Chapter 115 - Chapter 115: The Eraser

​The beam of my flashlight pinned Pierre to the rusted metal table like a broken insect. The white glare washed out whatever remaining color he had left, highlighting the dark, viscous blood leaking from his nose and the corners of his mouth. He looked pathetic. The concrete walls of the abandoned warehouse sweated with damp mold, and the heavy San Francisco rain drummed a relentless, rhythmic beat against the corrugated iron roof far above us. The air smelled of rust, stagnant river water, and the sharp, copper tang of open wounds. This was the shadow who had orchestrated the kidnapping of my wife, the man who had pulled the trigger at the political gala on a poor innocent fifteen-year-old girl, now reduced to a wheezing heap of meat and shattered bone on a dirty plastic tarpaulin.