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If prison had taught me anything, it was how to keep a strict schedule, thanks to the rigid regimen they’d kept us inmates on. So, almost immediately after I ate a dinner of canned soup and crackers, I spent an hour pulling down the wood paneling in the second bedroom. Then, I took a shower and got into bed with the book I’d recently started reading—a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories and poems.
Harry’s wife had an entire library of books I hadn’t read yet, and I was grateful she had passed a bunch on to me to keep me busy during the hours I wasn’t working or sleeping.
Then, at nine p.m. on the dot, I closed the book, turned off the light, and went to sleep.
It was a restless slumber, one that kept me tossing and turning, haunted by the past, the silence, and a foreboding that sometimes weaseled into my veins, one I couldn’t shake or explain. One that said the demons from my life before this place were never too far behind.
But just a little before eleven o’clock, an echoing crack through the night sent me bolting upright in my bed.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked nobody, breathless and shaken.
I couldn’t discern what the sound might’ve been. I had been half asleep when it happened. It could’ve been anything. A branch breaking. Thunder. A gunshot. Who the hell knew? But I knew I couldn’t go back to sleep until I investigated and ensured a bogeyman wasn’t out there, lurking in the skeletal shadows of the trees overhead.
So, I rolled out of bed, wearing nothing but my sweatpants and socks, and pulled back the sheet I was using for a curtain. I peered into the road and saw nothing to raise suspicion. And maybe, at that point, I should’ve just gone back to sleep, but something told me not to, the same something that said to go outside and make sure it was in fact nothing.
I opened the door and stepped out onto the steps I was convinced were going to snap under my weight one of these days. The night was cold. Snow was beginning to fall. Little flecks of white drifted through the sky, landing in my hair and on my bare shoulders.
Fuck, it’s freezing out here.
I rubbed my arms vigorously with my palms as I swept my gaze over the small area in front of my house, and then they landed on the toppled-over metal garbage can. I sighed and rolled my eyes, feeling like an idiot for being so spooked by something so stupid, and I went to pick it up when a sound—much smaller and quieter than the crash before—came from beneath my rotten steps.
I turned on my heel to find my eyes meeting the yellow gaze of a tiny gray kitten.
“Hey,” I said softly, kneeling and extendinga hand. “Come here, little guy.”
I’d never had a cat before, but I knew they were selective in who they would trust. But this kitten seemed to have a good feeling about me because he came right to me without hesitation—or maybe he was just cold. His little nose bumped against my fingers, as if he were saying,Hello,before running his scrawny back beneath my hand.
“Where’s your mom, huh?” I asked, knowing he’d never answer.
Except he did. He mewed with anguish, and I felt I understood.
“You don’t have anybody either,” I guessed, letting him use my hand to get all the affection he’d been missing in his short life. “You hungry?”
His eyes met mine, and I took that as a yes. So, I scooped him up, holding him tightly to my chest as I stood the garbage can up once again, then went inside.
I pulled out the remaining tuna fish I’d had for lunch the day before and dumped it onto a paper plate. It probably wasn’t what he should’ve been eating at his age—I doubted he was more than a month or two old—but it was better than nothing, and he seemed to agree as he scarfed it down like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“All right, buddy,” I said, using the nickname Grampa had given me, as I headed back to the living room, where my air mattress was waiting, “I’m going back to bed. Feel free to join me. Or don’t. Whatever youwannado.”
I got under the covers, making myself comfortable again, and the little kitten hurried to curl up in the warmth of my armpit. I smiled, grateful toactually sharethis space with someone else, as I glanced at the clock.
It was eleveneleven, and it had been my first good day in River Canyon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FIRST VERY, VERY GOOD DAY
It was a Sunday, a month after I’d arrived in River Canyon, and I had a day off. It was the beginning of February, close to my birthday, and it shouldn’t have been as warm as it was. So, I found myself outside, assessing the beat-up steps leading up to my door.
I had helped Grampa with quite a few projects in my youth, and I’d done some woodworking at Wayward. I was confident I could do something with those steps if I had the supplies, but that was another issue entirely. For now, I was only checking them out. Seeing if there was anything I could do to keep them from collapsing before I got the chance to get to Home Depot.
“Hey!”
I turned to the familiar voice, and there was Noah. Standing on the little porch of the trailer next to mine.
“Hi, Noah,” I replied, offering a small, friendly wave.
“Can I come over?”
