Chapter 3 - The Ghost at the WheelGabriel’s truck careened around a sharp dirt corner, tires spinning wildly in the mud. The two black SUVs slammed into his rear bumper again, sending the vehicle into a violent sideways slide.
SMASH.
The tailgate crumpled like paper. Lucas screamed, throwing his arms over his head as luggage flew across the truck bed.
“Dad, watch out!”
Ahead of them, heavy iron gates barred the entrance to the old North Valley Youth Residence. They were chained and padlocked.
Gabriel didn’t brake. He gripped the steering wheel, downshifted, and roared.
“Hang on, son!”
The truck smashed through the iron gates with a deafening screech of twisted metal, showering sparks into the night air. The heavy vehicles behind him slammed on their brakes, unable to clear the wreckage immediately, buying Gabriel a precious few seconds.
The truck skidded to a halt in front of the rotting, colonial-style main building. Its windows were dark, broken eyes staring out into the wilderness.
Gabriel cut the engine. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the ticking of the cooling radiator.
“Stay in the truck, Lucas. Lock the doors,” Gabriel commanded, pulling a heavy steel tire iron from behind the seat.
“Dad, no! Don’t go in there alone!” Lucas begged, tears streaming down his face. “It’s a trap! That’s what they want!”
“They have your mother’s memory, and they have your future,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, cold calm. “I’m ending this tonight.”
He stepped out into the freezing night air. The fog rolled over the dead grass like smoke. He walked toward the rotting front porch, the heavy wood groaning beneath his boots.
The double doors slowly creaked open on their own.
Inside, a single trail of flickering overhead fluorescent lights guided him down a long, sterile corridor. At the end of the hall stood Candice.
She wasn't wearing a disguise. She wore an expensive white cashmere sweater, her blond hair perfectly styled, looking as though she were walking into a high-society dinner party rather than a criminal den.
In front of her, tied to a metal chair with industrial zip-ties, was a young woman with bruised wrists and terrified eyes.
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It wasn't a child-protection officer. It was Candice’s own younger sister, Chloe.
“You’re late, Gabriel,” Candice smiled, her eyes completely devoid of warmth.
