Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller. Marie Reyes (best reads .TXT) 📖

garish shirts Michael had ever seen. “No hay problema.” The man smiled.

Chapter Twenty One

In the car, Josie’s knees were almost up to her chin as she propped her feet up on a bag lodged in the foot-well, and a guitar propped up in-between her and Michael. Leaning forward, she gave him a serious look. “When we get to town. I will book you the next flight out of here, on me. I had no idea things would get this out of hand.”

“I’m going back to the hotel where we met. I have things to do.”

“What could be important enough to risk your life for?” she asked with an annoyed frown on her face.

“It’s complicated. You’re going home though, right?” If he could just get her on a flight out of there, he could finish his business without worrying about her.

“I have things to do too.” She crossed her arms and turned away.

“Are you serious?” He hadn’t realized how loud his voice had gotten, and the driver shot him a glance through the rear-view mirror. He lowered his voice. “You’re not going to do any good if you’re dead. Do you want your parents to mourn two daughters, what good would that do?”

“But they’re not mourning Michael, they’re in limbo. They keep thinking one day she’s just going to walk in the front door with some crazy story, like oh hey mom, hey dad, so I ended up working at this yoga retreat, and yeah, sorry I forgot to call you for a year. Oh right, the kidnapping. Yeah, I got away, sorry, did I forget to tell you that?”

“Well, I think it’s time that everybody faced facts. People die. Life is cruel and random. Justice is some made up concept to make people feel better about the fact that the world is just one big chaotic mess. It means nothing.”

“Fuck you, Michael. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I—”

“Can you just stop talking, please.” She turned her back to him and stared out of the window.

His chest tightened as he realized he had just alienated the one person who he gave a shit about. Why couldn’t he just contain his outburst? It wasn’t Josie’s fault that life had dealt him a deck of crap. It was the unfairness of it all he couldn’t stand. How someone as useless as him, someone who didn’t even want to live, would still be here, yet Josie’s sister wasn’t. How his mother could die randomly, yet his neglectful piece-of-shit dad was alive and well.

“Hear me out.” He reached out to her. “I will do whatever it takes to help you find out what happened. Even if I have to march up to El Verdugo myself. Trust me, I have absolutely nothing to lose, except for you.”

She turned her head to face him, her expression softening. “I’m all you have to lose? Wow. I feel kinda bad for you right now. I mean, that is sad.”

“I’m tragic. What else can I say?” He shrugged.

“Seriously though, I’ve been so caught up in all of my baggage. I’m sorry. I feel like you have a story to tell. Why are you here? What’s your deal, Michael?”

“To be honest, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Oh my god, that’s such a cop out. Come on. Tell me one thing about yourself that no-one else knows.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing to know. My life is as dull as they come.” He averted his gaze to the seat in front of him.

“I don’t believe that,” she pushed.

“Okay, fine. One fact about me. I was homeless once.”

“Woah crap. That’s heavy. What happened?” She leaned in even closer.

“I don’t really want to go into it.”

“You can’t drop a bomb like that on me and then not tell me how it happened.” She looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t speak. “Fine. I get it. You’re the strong and silent type.”

“I’m the silent and silent type.” He joked, glad she had dropped it.

“On a serious note though, the guy Miguel mentioned. Samuel’s boss. El Verdugo. You know what the name El Verdugo means, right?” Her face turned deadly serious.

“No, what?” he asked, slumped in his chair.

“It means, The Executioner.”

Michael sat upright. “Oh, shit.”

Chapter Twenty Two

The driver left them on a random street in Chetumal, as Miguel did not want them to know where he lived. “This way,” Miguel announced. His plan was to get his wife, child, and anything that they could fit into their arms and to get far, far away. Miguel had people he could reach out to. He agreed to them coming to his house so that they could take some fresh clothes and a charger for Josie’s phone. Beyond that, they had no plan.

As they continued walking, the houses went from one story, to two stories, with balconies overlooking a church. There were still little reminders of where they were. Spikes on the top of the walls to stop people climbing up, and bars in front of the windows, but they were ornate enough to distract you from their purpose. A group of locals congregated at the end of the street, and Michael stopped Josie in her tracks. Miguel burst into a sprint, running towards the crowd, and Josie went to follow him.

“Careful,” Michael warned. There was something about the look on the people’s faces that made him go cold. Open-mouthed, eyes wide, and holding their hands up to their faces, in the blur of chaos they resembled The Scream. Whatever they had seen had rendered them into the horror of that painting. When Miguel got to the end of the road, he fell to his knees, and the sound that came out of his mouth, was one Michael recognized, a sound he knew too well, when there was nothing left, and you couldn’t control the noises that came out of you, when every last modicum of inhibition had evaporated, and pain was the only thing left.

They inched