Chapter 5 - THE EMPTY SEAT
The voice recorder gave a final, loud CLICK as the tape reached the end of its spool and the play button snapped back up into place. The tiny red light flickered twice and died.
Silence returned to the diner, far heavier and colder than before.
Wade did not lift his head immediately. He stayed bent over the small gray plastic box, his breath coming slow, deep, and terrifyingly cold. The stoic leader was completely gone, replaced by something dark, ancient, and deadly.
Mason reached out a hand, hesitating inches from Wade’s shoulder.
“Wade...” Mason whispered, his voice shaking slightly. “Talk to us, brother. What did she say? Who was she talking about?”
Cole leaned forward, his black bandana casting a shadow over his eyes. “Wade, whatever this is, we’re your family. We’ve been with you since seventy-nine. Talk to us.”
Wade slowly lifted his head.
His eyes were cold, flat, and devoid of any human warmth. They carried the look of a man who had just watched his entire life, his entire brotherhood, burn to ashes in front of him. He didn't answer Mason. He didn't answer Cole.
His gaze slowly drifted across the table, scanning the faces of the men he had called brothers for three decades.
Then, his eyes stopped.
His gaze locked onto the far end of the booth—the seat directly beside the diner’s front window.
The red vinyl cushion was indented, still holding the faint warmth of a body that had been sitting there moments before. A half-empty cup of black coffee sat on the formica, a thin wisp of steam rising lazily from its dark surface.
The seat was empty.
Ray was gone.
Wade’s entire body snapped taut like a pulled cable.
“Where’s Ray?” Wade asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a terrifying, knife-like clarity that cut through the room.
Mason blinked, turning his head quickly to look beside him. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What? He was... he was right here a second ago. He was listening to the—”
“Where is Ray?” Wade roared, standing up fully this time.
At the front of the diner, the brass bell didn't chime. But the heavy glass entrance door was swinging slowly inward on its hydraulic arm, its heavy rubber seal sweeping over the welcome mat with a soft, sliding swoosh.
Through the clear glass panel of the door, the morning sun reflected off the chrome tailpipes of the motorcycles parked outside in the gravel lot.
Wade pushed past Mason and Cole, his massive frame shoving the heavy wooden table aside as if it were made of balsa wood. He didn't care about the spilled coffee, the clattering plates, or the frightened gasps of the diner patrons. He marched down the center aisle with the terrifying momentum of a freight train, his steel-toed boots slamming against the linoleum.
He reached the front window and slammed his heavy, tattooed hands against the glass, leaning his face close to the cold frame.
Outside, the gravel parking lot was bright under the harsh morning sky. A cloud of blue exhaust smoke was rising near the edge of the asphalt, twisting in the cold wind.
Past the row of parked Harleys, a single figure dressed in an unbuttoned leather cut and a gray work shirt was walking briskly toward a dark primer-black motorcycle parked in the shade of the diner’s highway billboard. The man didn't look back. He swung his leg over the saddle, kicked the starter with a heavy crack, and brought the engine roaring to life with a deafening, wet thrum.
It was Ray.
May you like
Before Wade could throw open the glass door, the motorcycle threw a spray of loose gravel against the diner’s exterior wall and tore out onto Route 22, its red taillight disappearing past the treeline in a blur of speed and smoke.
Ray hadn't just left. He had run.
