appeared on the roof, its eyes gleaming with curiosity. Despite the gnawing fear in his gut, the killer couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for the tiny creature.

“Ah, you must be hungry,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small wrapper with the remnants of a protein bar. It smelled vaguely of peanut butter, and he tore off a stale piece.

He extended his hand, palm up, offering the food to the squirrel. With tentative steps, the squirrel approached, sniffing the nut-scented bar before taking one corner gingerly in its mouth. The killer couldn’t help but smile at the sight; even in a world shrouded in darkness, there was still a glimmer of innocence to be found.

“Enjoy your meal, little one,” he murmured, watching as the squirrel scampered back down the RV to snack on its prize.

As the squirrel disappeared into the shadows, the killer’s thoughts returned to his own twisted path, his heartbeat quickening with anticipation. He knew what he had to do—the time had come to face his fears and carry out his plan.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, his words swallowed by the wind as it swept across the desolate landscape. “I know not what I do.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The following morning, Rachel and Ethan found themselves driving through the outskirts of town, their unmarked police car blending seamlessly with the traffic. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows over the desolate streets as the first hints of daylight filtered through the clouds.

“So his brother’s really in prison?”

“Mhmm.”

“So it can’t be him.”

“No. But Mark is out.”

“Gotcha,” Ethan said. “So this Mark guy had means, opportunity, motive, and a record?”

“Looks like.”

“Shit, alright then.”

“According to his file, this guy’s been living at the Desert Palm Motel for the past month,” Rachel said, squinting at the GPS on her phone. “Looks like we’re getting close.”

A shabby, run-down motel soon came into view, its neon sign flickering weakly in the faint light. As they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, Rachel couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. The place radiated despair, its dark windows staring back at her like soulless eyes.

“Room 107 should be just around the corner,” Ethan murmured, scanning the row of doors as they stepped out of the car.

“Stay sharp,” Rachel warned, her hand instinctively resting on her holstered weapon. She felt the weight of it against her hip, a reminder of the danger that could lurk behind any door.

“Always am,” Ethan replied with a reassuring smile, his own hand hovering near his gun.

As they approached Room 107, the air seemed to grow colder, the silence more oppressive. Rachel’s thoughts drifted to her aunt, and the uncomfortable interaction the previous night.

The accusation about her parents’ unsolved murders still hung heavy.

But instead of allowing her mind to linger on such things, she steeled herself and focused on the task at hand.

“Ready?” Ethan asked, his hand poised to knock on the door.

“Let’s go,” Rachel whispered, her eyes fixed on the peeling paint of the motel room door.

Ethan’s knuckles rapped against the door with a sense of urgency, the sound echoing in the dimly lit motel hallway. Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat reminding her of the importance of this moment.

“Rangers,” she called out firmly, hoping that the announcement would prompt some sort of response.

But there was only silence.

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