Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller. by Marie Reyes (the false prince series txt) 📗

He recognized that voice. The one full of uncertainty, yet the words told a different story. The voice that says your fine when someone asks, the voice that is anything but fine. It was almost unnoticeable at first—until it wasn’t. Michael could step unimpeded. The trees started becoming more and more spaced out. The thick carpet of plants that lined the forest floor thinned until there was just dirt under his feet. It was only when Josie turned the display of her phone on, that the path revealed itself to them. Michael stopped and sighed with relief.

“We’re still in the middle of nowhere.” She looked around to decide which direction to head. “Do you think the police could tell where we are from tracking my cell, because I have no idea.” She held her phone up to the sky, checking the signal bar.

Just as Michael registered a distant rumbling sound, a flash of light blinded him and he held up his arm to shield his face, the beam illuminating them like a spot-light. “Get back.” He dragged Josie towards the trees as a truck came down the road. “What if it’s him?”

“Different car.” Josie pulled away and waved her arms over her head, making the pickup slow down, before finally coming to a stop in front of them.

“Lost. Err… Nostotros estamos perdidas.” Josie’s words echoed down the lonely road.

The man got out of the truck and walked over to them. His face looked tired, like someone after a long day at work, someone who could not be bothered with whatever drama they had to throw his way. The light from the car cast shadows over his face, accentuating the deep lines around his eyes. “Subir al camion.”

“What did he say?” Michael asked Josie, but she looked as confused as him.

“Que?” she got closer.

“My English is not so good.” He said looking bewildered as to what they were doing in the woods, in the dark.

Michael stood by as they tried to understand each other and spoke to each other in a jumble of Spanish and English.

“He says we can stay with him and his wife tonight, just down the road. He said we can eat. Sleep. I didn’t want to complicate things by mentioning the police, or what happened. He seems nice. Legit.” She spoke emphatically in her desperation to convince him.

“I don’t know Josie.”

“Well, what do you suggest? We’re more in danger out here. Out in the open. At least if we go with him we can rest up. Sort this shit out in the morning. He’s not going to wait forever.”

“Fine.” Michael felt like he could sleep forever. His heavy legs desperate to give way beneath him.

“Gracias, muchos gracias.” Michael tried to express his gratitude, but came up short. He opened the heavy door to sit in the front passenger seat and Josie got in the back. The driver introduced himself as Mateo, and he and Josie talked while Michael spaced out and looked out the window. They had barely driven two minutes before Mateo’s small house came into view. A little dog ran towards the truck, barking and bounding playfully. Mateo parked up and opened the driver’s side door. “Abajo. Picco, no. Abajo,” he said to the dog as it jumped up at his legs.

“Say hola to Picco.” He picked up the dog under one arm. It had the glistening, bulging eyes of a chihuahua, but crossed with some other breed.

“Hola Picco.” Josie leaned in and petted the dog on the head. “Buen chico.” She had a big, goofy grin. Michael could barely believe she had let her guard down so quickly, as if they hadn’t almost died earlier.

As they walked through the front door, they could hear the high-pitched wails of a baby crying, and the sounds of a mother desperately trying to soothe it. Picco jumped up and down, yapping. Steam emanated from the kitchen where the sound of a pot bubbling and savory smells filled the air. Rustic and full of life. Michael dodged some building blocks that littered the floor.

Mateo shouted into the kitchen. “Tenemos invitados.”

A woman emerged. Her full cheeks bright red from the heat of the kitchen. She rested the child on her hip. “Hola.” She looked bewildered, and Mateo filled her in. “No hablo Ingles Me llamo Gabriela.” She spoke softly, and Michael could already feel his guard go down.

Josie introduced herself, and Michael nodded along like he knew what she was saying. Gabriela seemed to accept whatever Josie was saying graciously and got her to work setting the table.

“Can I do anything?” Michael asked.

“You could watch the baby while she finishes cooking.”

“Um. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He tried to temper the look of terror that was inevitably in his eyes.

“Okay. You put these out. I’ll look after the baby.” She handed him a pile of plates.

Michael put the plates on the table and placed one at each seat whilst trying to remember which side of the plate the knife and fork went. People always laughed at him for putting them on the wrong side, even though he was right-handed. It occurred to him that none of this even mattered and couldn’t help but laugh that he was worrying about something so insignificant. Gabriela emerged from the kitchen again, carrying two pots, and smiled at him as she put them in the center of the wooden table. There was something ceremonious about laying out the table. They’d even put out a tablecloth. This is just how Michael had imagined it—family.

They all sat down to a dinner of squash and beans in a rich brown sauce with warm tortillas. Despite how delicious it tasted and smelled, it was hard to get down. The left-over adrenaline wouldn’t allow him to let his guard down. Eating wasn’t allowed in fight-or-flight mode.

In-between bites, Josie babbled incoherent baby talk to the child next to her and smiled as the mother attempted to try to get at least some of the food in