by Jon Mills
Cooper groaned. “You sure this was the right thing to do?”
“Positive.”
“He seemed pretty torn up. Kind of shitty thing to do to a friend, don’t you think?”
“Trust me, Cooper, sticking around would be far worse. No, it’s what’s best,” he said looking out at the graveyard. “Besides, I’ve lost too many friends. I can’t and won’t lose him.”
“Huh! And… what am I…chopped liver?”
Jack laughed. “Oh you’re in a different class.” He tapped his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
Cooper frowned as he started the engine. “Different class? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack didn’t give him a response but instead just sat back and chuckled as they wound out of the cemetery in New Jersey and left behind his old life.
Epilogue
Weeks later
The big Greyhound rolled up wrapped in dirt from the road and the stench of a diesel cloud. “Well this is me.” Jack tossed the remains of his morning coffee in a nearby trash can, took out the ticket, shrugged into his backpack and extended a hand.
Cooper gave a warm smile as he gripped it. “So, this is it.” He took in a deep breath. “Will I hear from you again?”
Jack tapped the air with his ticket. “Probably not but you never know.”
He pulled a face. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Cooper chuckled. “And helping people. You done with that?”
Jack nodded and breathed in deeply. “Yeah, I’m not getting any younger, Cooper. Time to exchange the gun for a fishing rod and enjoy what’s left of this life.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Jack replied.
Cooper nodded. “So… Florida. I wouldn’t think you wanted to go back there.”
“What can I say? I like sunshine and I can’t go to California.”
The door on the idling bus hissed open. Wind blew grit and brown wintry leaves beneath and in front of the tires as several people waiting on benches rose to board. He offered back a smile. “Then take care, Jack.” Cooper patted his shoulder.
“You too.”
Cooper had said a man with his skills could be very useful to the FBI but Jack shot down that idea. He was done working for others, at least for now. The driver took his ticket. Jack shuffled down the aisle scanning the faces of young and old, those traveling with a purpose, others escaping a past. He took a spot by the window and shoved his bag under the seat in front of him, then prepared to settle in for a long trip to the sunshine state of Florida. It would make a nice change from the cold. Jack leaned to one side, resting his temple against the cool glass.
As Jack peered out the frosted window, Cooper gave one final wave before getting into his Audi and peeling away. He sighed; a heart full of mixed emotions. Heaviness lurked at the back of his mind, only a thought away. It was easy to go there, sink into the familiar and get lost in the darkness but he’d spent long enough dwelling on the past.
“Folks, I just need a quick washroom break. Be right back,” the driver said, climbing out. True to his word, he returned minutes later, squeezing past four new passengers with tickets in hand. “Sorry for the wait.”
Jack peered over the seat for a second then reached into his bag and pulled out the national paper he’d been meaning to finish. He thumbed off a few pages until he found the article written by Kelly Armstrong.
The headline was “The Dangerous World of Forensic Hospitals: A Tale of Abuse and Fear.” Aligned with the text was a medium-sized photo of Nurse Hanna Cross, standing confidently in the yard in front of the monstrosity of a facility. The very sight of it brought back the nightmare.
His eyes zigzagged as the bus rumbled.
Formal at first, Kelly recounted the history of the New York State Hospital, the mental health system and the deinstitutionalization of asylums from the 1960s to the early ’80s, then she went on to detail the horrors covered up by the unit doctor. He and two psych techs had been dismissed and charged. They were set to go on trial in a few months. Prison. For them it would be worse than death.
Jack smiled.
A shuffle of bags into overhead compartments, the scuffing of soles and a few apologies as the final passengers found seats. A figure loomed into view off to his right, gesturing to the empty seat. “You mind?” Jack raised his eyes to see a middle-aged woman; tired but pretty with forest green eyes and short, highlighted wavy hair. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the other seats were full barring two which would have placed her beside a shifty looking fella with dreadlocks, or a bag lady talking to herself.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
She sank down and the sweet scent of perfume billowed around him. It caught his attention. It was similar to the kind worn by Dana. Light. Strawberries. Not too overbearing. She exhaled as if unloading her troubles in one breath. He returned to reading, though now slightly distracted. Minutes passed.
“Going home?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” Jack replied.
“Florida. Is it home?”
He smiled. “Hopefully. I’m moving there.”
“Ah. What part?”
“Key West.”
“Huh. That’s not far from me.”
The doors hissed closed, the driver bellowed something and the Greyhound lurched out of the station. Out the corner of his eye he glanced at the woman as she smoothed out her dark pants. He noticed no ring on her finger but a white band as if she’d recently removed it.
She smiled and took out her phone, flipped through it a few times then placed it back into her pocket. “Ugh,” she groaned then looked at Jack. “My ex doesn’t take no for an answer. You’d think a restraining order would help? Nope. Not with him.” She took a deep breath. “So, what brought you to the Big Apple?”
“The past.”
She chuckled. “Same. Well, I visited my mother. I just had to get away. Get some breathing room.” Her phone buzzed again. This time she took it out and powered it off without looking at the text, then exhaled. “But… it seems no matter what, we just can’t escape what we leave behind.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” he replied.
She took a deep breath. “So… I’m going back to face it.”
Jack pursed his lips, nodded, then opened wide the paper, thumbing through and scanning a few more articles. He was wondering if she was planning on talking his ear off for the next few hours, not that he minded but he was hoping to get a few hours of shut-eye.
A few more minutes passed. “Unbelievable.”
“What?” he asked.
She pointed to the paper. He looked down. It was a news article about someone getting away with murder. The article alluded to wealth being a factor.
“The courts are a joke. It has less to do with justice and more to do with who’s in your back pocket. I should know, my ex is a lawyer. And me? Whatever he paints me to be, I am. And that restraining order.” She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s going to help. I fully expect him to get around it somehow. Sometimes I just wish…” She looked as if she was about to cry but managed to keep herself together. “Ah it doesn’t matter.”
Jack sat there for a moment. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating. He folded the paper and tucked it into his bag.
“Sorry, I tend to talk too much. I shouldn’t bother you. It’s not like anyone can help.”
He nodded, bit down on his lower lip, cast a glance outside as the bus rolled towards the city limits. “Maybe they can,” he said.
She stared back at him, frowned, then her features relaxed and she extended her hand. “I’m Madeline. Sorry. You are?”
Jack didn’t reply immediately but simply smiled and shook her hand.
“Someone who can help.”
THANK YOU FOR READING
If you enjoyed that novel, check out Lost Girls or I’m Still Here. Please take a second now to leave a review. Even a few words is really appreciated. Thanks kindly, Jon.
A Plea
Thank you for reading Debt Collector 13: OBLIVION. If you enjoyed the book, I would really appreciate it if you would consider leaving a review. I can’t stress how helpful this is in helping other readers decide if they should give it a shot. Reviews from readers like you are the best recommendation a book can have. Without reviews, an author’s books are virtually invisible on the retail sites. It also lets me know what you liked. You can leave a review by visiting the book’s page. I would greatly appreciate it. It only takes a couple of seconds.
Thank you — Jon Mills
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About the Author
Jon Mills is originally from England. He currently lives in Canada. He is the author of The Debt Collector series, Lost Girls, I’m Still Here, The Promise, the Undisclosed Trilogy and many other books under pen names. If you haven’t joined Jon Mills’s Private Facebook Group you can request to join by clicking here now. This gives readers a way to chat with Jack, see cover reveals, and stay updated on upcoming releases. There is also his main facebook page below if you want to browse.
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