Chapter 6 - THE WATCHER IN THE WOODS
Z
Marcus walked slowly toward my truck, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if he were taking a morning stroll on his personal estate. The bodyguard who had shot at me stepped out of the passenger side, keeping his weapon drawn and pointed at my windshield.
"Turn off the engine," Marcus said, his voice smooth and commanding.
I left the truck idling, my hand hovering near the gear shift. "Let the boy go, Marcus."
Marcus chuckled dryly, stopping five feet from my driver-side window. "Let him go? My dear man, you seem to be severely confused. Thomas is my nephew. He is a disturbed young man with a history of running away and suffering from severe psychological delusions. I am his legal guardian."
"He's not delusional," I said sharply, staring directly into his cold eyes. "He knows what happened to his father. And I know what's buried beneath my garage."
For the briefest second, Marcus's smooth facade cracked. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened slightly before he restored his calm composure.
"Is that so?" Marcus murmured softly. "You bought that old dump on Elm Street three weeks ago. I wondered why Julian kept that worthless piece of land under a shell company for so many years. I assumed it was just nostalgia."
"There are documents, Marcus. Signed titles, trust registries, and Julian's journal detailing everything you did to him," I said, bluffing about how much evidence I had immediate access to. "If anything happens to Thomas or me, those papers go directly to the federal prosecutor's office."
Marcus leaned down slightly, resting his hands on the edge of my truck door. "You're a schoolteacher, Rick. Or rather, you were an administrator before you relocated here for a fresh start. You have no family in this state, no political backing, and very little money. Do you really think a bundle of moldy papers hidden in a dirt hole by a paranoid dead man is going to stop me?"
He stepped back and made a subtle gesture to his armed guard.
"Search his truck," Marcus ordered calmly. "If the box is inside, take it. If it isn't, burn his house on Elm Street to the ground."
"No!" a voice screamed from inside the SUV.
The rear window shattered as Thomas smashed a heavy metal thermos against the glass. He reached through the broken frame, unlocked the door from the outside, and threw himself out of the moving vehicle onto the gravel shoulder.
He scrambled to his feet, bleeding from small glass cuts on his arm, and sprinted directly into the thick, overgrown woods lining the edge of the mountain road.
"Get him!" Marcus roared, his calm demeanor instantly vanishing into wild fury. "Do not let him reach the town!"
The bodyguard turned away from my truck and fired two quick shots into the dense trees before sprinting into the brush after the boy. Marcus pulled a small silver pistol from his own coat pocket and aimed it directly at my face.
"Stay in the truck," Marcus hissed, his voice trembling with rage.
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I didn't stay. I slammed the gear shift into reverse, hit the gas, and cut the steering wheel hard to the right. The front of my truck swung violently, knocking Marcus off his feet and sending his gun flying into the tall grass along the embankment.
I didn't wait to see if he got up. I threw the truck into drive, veered onto the soft shoulder around the SUV, and drove straight into the tree line where Thomas had vanished.
