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Seyla let herself enjoy Aslar’s antics for a moment more before heading inside again.
She waved to the last two volunteers on the schedule when they left for the night.
Time to begin.
The long, mournful howl of one of the wolves cut into her thoughts while she placed the second iPad in a hidden spot to record what she needed. The rest of them joined in, unified in warning her of the danger she faced. Danger that swirled around her at a dizzying rate.
As an extra precaution, she added Jax’s number to her speed dial options on her new cell phone. She refused to consider why.
Seyla went to her hiding spot, where she synced her phone with the cameras on the iPads.
In the distance, she heard a quiet click, followed by shuffling.
Terror crawled up her spine to wrap its spindly fingers around her airway, refusing to let oxygen through.
Lord, reveal the truth. Protect me, Lord, and help me to protect people and animals from whoever is doing this.
She was no longer alone.
Someone was here.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jax stepped from the truck onto the cracked, uneven driveway in front of his mother’s old house.
What am I doing here?
He’d planned to never step foot on this property again. Yet something had compelled him to drive to this place.
Why?
He picked his way through the overgrown grass to reach the house, since a lot of the driveway was blocked off, littered with old cages, carriers, stacked-up appliances, different-colored trash bags, and a broken toilet. Two rusty washing machines occupied the place where her old Buick used to sit. Probably repossessed long before she’d been forcibly evicted.
A wave of pity swept over him. He brushed it aside. She didn’t deserve pity. She’d abandoned him. Whether sick or not, she had no excuse.
He’d checked with the sheriff earlier in the day, wondering why they hadn’t demolished the house yet. Next month, apparently. Not soon enough, in his opinion.
When Jax gripped the door handle to open the front door, it fell away from the frame. He caught it and set it aside. The rancid stench of trash rushed at him now that the barrier had been removed, causing his stomach to squeeze with nausea. Hoping it wouldn’t cling to his clothes, he covered his nose with his shirt as he followed a rough path cut into the living room. Stacks of random junk piles reached chin level. Jax wanted to run away, to go home and stand in a hot shower until his skin, hair, and life felt clean again. Instead, he moved forward. In thefar corner, a blanket and pillow lay on top of a small depression in the junk.
He gagged.
She’d slept there.
He hadn’t, though. No, he’d slept about ten feet away in a separate depression. A depression that was no longer visible, buried by more junk. Easily replaced and erased, like he’d been. The memories, long-buried like most of the trash in this house, flooded his mind. The cacophony of crinkling wrappers underfoot rose up to surround him again, and Jax nearly dropped to the floor. Or what served as a floor. The tops of bags filled with unknown items, stomped down by whoever had entered prior to him, served as a pathway. They must have removed the least amount of trash possible to get through. Or she had.
A long-buried sense of claustrophobia enveloped Jax while he stood surrounded by trash on all sides. He carefully backed out of the room and turned on his heel to enter the dining room.
And couldn’t.
Why had he come here? More importantly, why did he feel he couldn’t leave yet?
Retracing his steps through the living room, Jax got closer to the blanket and pillow. Scrawled letters in pencil behind a trash bag next to the blanket caught his eye. He maneuvered the bag out of the way, doing his best not to touch it much. Jax’s heartbeat stalled when he spotted a photo of himself from long ago taped to the wall. Handwritten messages surrounded it.
I’M SORRY, MY LITTLE JAX. WHAT HAVE I DONE? I MISS YOU SO MUCH. I MISS YOU EVERY DAY.
The words blurred in front of him, his eyes stinging. Why would she write this when she herself had made the decision for him to go away? Jax retreated from the room again, his headbuzzing with confusion. He couldn’t be here anymore. Too many bad memories seeped into him, as strong as the odor of decay.
A wave of gratitude engulfed Jax. He’d escaped this place. His uncle would never know how much it meant to Jax when he’d called the authorities and brought Jax home to live with him. His mother had been furious at Uncle Sam, and Jax suddenly recalled the pain on his uncle’s face when she’d screamed at him that day. His uncle had forfeited a relationship with his own sister to protect him. It had to have hurt. A lot.
