Out of the Shadows Read Free

during my throes of self-pity, but in this moment, it was true:
    I was alone.

Barren

II
     
     
    As the remaining daylight faded into the horizon, giving way to the moonlit night, I stared at the police station, once a beacon of comfort in our small town. But now, with its bright landscape lighting casting a glow on the shrubs lining the walkway, and the grounded spotlights beaming bright cones up the tan-brick front of the station, it appeared ominous, as if an evil entity had taken up residence and spread its vile reach across the town.
    Stars twinkled false hope through the bruised sky, blue-black from the day’s abuse. I sat in my truck, parked haphazardly at the curb, softly trembling. I wasn’t sure whether it was my adrenaline finally fading, or the fact that I hadn’t had a drink in almost twelve hours.
    Or that the last time I stepped foot inside the building before me was when I was stripped of my gun and my badge…
    All of the above, maybe?
    I hadn’t known what to do next while standing in the middle of Main Street, feeling nauseous from the sight of the wrecked cars, billowing flames, and splattered blood stains on the pavement. I had thought about checking for survivors, but everything had been so eerily quiet that calling out for anyone seemed reckless. Not to mention that I had nothing on my person to defend myself in the event things went south. So, I went back to my original plan of heading to the police station.
    The breeze had grown quite cool, so I grabbed my grey hooded sweatshirt from the passenger seat and exited my truck, slipping my arms into the cotton sleeves that now no longer felt comforting. All of my senses were heightened with a dark intent. I didn’t feel like a local in my own town anymore.
    I stepped up onto the curb and glanced down to see a quarter-sized black spider scurry across the concrete and take refuge in the freshly mowed grass of the station’s yard. Despite my hoodie, I shivered, cramming my hands into the sweatshirt’s pockets as I walked down the pathway between the illuminated bushes toward the front glass doors.
    I entered the station slowly, my shoes quietly squeaking on the marble tile of the reception area. I felt too exposed in this two-story cavernous entry hall, even though I had no idea what the danger might be. The fluorescents above were off, which struck me as odd. Luckily, dim light seeped into the station from outside allowing me to see where I was going. I ignored the small stains of blood scattered about.
    The receptionist’s chair was empty, and the door leading into the station was unguarded. I stood still, breathing as deeply as I dared, listening for signs of life. After pushing the pounding of my heart from my head, I tuned in on the silence of the building. Somewhere beyond the door, a quiet creak escaped, the wooden beams in the walls settling into their nightly slumber. The faint clicking of bugs scurrying about their lives chittered within the drywall. The soft hum of the A/C unit reverberated through the air, pushing a chill into the place.
    It was far too quiet.
    Through the door and inside the main office space, darkness pervaded. Dozens of desks belonging to the officers filled the open area, personal memorabilia and family photos littering the many desktops. Most of it had been knocked over, chairs on their sides, papers strewn about. It looked as though a tornado had swept through the office. Nearly all of their desk phones had voicemail, the tiny red indicator lights casting a frightening, pulsing glow about the place. Along the back wall of the large room were a few offices cordoned off from the rest of the space with glass doors and walls, including the chief’s.
    Where the hell was everyone?
    My eyes scanned the workspace, intricately familiar with the layout. Two years ago, I’d worked here; not a thing had changed since. After Annie had been killed and Sarah had left me, I had moved away from our perfect suburbia and out into