Chapter 01 – Highway to Hell

***The Law Offices of Michael & Cole***

Chase’s revolver kicked back. The Office glass shattered.

Rolling behind a sleek obsidian desk, he fired twice. Both shots caught a ghostly assailant mid-drift, eliminating him. “Gotcha Reaper,” Chase said. His gaze on the ultimate bar, as it ticked toward ninety-nine percent. One kill away from Deadeye.

The sound of wheels and sloshing water cut through the gunfire.

A heavy thud rocked the back of his chair, hands slipping off the keyboard and mouse. The Busan skyline vanished as his crosshair jerked skyward.

Chase pulled his headset down, the game world fading into the office. “What the hell?”

Snakes leaned on his mop bucket; sleeves pushed up, a coil of ink running along his tanned forearm, hand gripping the handle. “Must be nice,” the janitor said. “Overtime to play Overwatch.”

“I’m salaried, Snakes,” Chase straightened his suit jacket. The fabric settled flat across his shoulders.

Snakes pushed the bucket forward. The wheels squeaked against the floor.

“Wind’s unpredictable today,” Snakes said. “Stuff blows around.” He nodded toward the shelf then out the window. “Wouldn’t want anything to get broken.” He moved toward the breakroom, one hand still on the mop handle.

Leaning toward the doorway Chase asked, “Why the hell did you bring a mop and bucket here anyway? This side of the office is carpeted!”

A sudden gust of cold air hit the shelf above the desk. A photograph flipped once landing face-up beside the keyboard.

Chase’s chair rolled. He bent forward, glanced. “Hmm.”

A group shot of his old Study Crew piled in front of a retired Oscar Mayer Wienermobile at Orangeside Community College. The group stood shoulder to shoulder in the sun.

His thumb traced the gloss over Amelia’s light freckles across her cheeks. She was mid-laugh, shoulders drawn in. Brown hair pulled back but already slipping loose. 

The memory of her face when the FBI internship email arrived. The way her eyes widened, then narrowed, scanning for the trick. Her face needed him to tell her it was real.

Chase smiled at the photograph. “Congrats, kid.” The ache in his throat, a familiar one.

He flipped the photo over. Nothing was written on the back.

“Wrong reunion,” he muttered.

Catching his reflection in the window, he smiled. “Tall. Brown hair, still sharp. Jaw tight. Never change Chase Wright.” Winking into the reflection.

He dropped the photo into the drawer and slid it shut.

Chase walked through the darkened office, muttering. “Freaking Snakes, I almost had Deadeye. Thanks to that jackass we lost the game.” Chase slowed his pace. A cubicle towards the exit had its lights on.

Gunther’s chair sat too low for the desk, knees angled awkwardly as he leaned forward. His fingers pressed into the laminate, knuckles pale. His shirt hung loose on him, wrinkled. 

For weeks the man had spent every lunch break on mudflood Youtube videos and flat-earth forums on Reddit and 4Chan.

“You meditating now?” Chase joked, grabbing his jacket. “Maybe it’s the Mayor’s case keeping you late?”

“Something like that.” Gunther’s voice frayed.

Chase opened his mouth, then closed it. A dozen follow-up questions died in his throat. Gunther had already turned back to his screen, the blue light hollowing out his face.

“You ever get the feeling you’re on the wrong side of a case?” Gunther asked.

Chase’s fingers tightened on the doorframe. “Not while I’m working here.”

Gunther looked up. Bloodshot eyes. “Orangeside High’s an old school. Check the foundations while you’re there tonight. Look for windows where they shouldn’t be, or stairs that lead below the basement.”

Chase’s jaw remained set. The joke died.

Gunther gave a hollow smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Forget I said anything.” He tilted his head toward the window. “Friend of yours?”

Outside Vincenzo leaned against the Acura, one foot crossed over the other, golden ring glinting as he brought the cigarette to his lips. The lot lights caught warmer in his olive skin and sleeked back black hair.

He didn’t move when Chase turned his head. 

“I was supposed to pick him up.” Chase put his jacket on and headed for the elevator, clearing the doorway without slowing.

*** The Acura ***

By the time they hit the interstate, the sun was gone.

