23,450 words now. I probably missed an update here or there.
Posted by
Qale (aka Qale)
Nov 14 '14, 11:30
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"I, uh, I'm doing an article on the fire."
Coming to deliberately edge himself between Elliot and the truck, he folded his arms across his chest which puffed out in indignation, "Oh you are. Well, I don’t think I can let you wander around the premises. It'd dangerous. Nails. Broken glass. You'd be a mighty big liability."
"I could be careful." Elliot offered, then tried diplomacy by extending a hand. "Elliot Spriggs."
Nearby there was a sudden chug of an engine coming to life. And while it was hard to pick out, whenever the backhoe's arm was fully extended, a peek of yellow could be seen against the charred black of the building's skeletal remains. Redrawing Elliot's attention, the man suddenly grabbed his hand and tugged him real close.
"Listen here. You need to get back in that van of yours and you need to go. The story's already out in the press, so you ain't got no business left out here." Squeezing the hand tighter, he tilted his head a little to catch the frightened eye of the student. Then, just as suddenly as he'd grabbed him, he pushed back and started to take a walk. Ducking under the drawn out caution tape, he eyed Elliot one more time to make sure he was on his way.
And for the most part, he was.
But once he felt like the menacing figure was safely far enough within the ruins of the factory, he shed his backpack and quickly raced to the truck praying it was open. When the door popped free after wrenching its handle, Elliot wasn't sure what he was looking for. Information on who this guy thought he was? Maybe what company he worked for? Why they only had a single backhoe when the entire property would obviously need to be razed?
His mind raced with questions much as it had every time he started to let the absurdity of the fortune cookie urban legend roil in his idle thoughts. So deep in thought, he very nearly missed the note-filled legal pad tucked up underneath the driver side sun visor. Not taking any chances of being caught, he kept it, shut the door, and bolted back to his van.
When he finally got far enough away, he reached over and flipped over the pages. Chinese characters comprised most of the scribbling. A couple of crude diagrams, and what probably looked like an outline of what the factory's footprint was. But it was a phone number on the third page that drew a lump in his throat making him completely forget that not paying attention while driving is what killed Allie.
The number belonged to Anya.
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