Page 29 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 28

Frankie

The Past

The sound of gunshots still echoes in my ears as I stumble through the maintenance tunnel, each step stretching into eternity in perfect darkness. My legs, weak from years of forced inactivity, threaten to give out with every movement. Behind me, dogs’ barking grows closer, their howls bouncing off concrete walls in a terrible chorus.

Dr. Chen’s last words burn in my mind: Live. Really live. Three gunshots had followed, the sound still ringing in my head. Through the drug haze dulling my essence, I felt the moment his life ended. Another death I’ve caused. Another person destroyed because they tried to help me.

The darkness presses in, empty where it once welcomed me. Valerie’s careful cocktail of drugs and starvation did more than weaken my body—it stripped away my connection to shadow essence itself. Where my wolves once prowled, there’s only hollow silence.

I stumble forward, one hand trailing along rough concrete to stay upright. The dogs sound closer now, their barking taking on that excited tone of predators closing in on weak prey. No shadow wolves to protect me this time. No power to draw on. Just my own fragile body and desperate will to survive.

The tunnel ends abruptly at a metal door, its surface rust-rough under my trembling fingers. Beyond it lies the parking structure Dr. Chen mentioned—and hopefully, the promised car. If it’s really there. If this isn’t another elaborate test. Another way for Valerie to break me.

The car sits exactly where Dr. Chen said it would be: an older sedan, unremarkable in every way. Perfect for disappearing. If I can even drive it.

My hands shake as I retrieve the keys from under the mat, still warm from being hidden there. Five years in the asylum. Before that, foster homes where no one bothered teaching me anything useful. I’ve never even sat behind a wheel.

The dogs’ barking echoes through the parking structure now, closer than before. The sound carries memories of other hunts, other times Valerie’s “pets” tracked down runners. I can’t end up like them. Can’t let Dr. Chen’s sacrifice be for nothing.

No time to hesitate. No time for doubt. I yank the door open and slide behind the wheel, muscle memory from watching others guiding my movements. Key in ignition. Right pedal for go, left for stop. Simple.

God, please let it be simple.

The engine roars to life on my first try, making me jump. Lights flash at the tunnel entrance—searchers with their dogs, getting closer. My heart slams against my ribs as I grab what I hope is the gear shift and yank it down through the letters until it stops at D.

The car lurches forward, engine protesting as I slam the gas pedal too hard. I barely miss a concrete pillar, the steering wheel fighting my desperate grip. Behind me, shouts replace barking. A gunshot cracks, then another.

I press the pedal to the floor.

The car shoots forward like a panicked animal, tires screaming as I take the parking structure’s spiral ramp at a speed that lifts the right wheels off the ground. The steering wheel fights me with every turn. Sweat soaks the clothes Dr. Chen gave me, his last gift stained with his blood. But I hold on, guiding the car through sheer determination and blind terror.

Daylight hits like a physical blow as I burst out of the structure. I squint against it, tears streaming from light-sensitive eyes after years in controlled darkness. The road blurs ahead, but I can’t stop. Can’t slow down. Can’t let them take me back to that place.

Something beeps angrily as I merge onto what I hope is the highway, other cars swerving to avoid my erratic path. The engine makes concerning noises as I keep the pedal pressed down. None of that matters.

I’m out.

I’m free.

And I’ll learn whatever I need to—driving, fighting, surviving—to stay that way.

The asylum disappears behind me, taking Dr. Chen’s body and five years of my life with it. But something else disappears too: the last traces of the girl I used to be. The one who thought help might come. Who believed in justice. Who waited for rescue.

That girl died in the asylum.

What emerges is something else entirely. Something with sharp edges and sharper purpose. A creature born of darkness and survival, of broken trust and spilled blood.

The car swerves again as I overcorrect, horns blasting in my wake. But I keep going. Because that’s what Dr. Chen died for. Because that’s what survivors do.

We drive through the fear.

We become what we need to be.

We live.

Really live.