David Raker 01 - Chasing the Dead
“I parked outside one, marched around the front of the car and pulled Michael out of the passenger seat and in through a broken, rusting door.
Inside there was no lighting. It had all been smashed, the glass from the bulbs and strip lights lying on the floor. I tied Michael’s hands behind his back with some duct tape I’d brought with me, and then kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud, crying out in pain. I rolled him over until he was positioned in a block of moon...light shining in from a window high up on the wall.
Then I put the gun to his head.
He looked at me. There was something in his face. He looked like a man standing on the edge. A man terrified of going over. But not of me, and not of the gun.
‘What are you scared of?’ I said.
‘I’m not scared of anything, David.’ ‘What are you scared of?’ He blinked.
‘Are you scared of dying?’ ‘No,’ he said quietly.MoreLess
Inside there was no lighting. It had all been smashed, the glass from the bulbs and strip lights lying on the floor. I tied Michael’s hands behind his back with some duct tape I’d brought with me, and then kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud, crying out in pain. I rolled him over until he was positioned in a block of moon...light shining in from a window high up on the wall.
Then I put the gun to his head.
He looked at me. There was something in his face. He looked like a man standing on the edge. A man terrified of going over. But not of me, and not of the gun.
‘What are you scared of?’ I said.
‘I’m not scared of anything, David.’ ‘What are you scared of?’ He blinked.
‘Are you scared of dying?’ ‘No,’ he said quietly.MoreLess
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