Free Jamie Garrett - Riley Reid 03 - Ends and Beginnings by Jamie Garrett Page B

you’re taking a shit in the same ten by ten cell with your cell mate watching, remember one thing. The small time, cowardly, lying, thieving weasel beat you. My daddy may be dead, but he still won. Remember that!” I dropped the phone and walked away.
    Harlan started pounding on the table, straining at his chains, as I walked out. He was really pissed. I couldn’t help but take a glace back. The guards were restraining him, violently. It made me smile.

Abduction
     
    I walked through the hallways and security checks of Big Sandy silently. My head was filled with new and distressing information. If what Harlan told me was true, both of my parents were dead. The sixteen-year mystery regarding where they were was solved. And the answer was disappointing and tragic.
    When the guards instructed me to follow them through the last security point, I pictured my mother in my head. I saw her lying on a motel floor, holding her neck. Blood spurted through her fingers. Her eyes searched desperately for help that never came.
    Upon getting back to my car in the parking lot, I broke down. No matter how strong I tried to be, I’m only human. The insults to my father. Hearing about how my mother died. Hell, hearing that she had died. Being told that my dad had abandoned her, left her to die. It was too much for me to just swallow and ignore. So there were tears.
    Once I regained my composure, I found myself in a parking lot. How long had I been there? When I looked at the clock in the dashboard, an hour had passed from the time I left the jail. I turned on my car and made for the exit.
    There was quite a bit of work to do once I got back to Stone Harbor. First, I’d need to go to Valentine Park, to Hangman’s Tree. Whatever my father wanted me to find there was the last piece of the puzzle. It was the last thing I needed to do to wrap up the mystery of my missing parents.
    After going to Valentine Park, I’d need to find my out where my mother was buried. I wanted to go there and pay my respects. That shouldn’t be too hard. It would probably just take a little research on my laptop.
    The exit to the highway was only three miles away. Once I got on it, I’d make a straight trip back to Stone Harbor. It should only take a couple of hours. If everything went well, I’d be back home by nightfall.
    I reached a four way intersection. The red light in front of me meant I had to stop. So I did. Taking a look around, I realized the road I was on was remote. My GPS had never done me wrong before, so I squashed down any worry.
    The light turned green and I drove out into the intersection. I did so with the expectation that the path before me would be clear. Before I could do anything about it, a truck sped down the road perpendicular to mine and slammed into my car. When the impact occurred, I blacked out.
    I woke up in a dark room. From the floor above me, I could hear the muffled sounds of loud music, dancing and talking. Around me, I could barely make out kegs and boxes of liquor. I must’ve been in a bar or club.
    My head was killing me. I felt what must’ve been blood trickling down from my scalp, down my forehead. The side of my ribs hurt intensely. I knew I broke something. It would have been a good idea to go to the hospital. First I had to get out of that room.
    When I tried to get up, I found myself unable to. My wrists were bound to the armrests of the chair. I looked down at them and saw layers of silver duct tape. No matter how much I struggled, I wouldn’t get out.
    I heard someone open a door, then start to walk down some stairs. They were behind me, so I couldn’t see but the sounds were unmistakable. Who were they? What were they planning on doing to me?
    “I hope you’re comfortable,” said a voice I did not recognize from behind me. There was an Italian American accent to his words.
    The lights switched on. My first observations were correct. All around me was liquor and beer in cases, kegs and boxes, stacked almost