The Boy Next Door

This book was given to JOANNA Rączkowska on Instafreebie. www.instafreebie.com

THE BOY NEXT DOOR A NOVELLA

JO HO

CONTENTS Also By Jo STAY IN TOUCH! AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Boy 2. Lunch 3. Park Life 4. Coffee Date 5. Social Network 6. The Tin 7. The Party 8. Invite 9. Fragile 10. Trouble 11. Doubt 12. Girltalk 13. Caught 14. Aftermath 15. Revelations 16. Home 17. Tomorrow 1.

Wanted, Book 1 of The Chase Ryder Series Prologue The CEO Chase Sully Chase Sully Chase Get it here About the Author Lastly

Book Cover Design by Bukovero Copyright ©2016 Jo Ho All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Jo Ho.

This story is dedicated to Matt who watches over me even from across the ocean.

ALSO BY JO Books Wanted, Book 1 of The Chase Ryder Series (YA Sci-Fi Thriller) Book 2 of The Chase Ryder Series - Coming 2017

Screenplays Monkey Nut Tales (Fanatical Drama, PG) Spore (Sci-Fi Action, Rated R) The Harvest (Sci-Fi Thriller, Rated 15) - Coming Soon!

For purchase links please go HERE

STAY IN TOUCH!

Keep up to date with Jo’s news and releases and learn about her book giveaways before everyone else by signing up to her mailing list: www.johoscribe.com Follow her blog where she talks about writing not just indie books, but for the film and television industry. Her blog is usually where she’ll post behind-the-scenes pictures of her latest film and TV show sets… Sometimes these include famous people! Jo’s blog You can also follow her on Twitter @johoscribe

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I’ve been writing screenplays and television scripts for over a decade now and have worked with some of the most acclaimed producers in the world, but most of you won’t have heard of me - even though I did create a kickass action fantasy television show for BBC Children’s called SPIRIT WARRIORS - as my projects have been either too risky or expensive to make, or stuck in development hell, or a million other reasons. So, I decided to self-publish, both my screenplays and new fiction material. This story is an adaption of a short film screenplay that I originally wanted to make as a film, however I just could not find the funding for it, try as I might. After being turned down by all the usual suspects, I decided to adapt this into a novella. I’ve moved to many new towns and homes, and though they were usually accompanied with a sense of great excitement, I have also felt the isolation and loneliness that can occur through starting life in a new place. This story is for those who feel lost and hopeless, and to let them know — you are not alone.

I’d love to stay connected to you and hope you’ll sign up to my mailing list. I will write to you when I have something to exciting to say, or when I’ll be releasing new material or doing a giveaway. I am also currently looking to develop my street team so if you want to be a part of that and receive free advanced copies of my books in return for reviews on the book seller’s site, Goodreads etc and social shares, than please let me know at [email protected]. I’m nice I promise, so don’t be shy! I love communicating with my fans and promise to get back to each and every one of you. — Jo

1

THE BOY

B

lack clouds rolled across the Chicago skyline, almost as dark as my mood. I stared out of the window, at the rundown buildings and trash littered street, missing my hometown with something akin to pain. Although I had only been here for two weeks, it seemed so much longer, and the idyllic village that I grew up in — only an hour’s drive away in distance — might as well have been an ocean away. I turned from the window and took in the sight before me. Boxes littered every inch of the scratched wooden floor. A few were opened — the ones marked EMERGENCY CLOTHES — but most still needed to be unpacked. In the time I had been here, I hadn’t been able to force myself to put my things away, happy in my land of denial, but even I knew it was time to face up to my new reality. There was no going back. In five years, The Bluff hadn’t seen a crime more disturbing then neighbors warring over a tree, or the local farmer’s market running out of pumpkins during

Thanksgiving. Back home, people didn’t lock their doors and a girl could walk anywhere safely by herself, whatever the time of day. Not so in Austin, Illinois which had the dubious title of being one of Chicago’s most dangerous areas. Here, I wouldn’t take out the trash if the sun had set. It didn’t help that like most Asian girls (well, half Asian if we’re being technical since my dad is White), I was pretty small-framed. Dragging my feet, I moved to the largest box, the one I knew contained my beloved books. An avid bookworm since the moment I could read, I had kept all of my books, unable to give any away. Back at The Bluff, Dad had had to install special shelves just to house them all. Luckily my room here had come with several large bookcases. The fact it was dead cheap and came with all its furniture was one of the reasons my parents had gone for this place. Thinking it a bargain, they had jumped on it but I didn’t like living amongst someone else’s things. It gave me the creeps, especially sleeping on someone else’s bed. Since I had been here, I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep, imagining who might have been here before me, what they might have done on the bed… Shuddering at the direction my thoughts were heading, I grabbed a few books from the box and and moved to the wall of bookcases. They were old but made from a solid oak and looked like they would take even my giant collection. As I starting stacking the books onto the top shelf, I noticed a small brass plaque screwed onto it. The metal sign was inscribed with writing that had faded with time. Leaning in, I had to squint my eyes to make out the words: “Dum vita est spes est”

It wasn’t any language I was familiar with. I wondered what it meant. Reaching for my phone, I meant to Google the saying when a chime came and a message flashed across the screen. I called it up to see a sticker of a broken hearted panda on Facebook Messenger and beneath it the words: “missing you like crazy xoxoxo.” It was from my boyfriend back home, Chris. I looked at a picture of us on the home screen. As always, seeing his beautiful face did something fierce to my heart. He had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes which always seemed to smile, and he was fit from being on the high school football team. I felt boring in contrast, with my black hair and brown eyes (which I had inherited from my Chinese mom), although Chris was forever telling me how beautiful I was. We had our arms wrapped tightly around each other, and Chris’s goatee had set me off into a peal of giggles as he was rubbing it against the sensitive part of my neck. At the time, he was testing out a new look with the facial hair, and I hadn’t yet gotten used to it. The picture was taken at the July 1st parade, a year ago. Balloons and streamers colored the sky behind us. Using an app, Chris had scribbled a heart and the words: Chris & Kim 4ever on the photo. I remember how happy we were then. We had no way of knowing what was going to happen to us. Chris was one of the most popular kids at school. I suppose he would be considered a jock because of the sports thing, except he was one of the good guys. He was nice to everyone and came from a really cool family. His dad was a film composer and his mom, a production designer — which just meant she created the physical sets for movies. At least, that’s how she explained it to

