1 1

You drop the magazine and stare out the window at the flakes of snow drifting from the midday sky, the clouds swirling in a dark, amorphous blob. Heat from an old radiator warms your hands, and the wonderful aroma of homemade vegetable soup (Grandma's recipe) wafts through the air. Your vacation ended, and now it's back to business.

A crash from the back of the house—you twist in your recliner and face the kitchen, the thin wooden door only a few feet away. You wait a few accelerated heart beats and hear no sound from the other room. Rushing to the door, you open it in a slow swing. The old hinges creak in exaggerated squeals, each one instigating a cringe. You shiver as you pass the door.

You breathe a sigh of relief when nothing in the kitchen appears disturbed. Ivory-colored curtains hang over the bay window, and you slide them aside to look outside. Marks in the snow lead to the back door. You glance around the small yard with the high-stone fence. No one ever knocks on the back door, since there's no way into the yard except through the alleyway. Only neighbors have access to the alley, and no one has ever visited you through the yard.

Your smartphone vibrates in your pocket, and you view the screen—Jaime. You decline the call—there are more important, pressing matters.

avataravatar
Next chapter