2
Maya
If I had to sum up Perdue Town in a single image, it would be a door slamming in my face.
Or hitting my ass, after I’ve been booted through it.
I slump on an old metal bench on Main Street, staring blankly at the line of dark, shuttered stores opposite. My back is aching and my feet are killing me. I must’ve combed every street in this weird town—twice over.
This isn’t about you, I remind myself. This is about finding your brother and helping your mom get better.
Just wish this everyone wasn’t so hostile though.
The least-unfriendly person I’ve met so far is a bar owner, and her warning is still ringing in my ears:
Folks come to Perdue to get lost. You won’t do yourself any favors asking questions here. Move on.
Her message was clear: what I was doing could get me in a ton of trouble. And this town is a law unto itself. There would be no one around to protect me.
Did you come in a car? she asked. I nodded.
Then take my advice—get in it and drive to the next town.
I wanted to tell her Perdue was my only lead. Which I’d only found after weeks and weeks of searching. Instead, I trailed out of the bar, promising I’d be gone by morning.
Right after I’ve spent the night sleeping in my car. Because I’m almost out of money.
I don’t know what else I can do here, anyway. All the posters I put up around the town last night have been torn down. And I’ve knocked on the door of just about every business—no matter how goddamn surly the owners are.
Except for one place—a tattoo shop, just across the street. It’s an eerie-looking building. Dark Moon Tattoos is inscribed over the door in stark black lettering, while iron bars cover the window. Behind them, the interior of the shop is dim.
But there’s a man, standing in the doorway, eyes burning like those of some nocturnal beast.
And his gaze is trained on me.
Shivers break out on my skin and I rub at my arms.
He sees me. And that’s something new. Because I’m not used to people noticing me. It’s how it’s been all my life, and I don’t have an issue with it. Means I get to fly under the radar more often than not.
But this stranger’s attention is making me all hot and tingly and uncomfortable.
I marched up to the store earlier this morning, only to scurry away like a terrified deer.
Great analogy, Maya.But it’s apt, because the way he’s observing me makes me feel like he’s a hunter and I’m a morsel of prey he’s thinking about devouring.
I drop my chin into my hands and peer at him surreptitiously. I can’t make out much more than a huge, dark shape. A fierce face. How old—twenties or thirties? Is he handsome?
Why do I care?
I don’t know the answer to that, but the fact is, I do care.
My heart is beating uncomfortably fast and I feel nervous in a way that has nothing to do with the sense of danger that crackles from the shop.
Something is calling to me. There’s a tug at the core of my being.
Drawing me toward him.
Toward this intimidating stranger who’s now moved from the doorway and is pacing back and forth behind the barred window, like a caged animal.