Chapter 11: Open the Gate

We reached the Hollow at ten to nine, with the sun long gone and the rain finally stopped.

The new tires on my Sportster were still stiff and smelled of rubber.

Mace had found them at dawn from the man he knew.

He had mounted the tires on both bikes himself before noon, and the cut on his brow reopened twice.

The sparrow hung at my throat, outside my jacket, where anyone could see it.

I had put it there at the loft window and left it.

Mace idled beside me at the end of the long gravel drive.

The bikes in front of us stood nose to tail before a closed gate.

The gate had never been closed in four years.

A rusted chain ran through its bars, and a prospect stood behind it with a flashlight.

"We've got a minute," Mace said, over both engines. "Then it's the gate."

"Tell me what he said."

"Who?"

"My father. At the guardrail." I kept my eyes on the chain. "You said Friday. It's Thursday and it's now."

He cut his engine, and I cut mine.

In the quiet I heard crickets coming back after the rain.

"He looked at me," Mace said. "Ray had walked off to his bike, and your father was on his back."

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Called Me Dramatic, So I Took the Club from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.