me. Chris had spent his childhood hanging out on film sets and regularly enthralled with stories of them. It was part of the reason for his popularity at school — seemed everyone wanted a bit of that glamor. I missed him so much I felt my heart would break. That last day, as we finished loading up my family’s minivan, we had sworn the distance wouldn’t be an issue. We promised that we would still see each other all the time, but that was before I got here and realized the public transport stank big time and unfortunately, a car, as well as many other things I used to take for granted, would be way out of my budget for the foreseeable future. The text from Chris caused some of my thunderous mood to lift. “Missing you too. This place sucks without you xoxoxo,” I messaged back. I heard a door slam outside. Curiosity got the better of me and I found myself crossing back to the window where I lowered my gaze to the neighbor’s yard. Overgrown, it couldn’t have seen a weedwhacker in at least a year, but there were signs it wasn’t always this way. Rosebushes were bent low from the many flowers that used to hang from its branches. A meticulously set stone path curved towards the back fence. Paint peeled from a wooden bench that someone small scurried towards now. He was skinny, probably around the same age as my brother, Mark, who was turning six in a few days time. Fall had come early this year, bringing with it a chill that already had me wearing sweaters so I was surprised to see him out there in just a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He shivered but sat there, looking sad. I had seen him before, in the back yard, but there was

something strange about him. He was so different from Mark, so… quiet. And I’ve never seen him playing. My parent’s had popped round to introduce themselves when we first moved in, but no one had answered, despite Mom swearing that she had heard the television inside. They had left it at that, expecting the neighbor’s to visit of their own accord at a suitable time, but we’ve never heard from them. Something about the hunch of his frail shoulders and his downcast expression plucked at my heart. I was still staring at him when an impatient shout came from downstairs, interrupting my thoughts. “Kim! Lunch is ready!” It was Mom, who came home from her job at the local grocery store to make lunch for us every day. I kept telling her it wasn’t necessary — I was seventeen after all —but she wouldn’t listen. “Coming,” I yelled back. Grabbing my phone, I went downstairs. The boy wiped clean from my mind.

2

LUNCH

M

om was dishing up noodles when I arrived in the kitchen. Grabbing some plates, I set three settings (Dad hadn’t joined us for lunch since we’d been here as he was always off, searching for a new job or doing interviews). I sat and stared down at my food with disinterest. It’s not like we never had anything else, but the woman really loved to cook Asian. I regularly found myself just wishing for a sandwich or salad or Please God, a burger. I didn’t say anything however, knowing it would make me sound ungrateful. My kid brother had no problem with the food though and was already digging in with a fork. I guess this might surprise some, that we were using forks to eat noodles but, contrary to what many people think, only Mom uses chopsticks — I find them totally awkward and bizarre. Mark shoved a large forkful into his mouth, slurping loudly like a pig, talking with his mouth open. “And there’ll be Cheetos, right? At my party?” he asked. Mom sighed, nodding. “Yes.”

“What about cheese strings? I want cheese strings?” he demanded. “What is it with foods beginning with “C” and you?” I asked. He just shrugged in answer, mind already thinking about other snacks. Mom glanced over the wok at me. “Have you heard from Dad?” she asked. I shook my head. “He hasn’t called in yet. Who’s he seeing today?” Mom set down the empty wok into the sink, filling it with water and leaving it to soak before taking her seat at the table. “Walmart. He’s hoping they’ll consider him for a managerial role but I told him I didn’t want him to take it even if they do offer it.” “Why?” After all that had happened to us, I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Because he can do so much better! But he won’t listen, keeps saying no one wants to hire a guy with his problems.” I had a feeling Dad might be right, but I wasn’t going to disagree with my Mom… I knew better than to incur her wrath. “He can do better, that’s all.” She finally said, her shoulders slumping. “But if he’s happy to do it…” I began tentatively. “I know we need the money.” She looked at me silently. I could see her giving herself an internal pep talk. Either it worked or she was very good at hiding what she really felt as she sat down and focused her attention on Mark — specifically how there seemed to be more food out of his bowl now, than in it. “Ai yah! Look at this mess!” she exclaimed, reaching

for a dishcloth. She busied herself cleaning up the table as I ate, chewing the food without really tasting it. My mind wandered, as it so often did, to Chris. I liked to picture what he was doing throughout the day. It somehow made him feel not so far away. Right now, he would be on his lunch break too, probably woofing down a Subway. Even though his parents had money, Chris had gotten himself a job at local sports store, All The Bases. He said he wanted to earn for himself, not only rely on them. It was just one of the many reasons why I loved him. I thought about sending him a text but Mom hated people using their phones at the table. Probably bad Feng Shui or something. A lot of Chinese people were superstitious, but my mom took it to a whole new level. I remember when I was only four or five and we were searching for a house at The Bluff. We must’ve seen some twenty or so houses, but she had found something wrong with all of them. One had bad vibes, one faced the wrong direction, another had the number “four” in it (apparently the unluckiest number in the world) which even my Mom’s numerous wards to fend off bad fortune and spirits wouldn’t be able to combat. It had driven my Dad insane, which is why I was surprised when she agreed to this place so quickly, especially as I had felt unhappy as soon as I had stepped foot into this house. The one time I brought it up however, she just answered that anywhere without Chris wouldn’t be good enough for me. And she was right. We ate quickly, knowing Mom was on the clock. When we were done, I stashed the dirty bowls into the dishwasher as Mom pulled on her jacket. “What’re you two up to for the rest of the day?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Probably take him to the park. It’s not like there’s much else to do around here.” I hated how whiney I sounded, but sometimes I couldn’t stop the misery from pouring out of my mouth. Being a big sister at my age wasn’t something I had expected, not when everyone else I knew was moving on with their lives. My folks had been trying for years to have another kid, but when none had come along, I was pretty happy with the idea of being the only one. Shortly after I turned eleven however, I was informed of their happy news. Seems the moment they had stopped trying, Mark had come along! So here I was now, stuck as a perpetual babysitter. Not wanting to be late for work, Mom wouldn’t take the bait. “Some fresh air will be good for you. See you later.” And with that, she was gone. I looked down at Mark. He looked up at me. “Come on,” I said, sighing.

