Prologue
Don leaned forward slightly in his chair
and looked down at the girl sprawled in front of him on the living room
carpet. She wasn't moving, as far as he
could tell in the dim light of the street lamp shining through the window. The shadows from the blind cut across her
face in a way that obscured what he knew was a gash in her temple. She hadn't made any noise for several
minutes.
He got up out of the chair and stood over
her. He started to reach down, then
stopped and stood upright again. Then he
crouched, bending over her until he had to support himself by placing his hand
on the carpet. Still, he couldn't tell
if she was breathing or not.
Don exhaled out of puffed cheeks and pushed
himself up. His right hand was wet so he
moved to the window to get a better look.
Holding it up in the amber light, he saw it was covered with some dark
fluid. He fumbled inside his jacket for
a moment with his left hand before extracting a handkerchief. After a few moments he had wiped most of the
fluid off, but his had was still sticky.
I really could use some water, but
nothing's turned on in this place.
There was a back window at the other side
of the room, where the kitchen area was.
Don moved to that side of the building, carefully avoiding any contact
with the girl, and tried to slide the window open. He couldn't budge it. Looking closer, he could see it had been
painted shut, probably many times. All
he could do was watch the rain as it beat on the crud-encrusted glass. The front window was entirely too risky to
attempt to open or even raise the blind.
A few feet from the rear window was what
would have been the rear door to the apartment.
It had been boarded up long ago, probably when the building had been
condemned by the city. But, even if he
could have pried it open, venturing outside until help came was unthinkable.
Don went back to the girl but still
detected no signs of life. He pursed his
lips and exhaled forcefully through his nose.
Then he went back to the kitchen and leaned against a low shelf that
divided the cooking area from where the dining table would have been. Someone had left a pack of Marlboros and a
lighter lying on the second shelf.
Careless.
He picked them up and looked at them a
moment, wondering whose they were. He
couldn't remember seeing anyone smoking that had been with him. Then, he looked at the girl. They must have been hers.
That's not like you, either, Brooke--or is
it?
He stared at the girl for a long time,
thinking. She, of all people, shouldn't
have been there--was the least expected of anyone he knew to be involved in the
snafu he was engulfed in. Three months
was all it had taken.
I wish I had never gone to that damned
meeting.
Don opened the box and lit one up. He didn't smoke, but, as far as he could
tell, now was a good time to start.
