Sleeper Cell Super Boxset by Roger Hayden, James Hunt Page A

“You and I both know you’re not supposed to be here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
    “Listen, I know when my visitation times are, but you have to listen to me—”
    “Mr. Turk, if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call the police. Now, please leave.”
    The driver shifted the car into reverse. “Hey!” Dylan smacked the back of his seat. “Do not move this car.” The driver stopped and threw his hands up into the air. “Hey, buddy, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just trying to make sure neither of us go to jail.”
    Dylan opened the door and stepped out. The security officer backed up and headed for his post. “That’s it. I’m calling the cops.” Before he could even pick up the phone, Dylan was on him, shoving the overweight, minimum-wage, glorified mall cop up against the wall. The taxi driver immediately peeled off, his tires squealing, not even bothering to collect his fare.
    “Listen to me!” Dylan scrunched his face in a combination of pain and anger while the security guard looked at him in horror. “I need to get my family out of this place. Now! So open the gate.” The guard absentmindedly reached over to the gate’s control panel. A buzz sounded, and the clank of the gate’s chain pulled the piece of iron open. “Thank you.” Dylan shoved the guard off of him then sprinted into the community.
    Dylan’s forearm pulsed where the pirate had cut him open earlier. He glanced down to make sure the stitches weren’t tearing and was greeted by the uncomforting sign of blood soaking through his shirt sleeve. Dylan shook it off and kept up the run, his body and mind still screaming for a rest after the long night, but Dylan unwilling to comply.
    A few of the neighbors were just getting up, walking out to grab their morning papers. Dylan ignored the hasty stares and turned onto Cover Street, his eyes on the seventh house on the left. He cut through the yard and didn’t bother slowing down when he made it to the front door, slamming his body and fists into the thick oak door. “Evelyn!” He beat his fists on the wood paneling with a violent fervor, his heart pounding like a jackhammer.
    Another round of pounding, and Dylan watched the foyer light turn on, and Peter, Evelyn’s new husband, opened the door, still tying up his robe. “Dylan, what the hell are you doing?”
    Dylan pushed Peter aside, still sweating and panting, his sweltering body feeling the cold rush of the A/C inside the house. He spun around, looking up to the second floor, where he knew his children were. “Sean! Mary! Come down here now!”
    Peter grabbed Dylan’s shoulder and violently shoved him around, his glasses almost flying off his face from the force. “Dylan, get out of my house before I call the police.” Dylan tried wrenching himself free, but Peter refused to let go. Dylan grabbed Peter’s wrist and twisted it hard, forcing the man to release his hold.
    “Dylan!” Evelyn rushed down the stairs, her black hair bouncing at her shoulders. “You need to leave. Now.” She blocked the staircase so he couldn’t ascend, but then Dylan saw Mary peek her head out behind the corner of the wall at the top of the second floor.
    “Mary! Go get dressed, honey, and come downstairs.” Evelyn looked back and refuted Dylan’s orders, and the little girl just sat there, frozen. Dylan gripped Evelyn’s shoulders, his eyes wild, and not realizing the amount of pressure his fingers were digging into her robe. “Evelyn, we have to go, now. You, the kids, Peter. We need to get out of the city.”
    Evelyn looked taken aback. “Have you been drinking again?”
    “What?” Dylan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, get a grip on what was happening. “No, I—”
    Evelyn shoved Dylan hard in the chest, a flash of pain covering her face. “You have to stop, Dylan. You can’t keep doing this. You need help.”
    “I haven’t been drinking!” Spit flew from Dylan’s mouth, and his words