Bill felt the limbs and briars cut his face and hands as he ran through the woods. The old park was as creepy as heck, but Bill didn't have time to notice. The sheriff caught sight of the guy near the old coaster. The wooden structure had not fared well.
The side rails were missing on this portion of track that dipped low to the ground and was entangled in weeds and tall grass. The rusting metal rails in the center of the track traced uphill. Higher and higher they rose into the sky.
The suspect had ducked under this rotting portion of track at the spot before the coaster veered sharply to the right. This part of the track was extremely rickety. Half of the underpinning was gone. Bill prayed as he ducked under the rotting wood that the whole structure would not collapse on top of him.
Maury flashed before his eyes. He had a fleeting glimpse of Skippy, too.
Everything he loved was on the line.
Bill shook his head, and the visions of his loved ones dissolved before his eyes. He caught a jerky movement up ahead.
Diving under the wooden underpinning, Bill tore off after his suspect. It was no telling what the kid was on. It used to be that beer and alcohol were the worst things kid's bought. Now, there were designer drugs that turned them into insane monsters. Bill had witnessed their crazy rages. He did not know why some of those kids' hearts didn't explode in their chests.
They snorted and smoked and shot into their veins all kinds of natural and man-made substances. Depending on what poison they infused into their bodies, they could go without sleep for days. Some of them exhibited truly superhuman abilities. Strong as oxen, faster than cheetahs.
They were invincible. At least in their own minds.
And Bill had watched clear-faced adolescents and adults turn into grotesque shadows of their former selves. Scarred with the sores and bruises of meth, tracked with needle marks from heroin and cocaine abuse, or sent straight to Jesus on a fentanyl overdose. It was appalling.
And the prescription addicts were just as worse.
Bill sometimes felt like the little Dutch boy, holding his finger in a leaking dam that was just about to break and drown them all in a tide of human misery.
Right now, he wondered if retirement wouldn't be a better option than chasing some half-crazed, high addict through the abandoned amusement park.
But no.
Bill Winthrop loved what he did. He hated what folks did to themselves and others, but the job of sheriff was what he had been born to do. The jaw muscles in Bill's jaw clenched tightly. His resolve was stronger than ever.
He would catch this piece of human trash and put him away.
Or die trying.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Knows Your Secret
Mystery / ThrillerIt was a heck of a shot. It was the perfect murder. Someone killed Kyle Winthrop as he lay in his bed. His mother, Claire, doesn't care much - she's too strung out on prescription pain pills. But his Grandmother cares, and she begs her good friend...
