Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 118332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
He kept a small wooden box hidden behind a bush to climb in through his bedroom window. He slowly worked it up and carefully climbed in, trying not to make too much noise.
After pushing off the window sill, he landed softly on his feet and tucked his backpack into the corner of his dark room. He could hear the TV blaring in the living room as he toed off his sneakers, stripped off his jeans and tugged on pajama bottoms. Ones that were now snug since he had grown a lot since his mom bought them a couple of years ago.
He slapped a hand against his stomach when it growled loudly.
Maybe he could sneak into the kitchen, dig up something to eat and then sneak it back to his room without dealing with the drunk dick.
He put his ear to his closed door, held his breath and listened for one heartbeat. Then a second.
Nothing could be heard except the drone of the TV. His mom probably went to bed a while ago since she had to head to work early in the morning.
He tiptoed down the unlit hallway, and frowned when he noticed his mother’s bedroom door partially open and her bed messy but empty.
She probably fell asleep on the couch again. At least now if she woke up and saw him, she would see him dressed for bed. He could pretend he’d been in his room doing his homework.
At the end of the short hall, he peeked around the corner into the living room.
Empty.
His eyebrows pinned together and he twisted his head to look into the kitchen. Or at least the part he could see, which wasn’t much from where he stood.
His heart was pounding because he was worried the drunk asshole would come around the corner at any minute and be his typical belligerent self.
Tommy listened for a few more seconds and, even though the overhead light was on, he heard no movement in the kitchen.
Where were they?
Not in the bedroom, not in the living room, and the kitchen was quiet. When he passed by the bathroom, it had been dark and the door open, too.
Were they out back smoking?
That was possible. But since when did that fat, stinky drunk bother to get his ass out of the chair to go smoke?
Never, the lazy fucker.
He crept toward the kitchen, peeked his head around the doorway and froze.
He blinked.
Blinked again.
He blinked once more to try to clear his vision.
He had to be seeing things.
Because there was no way he was seeing what he saw.
It couldn’t be.
He was tired and his mind must be playing tricks on him.
That was not his mother.
It couldn’t be.
It didn’t even look like her.
Maybe it was one of her friends.
It couldn’t be. She had no friends.
Maybe it was someone Fender invited over.
Yeah, that was it.
A stranger.
A stranger.
It had to be a stranger.
Someone he didn’t know.
Someone he didn’t recognize.
Whoever it was had borrowed his mother’s clothes, that was all.
But there was no way that was his mother.
It couldn’t be.
He closed his eyes, ground the heels of his palms into them, then opened them again.
Whoever the woman was, she was lying on her back in a large pool of dark blood. His mom would have a difficult time cleaning that blood out of her clothes. She might even have to throw them away.
Why would she let this lady borrow her clothes? Why would she let this lady into their house?
Where was his mother?
Tommy turned his head enough to see Fender passed out on the kitchen table. A bloody gun sat in front of him. The fingers on his left hand looked as if they’d been dipped in red paint.
The asshole’s cheek was resting on the table but Tommy could see the blood splatter on his face, over his torn T-shirt and that leather vest he always wore.
Only right now, he wasn’t wearing the vest. It was spread open on the table with the patches up. A big X had been drawn in blood over those patches. On purpose. It was a message. A warning.
It didn’t matter. None of that mattered to Tommy. He didn’t give a shit about the dick whose mouth was gaped open and eyes were closed. Fender’s forehead was also bloody from something being cut into his skin.
The woman on the floor also had a bloody, gaped-open mouth. Her eyes weren’t closed, though.
Her teeth had been broken out and some were scattered on the floor like frozen kernels of corn. Her right temple was crushed in, smashed hard enough to pop out her eyeball. The one still in its socket stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. The right one, hanging by a tendon, stared directly at Tommy.
Bile began to burn at his throat when he recognized the color of those eyes.
Gray, the same as his.