3

PARK LIFE

T

hirty minutes later we were at the park. We moved quickly along a cracked concrete path, following signs to the playground. I’d taken Mark here a few times already so we knew to keep our expectations in check. There was a wooden climbing structure, some swings, a merry-go-round and a slide. A few odd cartoony type character structures with holes where faces should be were dotted about in haphazard fashion. I guess they were for kids to put their heads into though they looked like metal death traps to me. I’d already warned Mark about getting eaten by them. He didn’t believe me, but I noticed he also gave them a wide berth. “I’m going on the swings first,” Mark announced, skipping ahead in front of me. “Will you push me?” “Yeah,” I replied. I marvelled at how nothing seemed to bother Mark, ever. Life was so simple for a kid, I really envied him that. We rounded the corner and the playground came into view, but we weren’t alone. A group of girls around my age, were camped out by the merry-go-round. They were

passing around a paper bag, sharing the drink inside. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was. “More people, yay!” Mark said, but I wasn’t feeling the same excitement. The group looked over on our approach, but didn’t smile. I took that as our cue to leave them alone. I steered Mark away from them, to the swings. He climbed on one, and I moved behind him. He kicked off, whipping his body as fast as he could to get the swing going. I began pushing, making it easier for him. “Wheeee,” he yelled. The girls snickered, but there wasn’t any warmth in it. I got the distinct feeling they were laughing at him… or me. It made me uneasy so I ignored them, focusing on Mark. A few moments went past before I noticed he was staring at me funny. “What?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to talk to them?” he asked. “Why would I do that?” I said, surprised by his question. “How else will you make friends?” “I don’t think these are the kind of friends I want,” I managed to reply. He tilted his head at them, observing. “They’re just girls?” he said. “Wrong. They’re teenage girls. That’s like a whole different breed.” “I don’t get it.” He turned back to me, eyes confused. “You will when you start dating, believe me.” He pulled a face at me, not understanding my drift at all, but I was already done with the conversation. He continued swinging while I kept a wary vigilance on the others. One of them — a girl with pink tips in her blonde hair — seemed to take offense by that however as she glared over at me, before whispering to the others.

Suddenly, five faces turned to look at me. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach then Glarey Girl got up and started walking towards us, clearly the ringleader. Quickly the rest followed. Great. She marched up to me, looking me over, head to toe. “You’re new,” she said. It wasn’t a question — I heard the challenging undertone of her voice. She wanted to see if she could intimidate me. I knew if I showed any weakness, that would be it for me. Before I could answer though, my sidekick piped up. “Yeah! We just moved here from The Bluff. Do you know it?” Mark said. Glarey looked startled, not expecting to deal with him while I cringed inwardly, shut up Mark! “Can’t say I do,” Glarey responded. “It’s nice,” he continued, oblivious to my mental warnings. “Much nicer than here.” Glarey shared a look with the other girls. “Oh yeah, why’s that?” She smirked down at him, but Mark just carried on talking, Mr Motormouth. “It’s way cleaner. And everyone has these big houses with pools.” “Pools… right.” Glarey repeated, a hardness now in her eyes. “Did you all have cleaners too?” “Once a week. Mrs Gonzales. She brought me cookies sometimes.” Mark revealed innocently. Suddenly, he jumped off the swing, bored with it. “I’m going on the slide,” he informed me as he took off, leaving me there, surrounded by Mean Girls 2.0. Glarey narrowed her eyes at me. “Good luck fitting in. We don’t tend to like spoiled little rich girls like you around here.” With that, she spun on her heel and marched away. The others smirked at me before following after her like the lemmings they were.

Girls like them always irritated me. They thrived in packs and could never think for themselves. If Glarey hadn’t said anything, they would’ve just been on their way. As it was, I had just made myself some enemies without even opening my mouth! I hated this place. Keeping my eyes on Mark who was doing loops around the place, I wished desperately that I could talk to Donna. She was my best friend from back home, and outside of Chris, the one I would usually go to with any problems, but she, along with the rest of the girls in my group, were off in London on a holiday that until recently, I was also supposed to be on. With the six hour time difference, she would be out to dinner now. So I tried Chris. He should have finished his shift by now. I really needed to hear his voice, hear the love and concern I knew I would find there, but the call went straight to voicemail. I sat on the swing, despondent, and opened the Kindle app on my phone. At least looking after Mark gave me plenty of time to read. After some time, Mark remembered I was there and came up to me. “Those girls were nice, weren’t they? Told you it’s easy to make friends!” It took all my restraint not to yell at him. We hung out for another half hour or so when my phone beeped. I grabbed at it, eager to hear from Chris, but it was my Dad. “Finished for the day. Where are you guys?” A few moments later, he pulled up by the park in our van. I opened the back door as Mark climbed inside. Dad smiled at me through the rearview mirror. “Why don’t you take some time off. You’ve been

looking after him a lot lately, go have some fun!” he said, encouragingly. Fun, right. I didn’t say anything, keeping my expression neutral until they disappeared around the corner. I took a deep breath and looked around. A row of shops sat across from me. A pharmacy that was open “twenty for hours” (apparently, no one had ever caught the spelling mistake); a florist that looked like it was probably a front for more nefarious goings on; and a greasy diner that I was at risk of catching something from, just by looking at it. Despair washed over me. I was contemplating just going home when I caught sight of an old building on the corner. It was a Victorian building that looked like it had seen better days, but the newly painted sign outside proudly announced it as the local library. But more than that, it housed something that caused a bubble of excitement to surface. A coffee bar! I crossed the road quickly and headed inside.

