The evening was cool. The scent of smoke weighed heavy in the air. The home of his youth laid in a ruin of ash and ember. It had been a day since the explosion. Someone had wanted him dead, and wanted to keep whatever secrets that house once held from coming to light.
His mind raced replaying the events of the last few days. Someone didn’t want him back in town, but if he wasn’t meant to find answers, then why had his father’s church called at all? He would have been at peace with letting that man rot alone. Perhaps whoever was behind the madness was behind the whole reason he had been called back home. Perhaps someone wanted Marcus out of the way for good.
Crossing the police tape he walked through the ruins sifting through rubble and debris. Stopping in what once had been his fathers room he kicked over a door frame. There in the ash was a gray metal box no larger than a jewelry box.
Carefully he picked through broken glass and splintered wood pulling the metal box free from the wreckage. On the lid a pentagram surrounded by strange archaic symbols had been engraved.
“What the hell?”
He stashed the box under his arm and rushed to his car. His instincts told him the box contained secrets he was not supposed to learn, and he needed to investigate his find in a safer location.
The engine roared to life and rubber screamed against pavement as he sped out of the neighborhood.