Chapter 8: A Big Day for Carter

I thought I’d give everyone a peek into Chapter 8. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from Carter and today’s a big day for him.

Do you have any guesses yet as to how his story might be tied to Louise’s?

It’ not too late to subscribe. Each week I send out a link to all the previous chapters, as well. (This week, it’s at the end of the email for any subscribers needing to catch up.)

Chapter 8

Tuesday, August 24, 1943

St. Louis, Missouri

The familiar scrape of steel on steel yanked Carter from his sleep. A heartbeat later, the barred door slammed against the wall with a clang loud enough to wake the dead.

The dormitory lay nearly pitch black, save for a single light buzzing in the long corridor beyond.

Carter ground the heels of his hands against his eyes before glancing toward the high windows.

Not a trace of dawn.

Far too early for the morning wake-up call.

Around him, men groaned and cursed beneath their breath. Some propped themselves on an elbow while others remained motionless, waiting for instructions.

A guard stood in the doorway, a clipboard tucked beneath one arm. “Michael Patrick Carter.”

Carter rubbed a hand across his face and pushed himself upright on the narrow cot. The springs creaked beneath his weight. “Sir?”

“You’re up.”

The room groaned as most of the men settled back into their beds. Several heads turned his direction. Jinx offered a slight wave. Another muttered, “Lucky dog.”

A few remained awake as Carter rolled his blanket into a tight bundle, but the orchestra of discordant snores that followed suggested most weren’t about to waste precious sleep on a departing inmate.

Across the room, Alvin Rafeli swung his legs over the side of his cot.

Carter caught his eye just as Rafeli rolled up his sleeve, exposing the black spider tattoo that represented the very reason Carter was in the St. Louis Workhouse to begin with.

With the slightest nod, Carter tugged up his own sleeve. The crude figure-eight carved into his skin had nearly healed. Soon he’d cover it with the Iron Web’s infamous spider tattoo. Rafeli had already given him the name of the tattoo parlor the syndicate used.