4

COFFEE DATE

T

he unmistakable aroma of coffee flooded my nose as I stepped inside. The place was pretty quiet, with only a few java fans around and it looked like the barista was busy, chatting up her co-worker. Acoustic versions of popular tracks played in the background. Perfect, I thought to myself, no one was going to pay any attention to me here. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, paid, then finding myself a dark corner, I lowered into a chair. I was hoping that by taking small sips, they would allow me to stay without having to pay for anything else. I tugged at the collar on my sweater, hoping I wouldn’t dehydrate in here since the heating was cranked up to high. Someone here had a low cold threshold. Taking out my cell, I opened the Kindle app again and started reading the latest series I had picked up during a promo. It was a thriller about a runaway girl and the genetically modified dog she meets on the streets after he escaped from a secret lab. When the dog jumped in to protect her from harm, he ended up badly wounded

leaving the girl frantically seeking help. The girl had no money (I was beginning to know how that felt) and was on her own. I had no idea how she was going to save him and I couldn’t wait to find out. Engrossed in the tale, I had been reading for some time when I felt a presence in front of me. Tearing my eyes from the book, I looked up to see a girl standing there. She was around the same age as me, with dimples on her cheeks and a wool hat that she wore pulled down low over her head. She smiled at me shyly. “Hi. Hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I haven’t seen you around before, so thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Lacey.” I blinked, startled at the first friendly face I’d seen since moving to Austin. A million thoughts raced through my mind, fighting each other for space, so much so that I didn’t reply at first. Was this a trick? Was she part of the park girl gang? Lacey’s smile wavered. “I can go if you want to be left alone?” she offered tentatively. Suddenly I realized how rude I was being. I jumped up, gesturing at the chair next to me. “No, don’t! That’s fine I mean. You can sit if you want to. I’m Kim.” Smiling, Lacey sat. “We just moved here, two weeks ago, that’s probably why you haven’t seen me before,” I said. “Ah… Where from?” Lacey asked, eyes bright with interest. Either this girl was a fantastic actress or she really wasn’t one of the Mean Girls. “A little town called Lake Bluff. It’s about an hour’s drive from here. It’s pretty, by the water. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone.” At this, Lacey’s eyes widen. “Seriously? Sounds like heaven. Why on Earth would you leave there for Austin?”

A cloud covered my eyes. “It wasn’t really by choice. My dad had an accident, it left him unable to do his job and our insurance didn’t cover it… something to do with the small print. We lost our home and this house was super cheap for some reason, so we came here.” Sympathy shone from Lacey’s green eyes. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry. You must really miss everyone.” “Yeah,” I continued. “My boyfriend, Chris… he’s back in the Bluff. We’re still together, but we can’t see each other most days now, like we used to.” I fell silent, trying to curb the sadness welling up in my chest whenever his name was mentioned. I was surprised at how I was blabbing all my personal business to this girl, but it probably had something to do with how lonely I’d been feeling lately. Apparently all I needed was a kind smile and I was ready to tell my life story. “I can sympathize. I don’t get to see much of my loved ones now either but you know what I try to do? I try to look around me, open my eyes. There’s always someone who has it worse than you,” Lacey said. “I know, I just miss him so much you know? We speak all the time, always when we wake up and last thing at night, and we send messages throughout the day. I think, as long as we’re talking, I can ignore the distance a bit.” “That’s probably best. No point tearing yourself up over something you can’t change, right?” I nodded. “Right. Do you want to see a picture of him?” “Sure,” Lacey replied. Activating my phone, I pulled up several pictures of Chris. “Here we are at the prom last year. And this is us on his birthday. He wanted to go paint balling but he was pretty bad at it as you can see.” Lacey smiled, looking at the photographs. “Oh, he’s a

hottie! You guys look so cute together.” I smiled as I switched back to my Kindle app, but something caught my eye behind Lacey. “I know I sound paranoid, but I swear the barista keeps giving me weird looks.” Lacey looked over her shoulder at her, but shrugged. “They probably don’t like that you’re just drinking water and I’m not having anything, but it’s not like they need the tables.” She gestured at my phone. “So, what’re you reading anyway?” Lacey asked. “This YA book. It’s a new series. Haven’t heard of it before but a friend from home recommended it to me.” “Nice,” Lacey replied. “I like to read too, though I’m more of a history buff.” Without meaning to, I pulled a face. Seeing my expression, Lacey laughed. “It’s really cool, I swear. You get to learn about other cultures, how they lived. A lot of what came before was crazy bad compared to what we have now. Sometimes it’s good to learn about others, makes you more grateful for what you actually have.” “I don’t know,” I replied. “You’re not quite selling it for me.” Lacey smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I can never get the sales pitch right. But, I don’t know, I just like learning about people. For example, did you know that roughly thirty-five million American people are descended from the one hundred and two British people who originally came over on the Mayflower? Thirty-five million from just one hundred and two?!” I looked at her, impressed yet amused. “That’s a lot of getting down that must have been happening. Then again, it was before television.”

Lacey rolled her eyes, continuing unabated. “Well, you know how Austin has a pretty high rate of crime? Back in Roman times, a Roman citizen could walk anywhere on Earth and be safe from harm just by declaring where he was from, so great was the retribution of Rome. Imagine that now? Imagine being able to walk through any country at night, by ourselves and know we would be completely safe just because we were American.” “OK, so that is pretty cool and I didn’t know that,” I conceded. “Still not feeling the urge to dive into a history book any time soon.” “Well, you must know that the Chinese created some of the greatest inventions, like gunpowder and paper?” My expression turned puzzled. “Why would I know that? Are you saying that because I’m Chinese? That’s racist.” It’s a moment before Lacey realized I was joking. “For a moment there, I thought you were being serious.” I grinned, unperturbed. “I know. That’s part of the fun.” “I’m kinda jealous actually. Must be great to be from such a cool culture.” “Are you crazy?” I said. “Do you know how many jokes about terrible karaoke singing or eating dogs or slitty eyes — which, clearly I don’t have — I’ve had to endure?” “The people who say those things are just ignorant. It shouldn’t make you any less proud of who you are.” “True,” I agreed. I tilted my head, studying Lacey. “Aren’t you hot wearing that hat in here? They seem to be over killing the central air today.” Lacey reached up and touched her wool hat. “No. I’m fine. It’s not really affecting me. Besides, it’s always like this in here. You get used to it.”

