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Second Chance Slaughter

20

Chapter 20: Meow Twig Meow

 

Avery was tailing Donovan on his bike, navigating the dark streets with ease.

 

Meanwhile, Sheriff Davis and Deputy Jenkins were staking out the suspect’s house, waiting for any sign of illegal activity. They desperately needed a search warrant from the judge, but without it, their best option was to catch Ezra—or whoever he was—doing something illegal.

 

“If we don’t catch him doing anything, we’ll just make something up,” Sheriff Davis said, her eyes fixed on the house. “That way, we can bring him in for interrogation.”

 

“Isn’t that illegal?” Deputy Jenkins asked.

 

“What’s illegal is letting this criminal roam free. Just follow my lead, Jenkins. I won’t put you in harm’s way,” Sheriff Davis replied, annoyance creeping into her tone.

 

Jenkins’s by-the-book attitude often grated on her nerves. Flexibility was key to getting promoted, she believed. Otherwise, Jenkins—whom she derisively called Twig—would remain stuck in this backwater province, dealing with a paltry retirement benefit.

 

Sheriff Davis was determined to avoid that fate. She was dedicated to her job, but she also expected to reap the benefits.

 

Suddenly, the lights in Lacuna’s house went out. They still waited, thinking their target was going to bed. Minutes passed with no movement.

 

“Sheriff, it seems like our target has fallen asleep,” Jenkins said.

 

“Darn it. I thought we’d make progress tonight.”

 

“Are we heading back?” Jenkins asked, already reaching for the keys.

 

“What else are we going to do here? Let’s go back to the office. I want to sleep in my comfortable bed, not here,” Davis replied.

 

Just as Jenkins was about to start the car, Sheriff Davis grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing. She had spotted a figure darting out from the back of the house, wearing a fedora and a trench coat.

 

“Twig, what do you call a person who sneaks out the back door of his house in the middle of the night?” she asked.

 

“Is this a riddle?” Jenkins replied, confused.

 

“Darn you, Jenkins. Suspicious. We call them suspicious.”

 

“I see. Should we follow him? It looks like he’s on foot,” Jenkins suggested.

 

“Of course we should. Maintain a good distance. Make sure he doesn’t realize he’s being followed. If he does, I’ll fire you,” Davis said.

 

 

Avery and his trusted bike followed Donovan in secret, diligently tracking his every move. While Avery might have appeared to be a casual night cyclist, his eyes were sharp and focused, watching Donovan's every move.

 

Donovan, on the other hand, was all smiles at the thought of earning three times his usual fee.

 

Whistling a jaunty tune, Donovan drove through the dimly lit streets, his mind filled with images of the money he would soon earn. After a few more turns, he arrived at a secluded, shadowy place.

 

Donovan stepped out of his vehicle, grabbing his dental first aid carry bag. He took out his phone and made a call.

 

“I’m in front of your house,” he said, pausing as he listened. “Okay.”

 

He pocketed his phone and, instead of heading to the front door, moved stealthily towards the side of the house. Avery, hidden in the shadows, saw it all, including the arrival of two familiar figures—Sheriff Davis and Deputy Jenkins—who emerged from their vehicle.

 

All the pieces were now in position. The stage was set, and it was time for the final act to begin.

 

 

“Where's the patient?” Donovan asked, peering at the person in front of him. The man was wearing a facemask, a fedora hat, and a trench jacket, giving off an eerie vibe. Donovan found him vaguely familiar but couldn’t place him. “Lucian, right? Have we met before?”

 

“Follow me,” the man replied, his voice low and deliberate, as if he was trying to disguise it.

 

Donovan furrowed his brow. The tone was unsettling, but he shrugged it off.

 

The promise of money outweighed his unease. He followed the man, who led him toward a basement. For most people, this would set off alarm bells, but Donovan was too focused on his earnings to care. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight to light his path.

 

“Why is it so dark down here? Are you sure the patient is this way?” Donovan asked, his voice echoing slightly in the narrow corridor.

 

“Yes, my dad has a workshop in the basement. His jaw was accidentally hit by some equipment, which might have dislodged his teeth. Since he’s too old to move around much, I told him to stay put until the dentist arrived,” the man explained. It was a flimsy excuse, but Donovan’s greed blinded him to the warning signs.

 

“Okay,” Donovan replied nonchalantly.

 

He figured if it was too complicated, he’d just advise the man to take his dad to the hospital and still charge for the visit. Easy money.

 

Suddenly, Donovan heard a noise behind him. He spun around, only to realize it was just a cat, hearing it meowed. When he turned back, the man was gone.

 

“Hello?” Donovan called out.

 

He continued following the trail, which led to a cluttered storage room. Boxes and old furniture were haphazardly stacked.

 

“Hello?” he called again. “The dentist is here. Where's the patie—”

 

Before he could finish his sentence, a cord wrapped around his neck, cutting off his words. Donovan struggled, his hands clawing at the cord, but his attacker was too strong. The cord tightened, silencing his screams before they could form.

 

Panic surged through Donovan’s mind. Who was this person? Why was this happening? Had his years of illegal dental work finally caught up to him? Was this someone he had wronged with a botched job?

 

Then he heard a chilling voice in his ear. “How’s it going, Donovan?”

 

The voice was unmistakable. It was the man he had repeatedly encountered over the past few days. But those encounters hadn’t been accidental, had they?

 

 

“Isn't this trespassing?” Jenkins asked, glancing nervously at Sheriff Davis as they crept closer to the suspect’s basement.

 

“So what if it is? Can you live with your conscience knowing that someone might be killed because we followed the law to the letter?” Sheriff Davis retorted.

 

“But we are the executors of the law,” Jenkins reasoned.

 

“Twig, I am the law. Now follow that guy or you'll be dismissed,” she snapped.

 

They continued their pursuit, moving stealthily as they followed Donovan and the masked man. As they descended into the basement, Jenkins accidentally kicked an empty paint can, sending it clattering across the floor. The noise echoed loudly in the quiet night, making them both freeze.

 

“Meow, Twig. Meow,” Sheriff Davis hissed.

 

“Why?” Jenkins whispered back, confused.

 

“Just do it. Trust me,” Davis urged.

 

“Meow,” Jenkins mimicked the sound of a stray cat, surprisingly well.

 

The noise seemed to diffuse the tension, and they continued their descent.

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