Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3), Brett Battles [best books to read in your 20s TXT] 📗

park, the entrance has signs warning us to keep our distance from others. It’s almost laughable. While the campground probably has more than a hundred spots, I count only eight of them being used, each space far from other campers.

Our spot puts us on the northwest end, our closest neighbors a couple of sedans parked together with three tents set up behind them. They’re about fifty meters to the south, and about the same distance to the east is a big Winnebago RV. You know the type—as large as a bus? It makes our Travato, which is also a Winnebago, look like a VW Bug.

Since this is a vacation, my first order of business is to take a nap.

Don’t judge me. In my day job—and often on my little side projects—I get very little sleep, so I’ve learned to grab it when I can.

When I wake, the sun is much lower in the sky, and Jar has a fire going in the pit a few meters outside the Travato’s door. She’s looking at her computer and sitting in one of the foldout chairs that came with the camper.

I grab one of the books I’ve brought along and head out to join her.

The temperature has dropped several degrees, and while it’s still nice enough, I welcome the warmth of the fire as I plop into the chair next to Jar.

“Hey,” I say.

She grunts a hello without taking her gaze off her screen.

She’s engrossed in a movie or TV show of some sort. I glance at it for a few seconds to see if I can figure out what it is, but it’s not familiar. I open my book, The Midnight Library by Matt Haig, and start to read.

I’ve probably polished off ten pages when I hear Liz’s voice say, Take a walk.

I grimace and try to focus on the book.

Now would be good, Liz says.

It’s kind of weird having your dead girlfriend living in your head. Especially when you’re sitting next to your new girlfriend, who’s not really your girlfriend, though kind of, but not really, but maybe.

Sometimes I think my life’s a mess.

Now, Liz says.

I push out of my chair and set my book on it.

Jar taps her space bar, stopping the video, and removes one of her wireless earbuds. “Where are you going?”

“Need to stretch my legs. Thought I’d go for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She closes her computer and gets up.

As Jar walks over to put her computer in the Travato, Liz says, Please.

I scoop some dirt onto the fire to put it out as I ask in my head, Which way?

Instead of receiving an answer in words, I feel a pull to the north. It’s not strong, but it’s definitely there. It’s also completely my imagination. I mean, it has to be, right? I’m not really being haunted by Liz’s ghost, so she can’t possibly be using her “paranormal” abilities to guide me anywhere.

That would be ridiculous.

And yet, as I’ve learned over the many months when she’s been talking to me again, it’s better to heed her suggestions so I head north.

I hear the Travato door close behind me and Jar jogging to catch up with me.

When she reaches me, she hands me a face mask and asks, “Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, pulling the bands over my ears.

I can feel her giving me a sideways look but I don’t react. Like I said, Jar doesn’t know about Liz.

Wait. Let me rephrase.

She does know who Liz was. Knows about the relationship Liz and I had. She was there when Liz was shot about a year and a half ago. But if she knows about Liz and my continued conversations, she has never let on. Besides, she’d think I’m crazy.

Hell, even I think I’m crazy.

We take a path north out of the campground, toward the canyon rim. When we reach a fork, Liz’s tug pulls me to the left.

It would be a lie to say I’m not getting a little anxious. The last time Liz led me down a trail like this, I ended up finding a dead body. I’d prefer not to do that again.

The path, which has been concrete to this point, narrows as it transitions to packed dirt. The brush to either side is filled with the budding green of spring growth. I can almost feel the pollen in the air, and remind myself to take an allergy pill when we get back to the camper so that I don’t end up sneezing all night.

The path forks again, the main trail continuing straight west, while a smaller, less used one veers off a bit more to the north. Unsure which way Liz wants me to go, I slow my pace.

North, she finally says.

“This way,” I tell Jar, and swing onto the smaller path.

I can feel Jar’s gaze on my back, but I choose to believe this is because the new path has forced us to walk single file, rather than because she’s wondering about my sanity.

I get a glimpse of the canyon through a gap in the brush. It can’t be more than thirty meters to our right.

I silently ask, What are we doing here?

Typical of Liz, she does not answer. Maybe she thought I needed some exercise.

Then I hear a voice. It’s coming from somewhere ahead and is barely audible above the rustle of wind through the brush.

“What was that?” Jar asks.

She’s heard it, too. I didn’t think it was Liz’s voice but it’s nice to know for sure.

“I don’t know,” I say.

When we hear it again a few seconds later, I note a tone of panic I didn’t pick up before. Both Jar and I start to run at the same time.

I’m not sure if it’s due to the sound of our feet or the person has stopped talking, but I don’t hear the voice anymore. I’m not even sure exactly where it came from. We’ve gone twenty meters already and it’s possible we’ve already passed it.

Then Liz says, Here.

I