He spent fifteen years looking for his missing girlfriend—but he wasn’t prepared for the monster he had to become to avenge her.
The Cold Angel
The static of fifteen years cleared with a single, overlooked detail.
Tom Fallon stared at the faded Polaroid of Sara’s abandoned bicycle. In the bottom left corner, barely visible beneath a layer of roadside grime, was a distinctive, rusted chrome hubcap. Avery Jones’s old truck. The lead detective back then had dismissed Avery as a harmless town eccentric, but Tom’s modern, relentless eyes saw the truth. Avery hadn’t just been passing by; he had stopped. He had taken her.
Tom’s thumb traced Sara’s laughing face in his worn wallet photo. Fifteen years of unyielding guilt and frozen grief melted into a searing, white-hot focus. The justice system was a bureaucratic machine that chewed up lives and spat out plea deals. Avery Jones didn’t deserve a sterile courtroom, a taxpayer-funded defense, or a comfortable cell. He deserved the void he had violently thrust Sara into.
The night was suffocatingly quiet when Tom parked two blocks away from Avery’s secluded cabin. The air smelled of damp pine and impending rain. Tom slipped his service weapon into his holster, but his fingers lingered on the heavy iron tire iron in his tactical bag. An eye for an eye. An angel of vengeance didn’t read Miranda rights.
He crossed the threshold of the porch, the floorboards groaning softly under his weight. Through the grimy window, he saw Avery—now frail, gray, and unsuspecting—watching TV. Tom placed his hand on the doorknob. It turned with a sickening click. He stepped inside, the shadows swallowing him whole. He raised the iron, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. This was for Sara.
Then, a floorboard snapped behind him.
Finish the Story
Does Tom execute his dark version of justice, or does a voice from his past—or a trap from the present—stop him before he crosses the line? How does Tom’s quest for vengeance end? The final choice is yours.
