After I Died, He Truly Panicked
Maxwell’s hand gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles pale, while I stared out the window, watching the city blur into something colder and more forgotten as we got closer to the outskirts.
The building wasn’t much to look at, a squat structure of white brick and rusted signage, tucked between an abandoned auto shop and a vacant lot. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and old smoke.
We pushed open the doors and walked to the front counter. A man sat there, hunched over a ledger, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He looked up, startled at first, then wary.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Maxwell stepped forward, his tone polite but firm. “We’re looking for information. About
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