“Fucks sake, Genevieve, where are you?”
When I see theSummer ShiversFun House, I realize if she’s going to be anywhere, it’s there. I run toward it, best I can. My knee already sore from fucking Genevieve against the wall and in the shower, plus all the walking I’ve done lately. I should have worn my brace. Now, I’ll pay the price with barely being able to walk later.
When I get there, I see a sign saying it’s closed. I find a guy nearby and ask what happened.
“Some lady got hurt inside. Had to shut it down.” He shrugs.
“Some lady? Do you know who?” I ask.
“No idea.”
“Where would they take her?”
“First Aid tent back that way.” He points to the entrance, a good half a mile from where I am now. Fuck my life.
I’m just getting to the entrance when the police arrive. I grab the lead detective, who I know from working past cases together. “Got a beat on her?”
“I’d say she’s about a mile that way.” He points to the far end of the fairgrounds, where I just was.
“The fairgrounds aren’t that long,” I say.
He shows me the screen. Sure as shit, that’s what it looks like. “There a golf cart somewhere we can take?” I hate asking, but I’m not going to make it otherwise.
“Little cardio too much for you?” he jokes.
“You could say that. Busted kneecap in the service.”
“Sorry, man. Let me see what I can do.” He makes a request with his walkie-talkie and next thing I know a couple people pull up in golf carts to give us a ride. I gratefully sink to the bench seat on the back and rest my leg while we make our way through the crowds. Much slower than I would like, but faster than if I were walking. We hit the edge of the fairgrounds and exit through a gate beyond.
“You guys smell smoke?”
“Probably the BBQ pit,” the guy driving the golf cart says.
“Nah, this is different,” I tell him.
“You smell smoke?” I yell to the cops in the neighboring cart.
One nods. “Yeah.”
We make our way through a bunch of trees to a small clearing where a group of teens sit chanting around a tall box, under which is a small fire.
“Genevieve?” I yell.
The kids start to scatter.
“Don’t move!” the cops yell, firing a warning shot in the air. All the kids stop, and I’m off the cart and running toward the box before it’s barely stopped.
I push the box over and drag it from the fire, kicking dirt on it and patting out the small flames with my hands.
“Genevieve!?”
“Ty? Oh god, Ty, is that you? Please help me! I’m burning!” I hear a small voice from inside the box.
“Cover your face, baby.” I grab my Ka-Bar from my waistband and bust the box open from what I think is the side.
Genevieve starts pushing her hands through. “Get me out! Get me out!”
“I am, baby. Hang on.” I pull the main front piece off and find Genevieve covered in blood.
