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A Toast to Nothing (Part 10) – A Shadow in the Dark
By Thomas Miller
I didn’t run.
I wanted to.
Hell, Daniel was practically begging me to disappear. He even wired money to my account, told me to take the first flight out of Florida, find some quiet little town where no one knew my name.
But I couldn’t.
Not because I was brave. Not because I was reckless.
But because I needed to know.
Who killed Mercer?
Who sent that letter?
And more importantly—why the hell was I still part of the game?
A Whisper in the Night
The first sign that I was being followed came two days later.
I was walking home from the bookstore when I saw a black sedan idling across the street. Nothing flashy, nothing obvious.
But I knew.
Whoever was in that car was watching me.
I kept walking, turned a few extra corners, took the long way home.
By the time I got to my apartment, the car was gone.
I locked the doors. Checked the windows. Sat in the dark for an hour, heart pounding, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
Nothing did.
But the feeling didn’t leave.
Someone was out there.
And they weren’t done with me yet.
The Second Letter
The next day, another envelope arrived.
Same black ink. Same eerie precision.
This time, there was no typed message.
Just a photograph.
Of me.
Taken last night.
From outside my window.
I dropped the letter, my hands clammy.
The walls around me felt smaller, the air tighter.
Who the hell was doing this?
Was it the same person who killed Mercer?
Or was I dealing with something new?
I forced myself to breathe, forced myself to think.
This wasn’t about Richard anymore. It wasn’t even about Mercer.
This was about me.
And whoever was watching me?
They wanted me to know it.
The Man in the Bar
That night, I went looking for answers.
Daniel had mentioned an “old friend” who tipped him off about Mercer. Someone “high up.”
If I was going to survive this, I needed to know who that was.
So I did the one thing I swore I’d never do.
I went to Daniel’s world.
The bar was old, dimly lit, the kind of place where backroom deals were made and conversations ended in silence.
And sitting in the corner, nursing a glass of whiskey, was the man I was looking for.
Agent Paul Decker.
FBI.
Retired.
And according to Daniel, the only person who could tell me what the hell was going on.
I slid into the booth across from him.
He didn’t look up.
Just stirred his drink, then muttered, “You should’ve run when you had the chance.”
The Truth About Mercer
I leaned forward. “Who sent those letters?”
Decker let out a dry laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about?” He took a sip of whiskey, then looked me dead in the eyes. “Mercer was dirty, kid. Real dirty. And you? You just happened to be the last man standing when he finally got what was coming to him.”
I swallowed hard. “What was he into?”
Decker exhaled, rubbing his temples. “You don’t wanna know.”
“I need to.”
Another long silence.
Then, finally:
“Mercer wasn’t just a cop,” Decker said. “He was an executioner.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
“What?”
Decker leaned in, his voice low. “He didn’t just kill for the thrill of it. He killed for people. Powerful people. People who paid good money to make sure the right kind of men disappeared.”
I felt my stomach turn.
“He killed for hire?”
Decker nodded. “And the worst part? He liked it. The power. The control. The way it made him feel.” He shook his head. “I knew guys like him back in the Bureau. Guys who wore a badge but were no different than the killers they locked up.”
I clenched my fists. “Why was he after me?”
Decker smirked. “Because he thought you drove your brother to suicide. And that made you his favorite kind of target—a man he could break.”
A chill ran through me.
Mercer never wanted justice.
He wanted to destroy me.
And if someone hadn’t killed him first—
He would’ve done it himself.
The Warning
I let out a shaky breath. “So who sent the letters?”
Decker’s expression darkened.
“That’s the thing, kid.” He leaned back, tossing back the rest of his whiskey. “Mercer worked for some nasty people. And when he died, he left loose ends. Whoever sent those letters? They’re cleaning up.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“So I’m next?”
Decker shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He tapped his glass against the table. “But let me give you some advice, Miller. If someone went through the trouble of warning you?” He smirked. “That means they haven’t decided whether you’re worth killing yet.”
My mouth went dry.
“So what do I do?”
Decker stood, tossing a few bills on the table.
“Simple,” he said, walking past me.
“You make damn sure they know you’re not an easy target.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving me sitting there, staring at the empty glass, heart pounding.
I was in something far bigger than I ever imagined.
Mercer was dead.
But his shadow still stretched over me.
And now, the people he worked for were watching.
Waiting.
Deciding if I was a loose end worth tying off.
I took a slow, steady breath.
If they wanted a fight—
I was ready.
Because I had nothing left to lose.
And the only thing more dangerous than a man being hunted?
A man who’s got nowhere else to run.