Chapter 17 - BULLETS THROUGH THE PORCH LIGHT
Adrian struck me hard in the chest.
We fell through the open doorway as two suppressed shots shattered the porch light.
Glass rained over the floor.
Adrian rolled behind the brick wall beside the entrance and pulled a compact pistol from beneath his jacket.
I crawled toward the hallway.
“Who’s shooting?”
“The people who want the drive.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down.”
A third bullet cut through the doorframe.
Adrian leaned out and fired twice toward the tree line.
A dark figure moved behind my neighbor’s fence.
“Stay down,” he ordered.
“You don’t give orders in my house.”
“Then consider it a recommendation from the man currently preventing your funeral.”
Headlights swept across the front windows.
A black utility vehicle accelerated from the curb.
The rear window lowered.
Adrian fired again. One of the vehicle’s tires burst, but the driver kept moving and disappeared around the corner.
Silence followed.
Not peace.
Just absence.
Adrian closed the door and turned off every light in the house.
“You need to pack.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He pointed toward the bullet holes.
“They know where you live.”
“You threatened Amy.”
“I warned you about Amy.”
“You staged your own death. You worked with my mother. You built a secret laboratory in the mountains. Forgive me for not appreciating the distinction.”
He studied me for a moment.
Then he lowered the gun.
“That anger will keep you alive if you learn to control it.”
I almost struck him.
My phone vibrated.
Amy’s name appeared on the screen.
I answered immediately.
“Amy?”
At first, there was only breathing.
Then her voice came through, strained and low.
“Connor, listen carefully. Don’t ask questions.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe for the moment.”
“Who is with you?”
She ignored me.
“There’s a blue notebook inside my father’s old desk. You need to destroy it.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“What notebook?” I asked.
“The one with the brass clasp.”
“What’s inside?”
“Names.”
A man spoke in the background.
Too softly to understand.
Amy inhaled sharply.
“Don’t trust my father.”
The call ended.
I looked at Adrian.
He had heard every word.
“Where is the desk?” he asked.
“You tell me. It belonged to you.”
“The desk was removed from my house after my supposed death.”
“Amy kept it in the storage room.”
We moved downstairs.
The basement smelled of sawdust and cold concrete. Behind stacked furniture stood an old walnut desk covered by a drop cloth.
The top drawer was locked.
Adrian broke it open with the edge of a screwdriver.
Inside rested the blue notebook.
Amy had placed a strip of transparent tape across the brass clasp.
The tape was broken.
Someone had already opened it.
I flipped through the pages.
Every sheet was blank.
Adrian touched the binding.
“These pages were chemically treated.”
“For what?”
“Heat-responsive ink.”
I carried the notebook upstairs and held one page near the stove burner.
Words slowly appeared.
Rows of dates.
Medical codes.
Children’s names.
Then I found mine.
CONNOR MERCER — SUBJECT 01.
Below it was another entry.
May you like
AMY VALE — SUBJECT 02.
📖 The hidden notebook has linked Connor and Amy to the same experiment, but the most dangerous entry is still waiting on the next page. 👇