“Truly streets ahead,” Vincenzo said. “Clean. Endless. Feels like anything could happen.” He drummed his fingers across the dashboard. The golden ring clicked against the plastic.

Chase kept his hands firm on the wheel. “Still making poetry out of traffic?”

“I was talking about myself.” Vincenzo flashed a wide smile. “Happy I dragged you out?”

Rain streaked the windshield as they cut through the empty interstate. Driving to the reunion was a debt Chase had to pay. He glanced at the small circular scar on his right hand.

“I heard Mariana’s showing up,” Vincenzo said. “The madness mistress herself.”

Chase’s knuckles whitened against the wheel. “She didn’t break me.”

“Of course not. Just adjusted expectations.” Vincenzo laughed.

“I’m so happy my rollercoaster of a life keeps you entertained.” Chase said.

“The public loves a rags to riches story, Chase. Reunions are a prime spot to see what cream rose to the top.”

“You want a crazy story? This guy at the firm is convinced our old high school has weird windows and stairs that go nowhere,” Chase said. “Swore I’d see something.”

Vincenzo glanced at him.
Chase shrugged. “Look, I’m not some nutty conspiracy theorist, but he looked scared.”

“Yeah, internet ghost stories. ”Vincenzo’s thumb flicked the underside of his ring. “Speaking of conspiracy, what’s with you suggesting my new little brother?”

“I didn’t suggest anyone,” Chase said. “Your dad sent me there to look for problems, nobody expected him to get attached to one.”

“Bold move for the guy who’s only at that firm because of my good word. What else did you see? Anything more than a charity case?”

“You’re gonna think I’m stretching.”

“Try Me.”

“I saw a girl with a modified Tamagotchi. She used it to bypass their firewall just to change the lobby music to AC/DC.”
Chase glanced at Vincenzo. Vincenzo kept his eyes forward and rubbed his ring.
“And there was a kid at the gym. Moved wrong. Too fast. The place had this spark.”

Vincenzo scoffed. “A spark.”

“Those kids changed how I saw my life going. Your dad saw the same thing I did.”

Vincenzo looked back at the treeline. “They’re a promising investment.”

Chase glanced at Vincenzo. “Heartwarming.”

The gas light blinked on the dash. Chase pulled into a station, a lonely island of fluorescent light in the rain. The overhead lights washed the color back into his skin as he reached for the door.

“I’ll pump,” Chase said.

“I’ll socialize,” Vincenzo said, exiting the car before Chase could argue.

Inside, the lone attendant was focused on his phone. “If it’s the bathroom, it’s out of order,” the clerk said. “If it’s the leaking propane, those are just snakes.”

Vincenzo leaned on the counter; the overhead lights flattened the shadows across his eyes. “Do you ever think about what keeps this place from making headlines?”

He pulled out his lighter. A small flame danced between them.

“Three feet of concrete. One careless spark.”

“If you’re gonna burn it down, just do it,” the clerk said, not looking up. “I’ve seen worse. This place deserves it.”

Vincenzo’s expression shifted. “Most people tend to misunderstand situations. It’s never the fire, Bob. It’s the story told after.”

Chase stepped in and grabbed Vincenzo’s shoulder. “Okay, Anton Chigurh, field trip’s over.” He slid a twenty across the counter. “Pump three.”

“This guy your buddy?” the clerk asked.

“Public defender,” Chase said. “Currently out on probation for arson.”

Vincenzo gave a sharp, knowing look to the clerk. “Relax. I got what I needed out of you.”

Outside, the rain had thinned. They climbed back into the car. As they eased back onto the highway, Vincenzo lit a cigarette. “I’m glad you joined me, SilverTongue.”

“Just trying not to misunderstand the situation, Goldenboy,” Chase said.

***Orangeside High***

They parked under a stuttering streetlamp in the lot. Mist clung to the asphalt, blurring the lights of the venue into soft, sickly halos.

“You really don’t have to come in,” Chase smirked, taking a breath. “The last time I saw these people, they were more acne than personality.”

Vincenzo stepped out into the wet air, straightening his jacket. “Good. Let’s see who actually rose to the top.”