“It’s a nice hat though, cute.” “Thanks. It’s my favorite, I like that it doesn’t scratch.” I looked outside and suddenly noticed how dark the sky was getting. Glancing at my phone, I gasped at the time. “It’s getting late. I hadn’t realized. I should head home, or my mom will worry. She thinks this place is the ghetto and I’ll be murdered if I’m not home by six.” “Very wise,” Lacey said, laughing. “The killings typically occur after seven.” Standing, I gathered my things. “It was nice to chat. What’s your Facebook? I’ll add you as a friend.” “Oh, I’m not on Facebook anymore,” Lacey said. “What about What’s App? What’s your number?” Kim asked. “Yeah, I don’t actually have a phone anymore either. It was cut off,” Lacey replied. “You don’t have a phone or Facebook? That’s like saying you don’t need air,” I said, momentarily unable to take it in. I was picking up my bag when my stomach tightened as another, unwelcome thought came into my head. She didn’t want to give me her details! But why? We were having fun, I thought we were connecting. I was finally making a friend. Why wouldn’t she want to talk to me again? Lacey didn’t offer anything else but her guilty expression said everything. My thoughts jumped back to the girls at the park. Maybe they were in cahoots with each other after all. Maybe this was just another way to get at me. Suddenly furious, I glared at her. “Wow. And here I was thinking you were different, but no, you’re just like all the other horrible girls here.” Spinning on my heel, I stormed out of the place

before Lacey could respond.

5

SOCIAL NETWORK

H

ours later, I was still angry by Lacey’s slight. It just didn’t make sense. Why would she even talk to me if she didn’t want to be friends? It’s not like I initiated anything, she came over of her own accord. Changing into my favorite night clothes — a tank top that had long faded from wear and some shorts — I moved onto my bed, but the night was cold and I found myself tugging on a wool hoodie, though it still didn’t dispel the goose bumps that ran up and down my arms. It was weird. No matter what the temperature was outside, I always found it cold in here. I sipped from a herbal tea my Mom had recommended. It had a nice mellow taste, minty and lemony, and was supposed to help troubled sleepers. By drinking it, I was hoping to finally sleep through the night. As I finished the drink, ahead of my end-of-day call with Chris, a message chimed from him. “Sorry babe, I’m out at the bowling alley tonight, then I think we’re heading to Frank’s Diner after. Looks like it’ll

be a late one. Go ahead and sleep and I’ll call you in the morning. Love you. Xoxoxo” Disappointment surged through me. It wasn’t the first time he had gone out without me, but I had really wanted to talk over what happened today with him. Sighing, I lay down, but my mind was flying. I was wound up so tight, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Seeing my laptop on the bedside stand, I opened it. The screen blinked on. I moved my finger over the track pad until I hit the Facebook bookmark and the familiar blue site appeared. Feeling homesick, I only meant to check up on my friends in London when some pictures landed on my news feed. There was Chris, his handsome face grinning into the camera at the bowling alley with his friends. Despite how I was feeling, I smiled to see him. I couldn’t help it really, he’s just always had that effect on me. I was still smiling when I saw the girl hanging onto his arm. She was blonde and blue-eyed. Some people thought she was pretty, but she had always put me on edge — she had a way of looking down her pert little nose at me. I’ve never done anything to offend her, but I could never shake the feeling that she disliked me, and now, seeing her with Chris, it finally sank in why… she had a thing for my boyfriend! Seriously, how had I missed this before? Her claw-like red talons were wrapped around his arm, and she seemed to be next to him in all the pictures. Though Chris wasn’t touching Nessa himself, I couldn’t help but see that it didn’t look like he was discouraging her either. We would be having some words about this tomorrow, that I knew for sure.

I pored over each photograph for an obsessively long time, looking for any clues, any hints that I could read into. When my vision started to blur from the lack of blinking, I rubbed my eyes and decided enough was enough. I knew I had to disengage for my own sanity. I went to close the laptop when my mind drifted back over the day’s events. Curious, I clicked on the Facebook search bar and typed in Lacey, Austin, IL. A few Lacey’s came up, but none were from Austin… none matched. Letting out a frustrated breath, I closed the laptop and laid back down, pulling the covers over myself. Guess she was telling the truth after all which means I completely lost it at the one person in this town who has actually been nice to me. Way to go Kim.

6

THE TIN

B

right sunlight streamed in through the window, waking me. I blinked the sleep from my eyes, momentarily disoriented. Must have forgotten to close the blinds last night. My head felt groggy as if I hadn’t had enough sleep. I started wondering why that might be when the previous day’s events crashed into my mind. Along with it, those pictures of Chris and Nessa on Facebook. I sat up, irritably moving the hair from my face and looked at my phone. No messages, no missed call from him. Feeling uneasy, I decided to take matters into my own hands and dialled Chris’s number. I expected it to ring, but no — straight to voicemail. By now, I was ready to admit I was concerned. There was a gnawing ache in my stomach that I tried to put down to hunger although I knew better. I was debating if I should send Chris a text when my door burst open and a small figure bounced in, waving something red in my face. “KIM! Look what I got for my birthday!” he yelled

exuberantly. It was Mark, my now six-year-old brother, and the red thing trying its best to make me cross-eyed was what we called a lucky envelope. Parents always gave one to their kids on their birthdays, inside would be some dollar bills. Probably sounds mercenary to the rest of the world, but it’s how us Asians celebrate this day. “Wow, OK. That’s a lot of excitement for this early in the morning.” He continued. “Yeah, but there’s ten bucks inside!” “Yay. You’re rich,” came my bland response. I knew I should drum up some enthusiasm, but I just wasn’t feeling any inside. Luckily, Mark didn’t notice. “Ma said to get up. She needs help getting ready for my party. Did she tell you all my friends are coming?” “From the Bluff?” “Nope. From here.” He said it so innocently, but I felt a lurch in my stomach. Suddenly deciding he was done, Mark charged back outside, yelling down the stairs as he went, “she’s up now, Ma!” I swung my legs out of bed and felt a wave of jealousy overcome me. How could my kid brother have friends already? What was I doing wrong? I headed to a chair where my robe was slung messily over it when… a book tumbled from the bookcase onto the wooden floor. It landed with a loud bang that had me jumping from the sound. Weird. Mark hadn’t been anywhere near the bookcase, so I had no idea what could have disturbed it. As I stared at the book, the air felt charged with a sudden tension and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I froze. What was

