Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

the world today, and tell me that God isn’t out to mess with us. But every once in a while, you get a freebie. And right now, on this, the most fucked up, weird, hallucinatory night of Teagan Frost’s wild life, we’ve just gotten a gigantic freebie from the Big Dickhead in the Sky.

Getting inside Union Station is not easy. It’s still standing – obviously – but it’s been closed off, the windows and doors covered by thick, heavy wooden boards. Annie and Nic try to persuade me that it’s a non-starter, that we can’t get in, that we should go somewhere else.

The glass doors under the awning are sealed off with the same boards. They’re secured with a horizontal steel bar, locked in place by two of the biggest, toughest padlocks I’ve ever seen. Goddamnit, I was really hoping there’d just be a basic lock – one I might even be able to kick in. Then again, whoever owns Union Station probably didn’t want that happening.

“Locked,” Annie says, as if that settles the matter.

For a second, I waver, not sure if I can do this. Then, I take a deep breath, gather what little is left of my PK, and go to work.

It’s hard. Brutally hard. The headache comes roaring back, the lock greying out in front of me. I have to have a very serious talk with myself as I force my dregs of PK energy into the lock. Come on, dude. You can do it. All you need to do is move a couple of latches. You don’t have to deal with guns, or motorcycles, or shift slabs of concrete. Just a couple of tiny latches. That’s all. Come on.

Nothing happens. A horrible, slimy, sweat breaks out on my forehead. I grit my teeth, doing everything I can to ignore the headache. I am going to make this work. I am not going to look like a punk, not after getting excited about finding Union Station. I want what’s inside.

I want something good for us today.

“Teags…” Nic puts a hand on my shoulder.

Click.

It happens so suddenly that I almost gasp. Just like that, the lock is open. I reach out with a trembling hand, pull the big glass door open with a squeak of disused hinges.

“There,” I say, my voice shaking. Like I totally knew that was going to work.

“We can’t just stop here,” Annie says, although not even she sounds convinced. I flash ten fingers at her, as in: ten minutes. Then, without waiting for a response, I step inside. Like I know exactly what I’m doing.

The station interior is pitch-dark, dead silent. Nic and Annie follow, shaking their heads, sending drops of water flying everywhere. Leo, however, hovers on the threshold, hugging himself.

“What’s wrong?” I ask – then immediately see the problem.

I pull out my phone – well, the phone I stole from Minnie. Maybe there’s a way to turn on the flashlight without unlocking it. But when I open it up, I’m mildly surprised to find that the dumbass didn’t activate password protection. I guess when you’re a badass leather-clad biker, you don’t sweat about people stealing your phone. Pop would probably tear him a new one if she found out.

I’m tempted to mess around on the phone a little, maybe see what weird photos he’s taken, but decide against it. I am not in the mood for biker dick pics right now. I activate the flashlight, noting the time: 21:53.

I also note the background: a smiling Latinx woman, holding a swaddled baby. It’s hard not to think of Minnie, beat to shit by Annie, his face mashed hamburger. I swallow, looking away from the screen. Nothing we can do now.

The flashlight isn’t super-strong, but it pushes back the darkness a little. Leo swallows, then limps inside. I smile at him, thinking how crazy it is that a kid who has seen as much as he has could still be afraid of the dark. Then I feel bad for thinking this, then reach out and take his hand.

Union Station is not your average train stop. It’s this amazing art deco building, with high, vaulted ceilings and little filigrees and details on every pillar and doorway. Of course, it’s less amazing now: silent as a tomb, and clearly damaged. One of the many chandeliers lies in a smashed pile in the middle of the lobby.

“Teags.” I don’t think Annie means to whisper. “Y’all know there might be other people here, right?”

“Yeah? So?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I can’t feel anybody with my PK.” That’s a blatant lie, I can barely feel anything with my PK right now, but she doesn’t have to know that. I don’t care if the devil himself lives here; we have to rest, if only for a few minutes.

And there is no better place to do it, in the whole of LA, than Union Station. I grip Matthew’s hand, and lead us deeper into the building.

Our footsteps echo off the high ceilings as we head into the main hall. Annie did manage to plant a tiny seed of doubt in my mind – I don’t know if we have the energy to fight off yet more people who want to mess with us, for whatever reason – but there doesn’t appear to be anyone around. It doesn’t look like people have been here at all; the inside of the station is musty, but there’s no trash, no signs of life. Figures, given the heavy-duty security.

Maybe it’s the darkness, which the phone flashlight only pushes back a little way. Maybe it’s the silence. But I can’t stop thinking of the Zigzag Man.

I don’t feel like I have a choice – like if I ignore the thought, it’ll swell and swell until it pops the top off my head. Both times, the Zigzag Man used his ability on two of us. The first time, it was me and Nic, and the second, me and Annie. Why would he stop