Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I stared in horror at the video, my stomach turning in revulsion.
No. This. . .isn’t real.
I stopped the video, unable to watch anymore.
But. . .why would someone send this to me?
I pressed on the sender section, and of course couldn’t get any information since it had been delivered from an anonymous number.
I’ll have Peiter look into this. Even if it is fake. . .I want to know who sent it and why they thought it was a good idea to deliver that to me.
I took a deep breath.
Then suddenly, the video disappeared.
I blinked.
What?
In one second, the terrifying footage was there.
In the next second, it vanished.
What is going on?
A sense of unease crept into the edges of my mind.
My heart pounded in my chest.
I frantically tried to pull the video link back up, my fingers fumbling on the screen. But it was as if it had never existed, vanished into the ether from where it had cruelly emerged.
Questions multiplied in my mind like a knot of venomous snakes, each more overwhelming and sinister than the last.
I looked back out the window, the darkness of the forest suddenly more threatening.
But. . .was that real?
I returned to my phone, quickly typed in woman set on fire, and hit enter.
To my dismay, the results that flooded the screen were predominantly about my art collection. Headlines such as “Tristan’s fiery art sets the world ablaze” and “Burning Desires—Tristan’s sensational fire.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I scrolled through the news, trying to find something, anything that could relate to the video I’d just seen.
My breath hitched when I saw an article about a woman set on fire. But upon closer examination, it was a story from thirty years ago.
Nothing recent.
Okay. This isn’t real. At least. . .I don’t think so.
Just as I was about to put my phone away, a notification popped up.
My arch-nemesis, the insufferable Landon Wolfe, had just gone live on Instagram.
I frowned.
The man was a self-proclaimed art critic and famous youtuber that had made it his mission to undermine my every accomplishment.
In fact, he despised me with a passion that often bordered on obsession.
I clicked on the video, and there he was in all his unpleasant glory, ranting in front of his hundreds of thousands of followers.
“Yes. Yes, My Lovelies!” Landon bobbed his head. “I was at Tristan the Fake’s showing tonight and can I stress that he is a sham.”
Landon pressed a button on his keyboard.
A horn blew.
“He is a disgrace to the art world!”
The horn blew again.
“And his fame is undeserved!” Landon shook his head. “Honestly, the only reason why he gets press is because he’s gorgeous. But sorry, Tristan. Your looks aren’t enough for me.”
Then, Marylyn Manson’s song, the Beautiful People began to play in the background.
Landon snapped his fingers. “Think for yourselves, Lovelies!”
Not caring about his rant, I shut the phone off and couldn’t help but hear the woman screaming in my head.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t.
Still, I was rattled.
My driver Charles’s voice cut through my shaken thoughts. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
I glanced out the window and saw the dark woods. “Thank you, Charles.”
He hurried with getting out of the car, rushed to my door, and opened it. “Do you want me to stay by the car as usual, sir?”
“Yes. Peiter will truly not let me in if I bring anyone else.” I pocketed my phone and stepped out into the chill of the night. “I’ll be back, Charles.”
While I was exhausted from the art showing earlier, I had a rendezvous with a reclusive hacker, a woman to learn more about, and an ominous video to decode.
This night was far from over.
Chapter Six
Shadows, Aliens, and Mystery
The forest was dark, not much moonlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above. Here, the shadows were hungry, devouring any sense of brightness.
Frowning, I gripped Peiter’s food in one hand.
In the other hand, I held my phone’s flashlight to guide my way.
Sounds of twigs snapped.
Leaves rustled.
Wind whispered.
The air tasted of untouched greenery and quiet desolation.
Mud began to cake on my Testoni shoes, making the expensive leather look less pristine.
Damn you, Peiter. Why couldn’t you have taken me up on my offer to stay in one of my condos?
I deepened my frown.
Unfortunately, my destination was not some fairy-tale elven home nestled in the woods, but an old relic from a time when the fear of nuclear destruction was very real.
Peiter’s domain was a goddamn bomb shelter.
And it served as a fortress of concrete and steel, hidden away in the natural camouflage of the woodland.
Finally, I arrived in front of the place.
From the outside, it looked abandoned, another forgotten ruin lost to time and the encroaching wilderness. Its door was rusted, and the surrounding ground blanketed with a layer of moss and decaying leaves.
However, I knew better.
I stepped up to the entryway, and a crackling voice echoed from unseen speakers. “Not a step further, Tristan.”