happening? I must have been standing there like that a full ten seconds before I shook myself out of it. Don’t be stupid, Kim. Nothing is happening! So why then was I feeling so strange? I walked towards the book determinedly, my bare feet slapping across the floor when I stubbed my toe on something — hard. “OW!” I hissed, nursing my toe as I hopped on one foot. A corner of a floorboard had somehow risen up by a good two or three inches. For a moment, I considered it could have been the book — but that was still lying several feet away. More weirdness. I inspected my toe - the nail was fine but I’d be getting a bruise there for sure. Sucking in my breath from the pain, I grabbed a flat-ended screwdriver that I had been using to hack open my removal boxes with the full intention of bashing the floorboard back down, when… a flash of red from beneath caught my eye. I pried at the floorboard. To my surprise, it came up easily as if it had been moved a million times before. Shoving the wood out of the way, my surprise grew when I saw the cookie tin lying in the space below. It was a secret hideout! I picked up the tin, setting it carefully on the floor. It was round, with some Danish brand on the lid. I was pretty sure we’d eaten these before, so there was nothing special about the tin itself. I was apprehensive but excited — what if there was gold in there? Something I could use to help my folks out of the funk we were in? But then my thoughts turned darker. What if it was something incriminating? I’d seen shows before, about people

finding dead people buried in their basements. Though the tin wasn’t big enough to house an entire body, it could easily contain body parts. I shook my head, clearing away the fog of doom that had descended into my brain and made a mental note to stop watching Dateline. I pried the lid open. Thankfully, there were no body parts. Inside there was an odd assortment of things: some pins with “save our library!” on them, a handful of leaflets from the local church, a somewhat faded pink ribbon, and several handwritten notes, neatly clipped together. As a treasure stash, to say it was disappointing would be an understatement. Unclipping the notes, I took out the first one. It was written on paper similar to the exercise books we had used in high school. I started to read the elegant handwriting. Janet came round with Lucas today. She’d baked cookies and Lucas had made me a really sweet card though he didn’t say much. I’ve been babysitting him since he was two so I know he isn’t shy with me - I wonder if it was because I looked different? When Mom asked about Stan, how she hadn’t seen him at the diner recently, Janet just said he’d been getting stressed at work and left it at that. We both picked up on her unhappiness but respected her wishes not to pry. Soon after they went back home though, we heard doors slamming and raised voices coming from next door. We seem to hear it more and more often now. —A That was all that was written on the first note. I

frowned, wondering if the Lucas “A” mentioned was the little boy I’ve been seeing before deciding it must be since she specifically said “next door”. On the other side of us, there was just an elderly woman who had been there for centuries. Her kids were fully grown and had long moved away. She was divorced and used to be a teacher, so no diner job for her, if that’s what the note alluded to. Also, I was pretty sure her name was Brenda. I moved the note to the back and started on another. The unhappiness seems to be catching. Even my parents have started bickering now. It’s always over the same thing. Dad wants to avoid all mention of our problems — particularly in front of me — but Mom insists on talking about them. She thinks we’ll only get through it all if we work together, as a family. I can see both points of view so I try not to take sides, but I do think these things are better weathered when supported and discussed. — A There were no dates on the notes, so I couldn’t see a timeframe. I wondered how long the gap was in-between them but there was no real way of telling. Surprised, I realized I was hooked on my discovery, wanting to see what their problems were, and how it all turned out. I stared around the room, as if the furniture “A” had left could offer me some clues. My eyes swept the desk and in particular, its two drawers, which I knew were empty, as they were the first thing I had investigated on moving in. They carried on sweeping the room until they reached the bookcases and fixed on that brass plaque with the foreign words. I must look that up. But first… I took out the third note.

They’re fighting all the time now. They try to pretend everything’s fine, but I hear them at night, when they think I’m asleep. It’s even worse in the day. I’ll walk into a room and find only silence. Sure, they’ll smile at me, but I know they were arguing only moments before. It’s a terrible thing to know that you have caused this. That it is your fault your parent’s marriage is imploding. Oh, they won’t ever say that to me, but I know the truth. They used to be so happy and now they can’t even look at each other… It’s unbearable. — A I turned the note around, but that was all there was. Saddened by what I had just read, I slid the note to the bottom of the stash, desperate to read more when Mom called up the stairs. “What is the hold up young lady! I need help with the party!” “I just have to shower, and I’ll be right down,” I called down to her. I put everything back, mentally reminding myself to check back later. “Don’t forget, you can’t wash your hair!” she yelled up. I rolled my eyes. This was another of Mom’s crazy superstitions — apparently it’s unlucky to wash your hair on someone’s birthday as it means you are flushing good fortune down the drain. I’m pretty sure it’s equally unlucky to have to walk around with greasy hair all day, but that’s just me.

7

THE PARTY

A

fter my discovery, the morning flew by. I came down to find the kitchen counters covered with all kinds of food. Mounds of fried won ton dumplings and spring rolls competed for space as Mom rolled out pizza dough next to them. I was put on sandwich duty, but by my tenth or twelfth one, I was happy never to see another slice of ham or cheese again. There was so much to do that I completely forgot about anything other than the task at hand. Though we were pretty careful with our spending now, birthdays were the one day a year Mom loved to splurge. Something about it bringing good fortune. I poured out several bowls of chips, including Mark’s favorite cheese puffs — they always made mom freak out, it was the way they left greasy orange streaks over his face — and set them around the living room where most of the day’s events were taking place. Our old place had a huge open plan living room and kitchen, but this house was smaller and the kitchen, separate, so it seemed easier to put the food in the room where the kids would be hanging out. I was hoping there wouldn’t be a

huge mess to clean up when it was over, but I knew that was a somewhat futile wish… In the corner sat a mountain of presents which Mark kept sneaking past. Pretty sure he believed that if he did it enough times, he would be able to see through the wrapping paper, into the gifts inside. My own present was right at the bottom. It was a remote controlled car he had drooled over earlier in the year. It came with customizable stickers and could go at three different speeds. I had gotten it before I knew we were broke. In hindsight, I probably should have returned it for a refund but I didn’t have the heart to take it back, not when I knew how much he wanted it. Besides, he didn’t know about our new financial situation, and we (my folks and I) had mutually agreed to keep it that way. At three pm, the party kicked off and a stream of people came through the doors. Mark hadn’t been lying about his friends — there were at least twenty kids playing with him. I recognized some of the parents as patron’s of Dad’s new church before it started to make sense. The Church! So this was how Mark had made his friends. Dad always took him with him, but I usually stayed home with Mom. The noise was deafening and I felt the beginnings of what was probably going to be a headache. Kids and sleepless nights plus boyfriend angst, just do not mix. Mark was bouncing around, over-excited as usual when he accidentally knocked one of Mom’s mirror charms from the wall. I lunged for it and managed to catch it just before it hit the ground, which was lucky really, since it was her favorite one, passed down by my GreatGrandmother who swore it kept her home spirit and bad fortune free. So far, it was doing a great job. Massaging my temple, I looked out at the blissfully

