Between the Cracks and Burning Doors: Book 2 of The Extraction List Series Read Online Free PDF Page A

story to cough, and a sound escaped him that I could tell came from deep in his lungs. I shuttered thinking that the dirt and disease of where he was had already gotten to him. “He’d tried to ignore it when he went to seminary but it just got stronger. So when he was offered a position here, in D.C., he asked me if I wanted it.
    “I argued with him, telling him there was no way we’d get away with it. That it would get us both caught. Nevertheless, I knew it was my only shot. So I got some fake paperwork, and I took his title, position, and his name.”
    He lowered his voice. “You have to do something for me.”
    My response escaped my lips before I even thought about it. “Anything.”
    “These policemen have bigger problems than a little identity theft. They’re gonna let me out in six months. Stay at the church and tell everyone that I’m on a goodwill trip, Africa or something. Doesn’t matter. Just don’t let them find out I’m in here. Tell them you’re taking care of the church until I get back. There’s money hidden in the apartment. You can have a place to stay and I can have my life back when I get out of here. No one will find out. Deal?”
    “Deal. I’ll take care of it, I promise.” My voice quivered.
    “I’m out of time. I gotta go. And kid? Be careful.”
    The phone went dead.
     
    Without Dom, the apartment was too quiet. I could hear the wood of the antique walls creak every time a slight breeze crept by, something I never noticed while he was around. The pipes talked too, sounding as if they were scraping against each other, like a villain rubbing his hands together while plotting his next move.
    I had to get out. Dom kept his keys hanging on a hook by the door. In one motion, I snatched them from their place, swung open the door, and slammed it shut behind me.
    When I ran down the church steps, I almost forgot to lock the front door. This was going to be my home and my responsibility for the next six months at least, and I knew I had better get used to it. The whole church fell to me. I looked up at it. It had a bell tower at the top. I laughed at myself, knowing that I didn’t even know how to get to it. How does someone take care of a bell anyway?
    Better figure it out.
    From the front yard, I could see up to our apartment window. When I looked out the window, it seemed as though I could see to the end of the world, or at least the street. The roof looked worn, and the paint looked like it used to be white. Now it was the color of an old woman’s stained teeth, remnants of the eye-catcher it used to be.
    I vowed to find a way to make the church even better than Dom had left it. He would come home to a bright white building with a perfect roof. He couldn’t afford to make those changes before, but I would find a way.
    But not today.
    For the moment, I turned away and marched down the street, the church shrinking into the distance. I walked until I could look back and see no trace of it. I stuck to side streets, just as Dom had told me.
    The buildings that surrounded me on both sides were peeling away from themselves, paint curling up at the corners like Dom’s old paperbacks; some even looked like they would sink under the pressure of my finger. I passed by a gas station with no cars in front of it. Each pump had a quickly scrawled note taped to it: “No gas here.” I glanced inside to see if at least the convenience store part was still open. It was, but the cashier stood in the building alone.
    I passed by several other businesses, but they had no cashiers to speak of. A tiny bookstore had a crooked CLOSED sign hanging in the window. I let myself hope it was just closed for the day, but then I noticed the dust caked in its display windows.
    There was not a single smile to be found on any of the people I passed. Their eyes were all fixed on the pavement in front of them, only briefly glancing up to make sure they didn’t run into anything.
    In my situation, lack of eye contact