Chapter 3 - The Ghost
My highly trained father immediately reached for the concealed, loaded pistol securely fastened to his hip.
He bravely and swiftly stepped directly in front of me to shield my vulnerable body from the large glass window.
We stood frozen in the freezing, biting wind, anxiously waiting for the shadowy figure to make a sudden, violent move.
The dark silhouette simply turned slowly away and completely vanished into the deep, dark depths of the quiet house.
"We are calling the local police right this exact second," my father demanded sharply, reaching for his phone.
"The police will just happily arrest me again for blatantly violating the emergency restraining order," I argued desperately.
I knew deep down that Daniel had orchestrated this terrifying, specific moment perfectly to trap me legally.
If the corrupt cops arrived and found me trespassing on the property, I would go straight back to federal jail.
We quickly retreated back to my father's warm truck and aggressively sped away from the dangerously quiet neighborhood.
I sat heavily in the passenger seat and quickly pulled out my cell phone to search frantically for real answers.
I desperately needed to find Melissa, the mysterious, bruised woman from Daniel's highly hidden computer folder.
She was the absolutely only other living person who truly knew what a terrifying monster he actually was.
I secretly logged into a highly classified public records database using my father's private investigator security credentials.
It took an agonizing hour of frantic, high-speed typing to finally locate an old, obscure billing address for her.
The address tragically belonged to a highly dilapidated, rotting apartment complex on the absolute worst side of town.
We drove quietly across the sprawling city, pulling carefully into a dark alley heavily filled with broken glass and trash.
We cautiously climbed three flights of severely rusted metal stairs to finally reach apartment number forty-two.
The cheap wooden door was already slightly ajar, hanging very loosely on violently cracked, broken metal hinges.
My father carefully pushed the heavy door completely open, his tactical weapon fully drawn and completely ready.
The small, dirty apartment was completely trashed, with overturned furniture and broken dishes scattered absolutely everywhere.
I bravely stepped inside and instantly noticed an incredibly large puddle of dark, thick blood staining the cheap carpet.
The horrific blood was still gleaming and wet, meaning the highly violent physical struggle had just recently happened.
I suddenly heard a very quiet, highly rhythmic ticking sound coming directly from the small, dark kitchen area.
I cautiously walked around the heavily broken sofa to deeply investigate the strange, terrifying mechanical noise.
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A crude, highly dangerous homemade incendiary device was sitting directly on top of the old electric stove.
The glowing red digital timer on the explosive was rapidly counting down from exactly ten terrifying seconds.
