My Hockey Alpha
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My friends and I often visited the area to go shopping at the mall that was there.
“What is it?” I asked.
Without responding to my question, he pulled out his phone and handed it to me. On the screen was an image, and as the image came into focus, a chill ran down my spine.
It was Edward.
He sat in an old pickup truck in the parking lot of a gas station, the rusted body and chipped paintwork of the vehicle evident even in the grainy photo. Edward looked different—a thick beard covered his face, and a tattered baseball cap sat askew on his head.