Chapter 9 - THE THIRD EYE
The man let out a furious roar as he realized the boy had escaped into the current. He stood up, releasing his grip on my throat, and drew a heavy tactical knife from his belt, intending to follow the riverbank downstream to catch Noah before the current carried him past the park boundary.
I couldn't let him leave.
With the last ounce of my strength, I reached out, grabbing his ankle and pulling hard. He tripped, falling backward into the shallow mud near the bank, his knife flying into the dark water. Before he could recover, the bright, blinding high-beams of a heavy duty vehicle cut through the trees above the boat launch.
The loud, unmistakable roar of a modified diesel engine echoed through the park.
A massive Ford F-250 truck tore down the concrete boat ramp, its tires throwing up a massive spray of river water and gravel. The driver’s side door swung open before the vehicle even came to a complete stop.
A man stepped out—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a faded canvas work jacket and holding a heavy iron tire iron. It was Tommy, my uncle's longtime friend and the former head of security for our family's old lumber firm. Noah had found him at the park entrance just in time.
"Get away from her," Tommy growled, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had spent thirty years handling rough crowds in the Oregon timber camps.
The man in the tactical jacket looked at Tommy, looked at the heavy truck, then looked at me, realizing he was now outnumbered and outgunned in the dark forest. Without another word, he turned and vanished into the thick undergrowth along the riverbank, disappearing into the night.
Tommy rushed down the bank, helping me lift myself out of the mud. I was shivering violently, my ribs aching from the blow, but my only thought was for the boy.
"Noah..." I gasped, coughing up river water. "Where's Noah?"
The passenger door of the truck opened, and Noah climbed out, completely soaked but holding the military hard case securely against his chest. He ran down the bank, throwing his arms around my neck, his small body warm against my freezing skin.
"I found him, Emily," he cried. "I found the lady with two eyes."
Tommy helped us both into the warm cab of his truck, cranking the heater up to its maximum setting. As the warmth began to return to my frozen limbs, I pulled Megan’s note out of my wet pocket. The paper was damp, but the ink was still legible.
You have to find the third eye, Emily. Remember the summer of 2014. Remember the pier.
I stared at the words, the realization suddenly hitting me like a physical blow. Twelve years ago, during the summer of 2014, Megan and I had taken a road trip to the old Astoria pier. We had spent an afternoon sitting on the edge of the wooden planks, watching the ships pass under the bridge. Megan had used an old Polaroid camera to take a photo of us—a photo where she had drawn a silly, third eye on the middle of my forehead with a blue marker, laughing and saying I was the only one who could see the future.
That photo wasn't lost. It was still sitting in the small wooden jewelry box inside my Portland apartment—the apartment Investigator Vance was currently watching.
"Tommy," I said, looking at the rugged face of my uncle's friend. "We need to go back to Portland. We need to go to my apartment."
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"Emily, that's suicide," Tommy said, his hands tight on the wheel. "Those corporate thugs will be crawling all over your place."
"They'll be looking for us outside," I said, my voice hardening as the final pieces of Megan's puzzle fell into place. "But they don't know the layout of the old building. There's a disused coal chute in the basement that connects to the alley behind the bakery. We can get in without anyone seeing us. The decryption key for the entire ledger is hidden inside that photo frame. It's the only way to save Megan."
