CHAPTER 6
Two red and blue ATV's tumbled over the rocky and bushy forest floor. James and Jimmy struggled to maneuver through the very dense forest floor, constantly drifting off of ramped rocks only to land in the grass and terrain of uneven dirt and rocky terrain with a bounce as the shock springs absorbed the energy produced by the falls that were as high as 10 feet.
The late morning sunshine brightened the forest green pine needles and drew golden shapes on the forest floor. Driving through the treacherous terrain was like dune racing because of the similarly uneven terrain.
The group feared off to the left and smashed through a white picket fence through Darya's instructions. They emerged through the splintered fence onto an impossible green alleyway between two monolithic modern houses of stark white rectangular shapes, stonewalls, and walls of glass tinted a vibrant blue on the outside. Ahead of the two stopped ATV's was the end of the cul-de-sac that looked freshly paved and was surrounded with an even mix of eccentric modern houses and classic looking modernized log cabins similar to Jimmy's.
Without a second thought, Darya unlatched the metal bar door and stepped out onto the prefect emerald blades of grass. The rest followed suit and together they stepped out onto the sidewalk that edged the end of the cul-de-sac and followed it unit they reached the doorstep of a modern house with a glass framed balcony on the second floor.
They reached Darya's front door, a tiger striped wooden door of a distinctively dark oak wood with veins of lighter mahogany running like rivers down a valley, it had a single metal bar across the width of the door. A keypad, similar to the one used to open Jimmy's garage, was installed into the smooth and shiny metal bar that reflected the morning sun.
"Wait." whispered Darya holding onto the cascading leather gills on the shoulder of Jimmy's tough, black leather jacket with a slender, yet herculean grip just as Jimmy put a palm onto the metal bar to slightly push open the heavy door; casting a right triangle of light on a section of grainy dark grey colored tiles with with light grey grout in between the tiles. "Weapons. You will need them." the disparity in her voice warranted a rare feeling of fear inside what criminals and judges described as "his cold black heart, darker than his jet black, slicked back hair." referencing his often slicked back black hair that seemed to be a starless night sky of it's own.
Jimmy couldn't bare meeting her intense gaze and instead face a silent nod and motioning with one hand for the group to go gear up while using the other arm to snake around and grasp the hilt of his revolver, he felt like Ariel was staring at him, it was a burning sensation on his back; she was, and she seemed upset. Jimmy spared him the suffering of looking back and waited until she left with the others to go grab weapons to put both hands on his Ruger and pointed it towards the ground in front of him, putting his shoulder in front of him in a charging position. He smoothed his fingers over the diamond grip and took a deep breath as his impatience grew. His anxiety and his ambition were quickly overpowering his rationality and well founded sense of caution, he was going in.
Jimmy charged into the door and moved with eh door as it swung inwards. But, out of nowhere, the putrid and humid feeling of the air hit him and invaded his senses, like he was being beaten in the face with an overly onion garnished slab of rancid salmon in a sauna. He hopped his gun up, aiming down the sights with stinging and watering eye. Dim natural light revealed a room ravaged, dragged and crooked trails of claw marks ran across the surface of the hardwood floor, a contemporary L-shaped couch was ripped to shreds, and multiple cameras around the couch were knocked off their tripods or smashed or even completely unscathed. "What the hell..." whispered Jimmy unconsciously under his breath, this was no crime scene, that's for damn sure.
Jimmy crept across the room towards the couch and the cameras, carefully avoiding smashed vases on the floor that were now just shards of decorative china with white and blue patterns that riddled the floor, Jimmy associated with shell casings in a mob held massacre. He knew deep down he should've stayed in Utah, but the green was too rewarding to him.
Jimmy walked over to an expensive looking Canon camera mounted on a tripod. The camera was still on, Jimmy stalked over, stepping over fallen cameras and flash and lighting equipment; he peered tat the screen of the camera, the couch was dead center of the frame. Behind the couch there was a potted plant with splashy green bay leaves. The wall behind the wall was unscathed and was a lighter maroon color that matched the fluffy throw pillows on the light brown cushioned couch with a black leather base.
He dismounted the camera and began to scroll through the pictures on the camera reel, and lo and behold, there she was; Darya posed on the couch with smiles and winks in the same yellow bikini she showed up in with in the cold night before, scared and desperate.
As he was flicking through the pictures the rancid smell grew warmer and the smell more pungent. He heard something of weight slowly pounding on the hardwood floor behind him, like the footsteps of a lethargic and obese person. He could feel a constant gust of warm air on the back of his neck, humid and hot like tropical air of Okinawa; there, on an Air Force base, Jimmy was born. Jimmy stood frozen and on edge with the hilt of the gun grasped tightly in his grip, his finger on the trigger; someone or something, hell if he knew, was in the room with him. Maybe it was hell itself.
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