Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Instead of killing himself with the dull razor, he retrieved the metal scissors from the toolbox he’d been given to make repairs on the farm. They were large and rusty, but he used them to trim his beard into something more manageable and then shaved it off completely with the razor, the tufts of white falling to the floor. Then he picked up the scissors again and used them to cut his hair, the silvery chunks mixing with the tufts of beard and contrasting with the dark stained wood. In the end, his hair was very short and choppy, but Sam figured it was less alarming than the mass of white he’d been pulling into a ponytail at the nape of his neck for the last few months. People would stare at him on the streets of New York City, where the crowds weren’t only made up of criminals and misfits but rather everyday, ordinary civilians. Sam didn’t like to be stared at, but he’d also been trained to blend in as much as he was able, and apparently, he was still the creature they’d trained him to be. At least in some ways.
He felt his smooth chin with his fingers, turning his face left and right, noting how much sharper his jaw was than it’d been before, realizing how much weight he’d lost. If he’d had some hair dye, he might have colored his hair, but he didn’t, so Sam grabbed a ball cap on his way out the door.
He made the drive into New York City, the back roads becoming highways, the highways filling with congestion, the noise increasing along with the smell of exhaust and factory smoke. The traffic slowed to a crawl, and Sam felt the eyes of people who pulled up in cars next to him, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.
Adam had left the name of the store where he’d bought the generator in the truck, including directions, and Sam drove there, pulling up to the dock out back, where a man loaded the item into the truck bed, barely sparing him a glance. The errand was done in record time, and Sam headed toward the entrance to the highway that would take him back to the farm.
But just as he was about to take the turn, he veered the opposite way instead. “What are you doing, Sam?” he murmured to himself. Except he knew very well what he was doing. There was an apartment in the heart of the city that he and the others used between missions.
He knew it was a bad idea, the same way he’d known it was a bad idea to help the little girl. Save her.
What happened in Macau, Sam?
The same way he’d known, all those years ago, that it’d been a bad idea to protect the other girl. Autumn.
I made a boy of moonlight.
He didn’t feel quite as incapable of resisting this time, but he did feel pulled.
So Sam parked the truck, locking the covered flatbed where the generator was tied down, pulled on his ball cap, and headed toward the subway where he jogged down the stairs and was swallowed by the ground.
Chapter Fourteen
Sam wasn’t the only monster on the New York subway, even if, that particular day, he was the largest, so he barely received a glance. He kept his head down, cap pulled low, and sat near the back, disembarking when the train pulled into the familiar station. Sam came up out of the ground and walked the six blocks to the door situated between the Vietnamese restaurant and the dry-cleaning shop, the one he’d stayed at before leaving for his last job in Macau. Although he was nervous, he worked to keep his heart rate steady, his training kicking in the way it was meant to do. He rapped twice, paused, and then gave four quick knocks and a light kick to the bottom of the door. A moment later, in response to the specific signal, the door was pulled open.
Amon stared at him indifferently. He had training too. Sam had had no idea if anyone would be at the apartment, and he was no happier to see Amon than he’d be to see anyone else.
“Sam. What are you doing here?”
Sam knew he meant here, at this apartment, as well as he meant here, on this earth, but Sam only answered for the former. “I was in the area. I thought I’d see if anyone was home.” Home wasn’t the right word for a place so transitory, but he couldn’t think of another. Why did you come here, Sam?
Amon stepped back, allowing Sam to enter. “Doc won’t be happy about this.”
“I know.” Doc wasn’t happy about a lot of things when it came to Sam. Hence the fact that he was living in a barn and considering when he was going to kill himself.