empty back yard. It was a little too cold for the kids to be out, so it would make a perfect retreat for me. Grabbing a plate of food, I tugged on my jacket and stepped outside. The air was crisp with a hint of moisture. I looked up at the mottled gray sky, convinced that rain would be coming soon. The first leaves of fall crunched underfoot as I headed beneath a giant oak beside the fence. Leaning against the tree, I took a bite of a dumpling when a sound came from close by. A sniff. Moving my eyes to a gap in the fence, I peeked through to find the boy I saw the other night. What was his name in the note again? Lucas. He sat on the same bench, wearing just a T-shirt and jeans. They might even have been the same clothes he wore the last time I saw him. I couldn’t really tell. I frowned, feeling concerned. “Hey,” I called to him softly. “Aren’t you cold?” He jumped at my voice, startled, looking around him wildly. It occurred to me that I had scared him, which was the last thing I wanted. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just came outside and saw you is all,” I said, hoping it would ease some of his tension. It seemed to work, as some of the wild look in his eyes disappeared, although he still seemed super on edge. “We just moved in next to you, a few weeks ago. You probably saw all the commotion. My name’s Kim,” I offered. He stared through the gap at me, assessing my intentions, but must have decided I didn’t seem much of a threat as his shoulders suddenly relaxed. “I’m Lucas,” he said quietly. Bingo! I smiled at him in encouragement, pleased with my sleuthing skills. There was something about him, how

small and lonely he looked, that made my protective instincts come out. “You look like you’re around the same age as my brother, Mark. It’s his birthday today. He’s six.” Lucas shook his head. “I’m older. I’m eight.” This was a surprise. He really was small for his age. Mark wasn’t what you’d call a giant, but even he was bigger. I’m not sure what made me say the next words, but they came out of my mouth before I could reconsider them. “Do you want to come to our party? We have games and things?” Lucas shook his head, but I saw his eyes travel down to my plate. His pupils grew so large, I felt like he was the wolf, and I the unsuspecting prey in those old cartoons. “You sure? We have a ton of food.” He jumped onto his feet, quick as a flash. “I’ll check with my mom.” And then he was gone, running back into his house. I was surprised by how fast and quietly he moved, like he had cultivated a lifetime of being stealthy. I took another few nibbles of my food and then he was back, breath coming in quick, fast gasps from his hurry. “She said OK.” The fence was about chest height for me, but he dragged a large, upturned flower pot against it, and using it as a boost, he was climbing over the fence before I knew what was happening. Awkwardly, I helped him over. “I thought you were going to go round the front and use the door, but I guess this works too,” I said, surprised. He didn’t answer, waiting beside me to lead the way. Shrugging, I started in. Lucas followed, as quiet as a mouse. When we entered the house, Mark showed only a moment of surprise.

“Who’re you?” he asked, so directly I cringed inwardly. “This is Lucas,” I said, jumping in to rescue him. “He lives next door.” “Oh,” Mark said, studying him. “Hi. I’m going to get some food, coming?” And just like that, they were apparently friends, as Lucas followed him to the spread inside. As they helped themselves to food, Mark was talking a mile a minute, catching him up on everything that had happened prior to his arrival. Lucas didn’t seem to say much. Then again, Mark wasn’t really giving him a chance to. He seemed real shy, and just nodded to Mark’s comments here and there as he shoved food into his mouth. I left them to it and went to help Mom, who was rounding up the other kids so we could start unwrapping the presents shortly. I had been pretty good about not focusing on my own problems up until now, but an unwanted image of Chris and Nessa came flying into my head. Biting my lip, I checked my cell. The blank home screen taunted me. No messages. No missed calls. Nada. It was all I could do not to hit redial, but I had already done that this morning. It was his turn to call. I couldn’t be that girl, the one who harassed her boyfriend every time he went out without her, but I couldn’t be the one who sat waiting by the phone either. A hiss of anger escaped my lips. Whatever. I’d just focus on ensuring Mark had a good time. He could be pretty annoying sometimes, but he wasn’t a bad kid. Not really. He opened the presents to ooo’s and aaah’s, but I was proud to say the biggest response came from mine. When Mark saw what it was, you could not keep him still. The kid bounced up and down so hard, I swear the lights

started shaking. Even Mom was impressed. “That was very generous of you, dear,” she said. I just shrugged, embarrassed. “Got it before the move,” I mumbled in response. She didn’t make a big deal out of it, but gave me a quick hug. The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur of musical chairs, hide and seek, and more food. If anyone asked, I’d deny it, but I found myself having a decent time. There was something so honest and wholesome about seeing young kids playing. Before I knew it, it was home time. As kids started being picked up by their parents, I went to find Lucas, intending to walk him home. I know he only lived next door, but it was pretty dark already and I wouldn’t want my brother out there alone. The remaining kids were hanging out in the front reception so I figured he’d be there too, but I couldn’t find him. I tapped Mark — still holding his remote car — on the shoulder. “Has Lucas gone home already?” I asked. Mark shook his head. “No. I think he went to the kitchen.” It was as I approached the kitchen door, which had a direct view inside, that I saw Lucas hovering by a plate of barbecue pork buns. Asian or not, those were always the favorite with a crowd — and I guess for Lucas too, as he slipped a few into his pockets. I was so shocked, I stopped dead. Who puts food into their pockets like that? My weight must have shifted, as a noise came from beneath my feet. Lucas’s eyes flew towards me, and the blood drained from his face, caught. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice wavering, suddenly scared.

