Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
At least if she drove up, she could make a quick escape. That decided it.
She pulled through the gate.
When you get out, keep your door unlocked and your keys in your hand. Seconds might count.
Another huge parking lot at the top of the hill and much closer to the school had rusty signs stating the parking was for “staff only.” Nobody was parked in that lot, either. However, she saw what appeared to be a few junk cars in the distance behind the school.
Once she parked, she could easily read a weather-stained concrete rectangle embedded in the brick above the entrance: Oaklyn Public School.
Public school. No indication whether it had been an elementary, junior high or middle school, or even a senior high.
No one made this type of school a home. Offices, maybe. A home, no.
It made no sense. This address had to be wrong. But since she was here, she might as well confirm it.
She glanced around one more time before climbing out. Once she did, she stood there for a few seconds, waiting to see if anyone would approach.
She didn’t see a soul.
Once at the school’s front entrance, she found the door handles chained together with a heavy-duty lock as well as two huge “no trespassing” signs.
She was sensing a theme here. A very unwelcoming one.
Since the door’s dirty window panes were covered from the inside, she couldn’t even get a peek inside.
Shit.
With a building this size, common sense said there was more than one way to get in. She only needed to find one that wasn’t locked or blocked.
The landscaping around the exterior had probably been abandoned since the last time the school saw a student. What remained was dead and overgrown with weeds.
If someone did live here, they wanted it to look as uninviting as possible.
Goal achieved.
She headed back in the direction she had come from, but instead of returning to her car—what a sane person would do—she rounded the building and came across a metal basement door that was also locked.
Of course.
With a sigh, she continued on, heading around back. The school was bigger than at first glance. The placard by the front door stated it was built in 1927, but it looked like some major updates and additions had been done after that.
Obviously, none of them recent.
When she got to the rear of the property, her feet slowed to a stop and she blinked to make sure she was seeing all of it clearly. Either the place was occupied or it had been vandalized, she couldn’t quite tell.
Or it could be a popular party spot for local teenagers.
She continued on her trek, taking it all in.
Rusty fifty-five-gallon drums, cut in half, had been used to make barbecue grills with the grates made out of stolen shopping carts. She hoped anyone eating off those were up to date on their tetanus shot.
She kept moving and spotted a burnt circle full of chunks of charcoal and piles of ashes. Stacked next to the huge fire pit was a mountain of wood pallets at least twelve feet high.
She next came across a covered pavilion built out of what appeared to be scrap wood and metal road signs. No surprise that it needed a fresh coat of paint. On the cracked concrete slab under the pavilion were six picnic tables and another half dozen were scattered around the rear schoolyard, some in the beaten-down grass and the rest in dirt.
Those weather-worn tables must’ve been used recently as they were not only covered in, but also surrounded by trash. Half-empty beer bottles full of cigarette butts. Smashed beer cans. Shards of broken bottles.
A few garbage cans also made from fifty-five-gallon drums dotted the area. No surprise, they were all overflowing. At least at one point, whoever had partied here made an effort to try to keep the area clean.
Apparently, that hadn’t lasted long.
Not an ashtray could be found. But silly her, that was what the bottles and cans were for, right? Or maybe not, since she couldn’t take one step without seeing crushed cigarette butts in the dirt under her feet.
About three hundred yards from the rear of the school and along the tree line, she spotted something that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
A haphazard “shooting range.” It included shredded paper targets of life-sized silhouettes as well as blown apart cans and bottles. A headless, armless mannequin had a massive hole blown through its torso, most likely made with a shotgun or a high-caliber handgun.
She was so out of her element.
She shouldn’t have come here.
If Mr. Conrad truly lived at this address, it was screaming, “Leave me alone. Or else.” He most likely didn’t want her here looking for him. Even though she only wanted to thank him.
She should’ve mailed a damn postcard, or sent a “thanks for beating the crap out of my ex” greeting card.