Murder in the Magic City: A Micah Brantley Story by G.P. Sorrells (top 10 books to read .TXT) 📕

“Fisher Island. Star Isl… wait a second, Fisher Island. There’s something there.” Vivian began tapping incessantly on the desktop. It was as if she were in a trance, unable to connect with the outside world until she solved the puzzle that kept her locked in the void. “Castillo isn’t the head honcho. It’s foolish to think every hit would come from his word and his alone.” She stopped the tapping immediately, opened a new tab on her computer, and typed Carlos Medina into the search bar. Another wall of text filled the screen beside the mugshot of arguably the most dangerous man in all South Florida. Despite the wealth of information, chronicling everything the department knew about the man who had made life hell for law enforcement officers in South Florida for the past few decades, one item stuck out to Vivian. Something familiar though, at the moment, felt like she was seeing it for the first time.

Residence: Fisher Island

“Bingo.”

Chapter 44

Sheridan lay in a near-comatose state on the gurney, oblivious to the loosening of the restraints holding his extremities in place. His body moved away from its perch in the center of the circular room. The world around him felt static, as though everything in existence were nothing more than paint on canvas. Movement just a trick of the mind. He hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. The thought of what was outside the room, and the compound that was his prison, had become so foreign to him he wondered if the sun had ceased to exist. Truth be told, he considered the possibility that he would never see it again. Even if it were to hang high in the sky for all of eternity, never dipping below the horizon, his eyes wouldn’t fall upon it.

He found himself convinced, as the days turned into weeks, that it was his destiny to live the life of another for the rest of his days. No longer did he hold tight to the illusion of free will. It made him want to end things. To force the message and allow himself to drift off into whatever lay beyond this nightmare he found himself trapped inside of. But that, too, was impossible.

And so, he resigned himself to what felt inevitable. Sticking with the shit sandwich that life had served him and eating it without hesitation. Eventually, he had reasoned with himself, in the moments of clarity that still seemed to crop up from time to time, he would have the chance to escape. The opportunity to do something more. This, he felt certain, was the closest thing to a path in life he had left. Whether it existed didn’t matter near as much as his hope that something better lay in wait.

“All right, Mr. Sheridan,” said the nurse whose presence he had all but forgotten. The gurney had rolled to a stop at an examination room that looked as though it belonged on the set of a superhero flick. Sheridan was so engrossed with the high-tech machinery surrounding him, he hadn’t even noticed he was now alone. There were countless banks of computers and enough chairs to suggest this room often housed a considerable staff. But it was conspicuously empty.

“What the hell is this place?”

“I like to think of it as the nucleus.”

Sheridan whipped his head around in time to see Jacob Hurst walk into the room. A sense of dread came over him; a uniquely uncomfortable feeling he couldn’t quite quantify. It did not surprise part of him to see Hurst–nor was he as confused as to Hurst’s assertion of his identity. That part just wanted out of this hell. A smaller part of him, though, one threatening to make its voice heard, to overtake the very fabric of his being, looked at the man in the suit with disdain. A sort of curiosity intertwined with a desire to exact revenge. For what? It wasn’t quite clear.

“My god, Ross, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Sheridan leered at him. Hurst sat down on a stool across the room, a file in his hand, and rolled a flimsy examination table between them. He placed the file on top but left it closed. The word CLASSIFIED was plastered across it in a garish crimson font. “I trust we can handle this like gentleman, yes? No need to put those pesky restraints back in place. Though, if you’d prefer it that way, I can certainly see to it they’re adjusted accordingly.”

Sheridan saw nothing at first. He continued to stare, hoping to breakdown the wall between them. To see what it was about Hurst that they expected him to have any sort of faith in. But nothing put his mind at ease. “What do you want with me?”

“I had hoped we could be a bit more cordial toward one another, but we can certainly be curt, if that’s more your speed.”

“Hard to be civil when you strap me to this fucking table for god knows how long.” Sheridan wanted to throw a punch. To stand up and give Hurst a piece of his mind. But he felt weak. Unable to do anything but lay down, strapped to a glorified board, it was hard to feel anything else. In the end, he opted to let the scowl on his face do the talking.

“I apologize for the less than stellar accommodations. We must be judicious regarding how we budget the money allotted to us. I will pass along your concerns when we discuss next year’s budget with the powers that be. Perhaps we can spring for better cushions. If not on the gurney, at least something a touch softer on the restraints.”

“No need to patronize me. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’m your prisoner.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Hurst said. He stood up abruptly and paced the room like a university professor amid a truly enlightening discussion on Earth’s place within the