2025-02-24 20:15:19Searching for the Past
The drive to Darren’s place felt longer than it should have. Maybe it was the unease twisting in my gut or the memories stirring like ghosts in the backseat. Darren Cole wasn’t just an old military buddy—he was the one person who had my back when the world turned against me. If anyone could help me make sense of the chaos unraveling around me, it was him. But when I reached the spot where his house should have been, my breath hitched. There was nothing. No mailbox, no picket fence, not even the cracked driveway where we used to sit and drink beer after deployments. Just an empty lot overgrown with weeds, as if no one had lived there in years. A deep chill crept up my spine. This wasn’t right. I killed the engine and stepped out, my boots crunching against the gravel. The air felt too still, the silence too perfect. I walked to where his front porch should’ve been, kneeling to brush my fingers against the dirt. No remnants of a foundation. No signs of demolition. It was like the house had never existed. “This can’t be real,” I muttered, raking a hand through my hair. My pulse pounded in my ears. Had I taken a wrong turn? Was I losing my mind? A throat cleared behind me. I spun on my heel, my hand already reaching for the weight of my concealed pistol. An old man stood at the edge of the lot, leaning against a cane. Despite the deep wrinkles carving his face, his eyes were sharp. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said. “Maybe I have.” My voice came out rough. “There was a house here. Darren Cole lived in it. What happened?” His expression darkened. “Son, there was never a Darren Cole living here.” I stiffened. “That’s not possible.” The man sighed, shifting his weight. “Lived in this neighborhood for fifty years. I’d remember a Cole.” I took a step forward, gripping onto something I couldn’t explain. “I’ve been here. I’ve sat on his damn porch. We had beers right here.” The old man shook his head. “You sure you got the right place?” I scanned the street, my heart hammering. The trees, the curve of the road, even the distant sound of a barking dog—it was all familiar. I wasn’t wrong. Something was wrong with reality. I yanked out my phone and scrolled to Darren’s number. Pressed dial. Straight to voicemail. I tried again. Same result. “I don’t understand,” I murmured. Darren wasn’t just missing—his entire existence had been wiped clean. The old man gave me a look that was equal parts pity and caution. “Might wanna get some rest, son. You look like you’ve been through hell.” Hell didn’t even begin to cover it. I nodded tightly as he turned and shuffled away. My mind was spinning, grasping at any explanation. This was deliberate. Someone wanted Darren erased—from history, from memory, from my life. But why? And more importantly… who? A cold weight settled in my chest. I climbed back into my car, my fingers gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. There was only one other place to check—the bar we used to haunt. If Darren had left any breadcrumbs, that was where I’d find them. The bar was the same as always. Dim lighting, the scent of spilled whiskey, the low hum of conversations meant to be forgotten by morning. The bartender barely looked up as I walked in, but a few old-timers gave me the once-over. I slid onto a stool at the counter. “Whiskey. Neat.” The bartender poured without a word, sliding the glass over. I downed it in one go, feeling the burn claw its way down my throat. Then I asked the question gnawing at my gut. “You remember Darren Cole?” The bartender’s hand hesitated just slightly as he reached for another glass. “Can’t say I do.” Liar. I leaned in. “You sure? Big guy, military cut, used to come here with me.” He wiped the counter, eyes flicking toward the far end of the bar. “I said no.” Tension coiled in my chest. Either this guy was scared, or someone had warned him. I set a crisp hundred on the bar. “Think harder.” The bartender exhaled through his nose, then leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Look, man, you should let this go.” I clenched my jaw. “I don’t let things go.” His eyes darted around the room before he muttered, “A couple of months back, some suits came asking about him. Next day? His place was gone. Wiped. Like he never existed.” A chill shot through me. “Who were they?” The bartender shook his head. “Didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know.” I dragged a hand down my face, frustration brewing like a storm. Darren had been taken. Or worse. And whoever did it had serious power. Enough to erase records, manipulate memories, and make people afraid to even say his name. And now they knew I was looking. I stood, tossing another bill on the counter. “If you hear anything—” “I won’t,” he said grimly. I stepped out into the night. The air was thick with the scent of rain, thunder rumbling in the distance. Then my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I hesitated, then answered. “Yeah?” A low voice came through, barely a whisper. “Stop digging.” My blood ran cold. “Who is this?” Silence. Then the line went dead. I stared at the screen, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. This was bigger than I thought. But if they believed I was going to stop—they didn’t know me at all. I slid into my car, my muscles coiled with tension. Darren was out there somewhere. And I was going to find him. No matter what it took. Even if it killed me.
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