Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller., Marie Reyes [latest books to read .TXT] 📗

on the label. This was it. A huge surge of relief rose within him, and despite the morbid nature of his purchase, he felt elated and had to resist the urge to do a little happy dance in the middle of the store. Somehow — he thought the hard part was over. He couldn’t get over the fact that this drug people call, death in a bottle, wasn’t even behind the counter, and that anyone could walk in and buy it. Even though it was perfectly legal in Mexico, his throat was as dry as the desert as he walked towards the counter with his box.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any questions. As casually as he could muster, he put the box down in front of the woman and reached for his wallet. He tried to look directly at her, like she had nothing to be suspicious of, but her eyes lingered on him for longer than he would have liked. He couldn’t maintain eye-contact any longer, and she took his tattered note and ran it through the cash register. He snatched up the change that she placed on the counter and a coin slipped through his fingers. The sound of the edge of the coin striking the floor seemed deafening in the quiet store, and Michael cringed as the sound of it rolling across the ground seemed to go on forever.

“Los siento. Gracias.” He grabbed the box of pentobarbital and rushed to the door, leaving the runaway coin on the floor. Once outside, he didn’t stop. He power-walked across the road until he was a safe distance away, propped himself up against a wall and took a deep breath.

“You did it,” he said to himself as he unzipped his backpack and stashed the package right at the bottom. Now he could relax.

Chapter Three

The hostel was a breath of fresh air and Michael was glad to be done with Tijuana and Mexico City. His plan was to work his way overland, finishing up in Cancún, and he was now in the charming city of Puebla. He sat on one of the unstable wicker chairs which made up the hostel’s collection of eclectic furniture and placed his cold beer on the wooden table in front of him, coated in the remnants of people’s sticky drinks. Music from one of the other guest’s phones drifted across the rooftop terrace as he looked out over the city, his eyes drawn to the towering spires of the cathedral. He lifted his drink, almost bringing the table up with it, and wondered what the hell had been spilled on it, glue?

A chill ran through him as a breeze brushed passed. It was the first time since he arrived in Mexico that he hadn’t been hot, and it took him a moment to remember why. The altitude made Puebla a much cooler place. There was something about gazing over the colonial architecture as the light changed that made him feel at ease for the first time since he had got there. Colorful Talavera tiles ran along the side of the bar, mesmerizing him with their patterns.

“Do you mind if I sit?” A girl asked. Her two friends stood behind her. She had an accent he couldn’t place, definitely European though.

“Go for it.” He nudged the chair out for her with his foot as her friends gathered two more spare chairs from other tables. She sat down, placed her pack of cigarettes on the table and tucked her mousy blonde hair behind her ear.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

Ah yes, the standard traveler questions. Where are you from? Where have you been? Where are you going next? It beat people asking what you did for a living, a question he never liked giving the answer to. There was no way to make data entry sound exciting.

“I was born in California, but I’ve lived in lots of different states in my time.”

“Oh cool,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she was feigning interest, but she seemed genuine enough.

“And you?” He watched her light up her cigarette.

“I am Anna, from Denmark.”

“I’m Michael, nice to meet you.” He took a sip of his beer so he would have something to do with his hands.

As her friends sat down, they introduced themselves. Freja and Aleksander. He tried to commit their names to memory. With a glint in his eyes, Aleksander pulled out a tattered pack of cards from his pocket. “Anyone fancy a drinking game?” A broad smile spread across his face. Michael wasn’t sure what it was, but he instantly liked this guy. “I have a little something.” He pulled out a bottle of some piss-colored liquid from the rucksack that rested at his feet.

“I’m in.” Michael could do with a little social lubricant. He watched as Aleksander arranged the cards in a circle, with a gap in the middle in which he positioned a tall glass. “I know this one. Kings?”

“Kings, ring of fire. It has many names. You pick the first card.”

“Why thank you.” He teased a card out from the ring. “King.” He held the card out for everyone to see and made a discard pile. He dribbled some beer into the glass in the center of the table for some unlucky person to drink later.

Anna slipped a card out and looked blankly. “I don’t know what this one is?” Her delicate features scrunched up in confusion.

“Nine is rhyme.” Aleksander said.

“Ah, okay. So I just say any word?”

“Anna, we played the other day. Do you not remember?”

“Too many rules. Okay, okay. Um.”

“Just pick a word.” Freja laughed. “Okay, I think we need a drink while you think rule. You’re taking so long.”

“Okay. Beer. Beer is the word.”

They went around the group: deer, steer, career, tear, queer, shear. Michael was stumped after that and gladly accepted defeat with a burning shot of tequila washed down with a swig of beer. Freja was next and drew a five. Thumb master. Next Aleksander drew a four. “Whores!” He