“It’s OK,” I said softly, instinctively realizing something was weird with this picture. I grabbed one of the doggie bags we had set aside for the kids and opened it. “This is for you to take home, but since you like the buns so much, why don’t we put a few more in there for you?” His eyes went so round with gratefulness, I felt a lump in my throat. What was it about this kid? I shoved a few spring rolls in there too and handed him the bag. He all but snatched it from me. “Give me a sec to grab my jacket and I’ll walk you home,” I said, already heading to the hallway where we kept our coats. “That’s OK. I’m fine,” he said. By the time I turned back around he was gone. Mom came into the room, balancing empty bowls and plastic glasses on her arms like a pro. “That was nice, what you did, inviting the kid next door,” she said. “Don’t you think there’s something strange about him?” I asked. She dumped the bowls and glasses into the sink and turned to me, surprised. “Strange?” “I don’t know, he’s so quiet… and skinny. You know I caught him stealing food from the kitchen just now?” I said, feeling somewhat guilty by my revelation. I didn’t want to get the kid in trouble, but he unnerved me. “Stealing? From our cupboards?” Mom said, shocked. “No, the food that was out for the party,” I corrected her quickly. “Well how is that stealing? It was there to be eaten.” She pinned her eyes on me, hands on her hips. “He put food into his pockets…” I said, trailing off. She dismissed me with a wave and turned her attention to the clean up at hand. “He’s a kid and a boy! You wouldn’t believe the things

I’ve found in your brother’s pockets. It’s nothing.” Despite her lack of concern, something still didn’t feel right with me. I wasn’t ready to drop the conversation just yet, but my phone began vibrating in my pocket. Relief surged through me when the words “Chris calling” flashed on the screen. Finally! Sprinting out of the room, I ran upstairs and answered the call. “Where have you been?” were the first words out of my mouth. Well there goes the cool girlfriend I had been telling myself I’d be. Chris’s voice came over the line, filled with apology. “I’m so sorry. My phone died last night and I didn’t have a charger on me. Then we decided to stay over at George’s… I only just got back and called you right away.” In the three years we’d had been together, Chris had never lied to me and I trusted him completely, so I didn’t question his explanation however, I still couldn’t stop the wave of jealousy that ate at me. “I saw the pictures on your timeline. Looked like you were having fun.” I wasn’t able to keep the bitterness out of my voice either. “I was, but it would’ve been so much better if you were there. Wasn’t the same without you.” His voice was nothing but sincere. Some of the bitterness faded. “Bet Nessa doesn’t think so though. Looks like she couldn’t wait to take my place.” Shoot, where did that come from? I could barely recognize myself anymore. Suddenly Chris laughed. “Wait… are you jealous? Of Nessa?” He laughed so hard, I felt stupid. “Well she was there, hanging onto you…”

“Oh babe, I love you only. I did notice she was trying to get next to me the whole time, and it was beginning to tick me off, so I told George and he blocked her for the rest of the night. She got so mad, she left soon after the bowling.” “So she didn’t stay at George’s?” I asked, hating how pathetic my voice was beginning to sound. “Of course not. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re the only one for me and you know it.” He was so sure of himself that I felt dumb for ever doubting him. “Yeah. Yeah I do,” I said, smiling.

8

INVITE

T

he next day, we found ourselves back in boringville. My parents had taken off for work/interviews, and Mark and I were watching some kid show on TV, but neither of us were into it. He fidgeted beside me and tugged on my sleeve, antsy. “I’m bored, can we do something else?” he asked, looking up at me. “Like what?” I said. “I don’t know, you’re the one in charge. Can’t you think of something?” It was the billion dollar question that struck fear into every teenage babysitter. My mind wandered back to the boy next door. I kinda wanted to check on him. And suddenly, I knew. “Let’s go see if Lucas wants to play with you.” My suggestion was met with unexpected excitement. “I’ll go get my car!” Moments later, we trudged over to the neighbor’s house. It was the first time I had seen it up close. I took in the peeling paint and cracked wood panels. A few

baskets hung from the porch but the flowers had long died, leaving behind withering, decaying husks. I reached for the doorbell and pressed it. It was so stiff, I almost broke a nail. I heard the chime go off inside, a distorted sound, like the battery was running out. We waited, Mark puffing out his cheeks with excitement. I guess he really liked Lucas despite having only met him the day before. I was struck by how easy it was for kids to make friends. Nothing seemed to be happening and we were just about to give up and go home, when I heard noises behind the door and suddenly it was yanked open. A man came to the door. This must be Stan. He was dressed in a stained wife-beater and jogging pants and he stared bleary-eyed at us, blinking. It looked like he’d just woken up, even though it was almost noon, and he really didn’t seem like he was happy about it. For some reason, I found myself deliberately placing my body between him and Mark. “What?” He growled out. My mouth had fallen dry, and it was all I could do not to lick my lips. Somehow, I didn’t want him to see how nervous he was making me. “We came to invite Lucas over, see if he wanted to play with Mark,” I said, keeping my voice as wobble-free as I could. As I spoke, I caught sight of Lucas standing by a doorway behind him. In a pair of oversized pyjamas, he seemed even smaller this morning. Stan didn’t immediately answer, but just stood there glaring at me, which made me more nervous so I found myself blabbing to fill in the gap. “He seemed to have a good time at the party yesterday, so I thought he might want to come round again…” I trailed off, not sure what else I could say, but

at the anger that suddenly radiated from him, I knew I had already said too much. “Well, he’s not here.” Stan barked, slamming the door on my face. I flinched, and felt Mark jump behind me. Then I heard his footsteps stomping away from the door, and Stan shouting words I could not make out. Horrified, I grabbed Mark’s hand and tugged him back to our house. He looked at me, scared. “Did we get Lucas in trouble?” he asked. I didn’t answer but I knew we had. Big trouble. And I was sickened by it. We hurried back inside the safety of our own house, where I turned on the Wii and had Mark playing Super Mario Galaxy — his favorite game. He soon forget Lucas’s problems, chasing cute alien creatures as a racoon-suit wearing Italian plumber, but I was torment by what I had done. How could I be so stupid? As if that poor kid didn’t have it bad enough… I had just made his life, ten times worse.

9

FRAGILE

M

y eyes flew open but there was nothing but suffocating blackness. I gasped aloud, my voice sounding unfamiliar in the dark. It wasn’t until I sat up that I realized I was in bed, in my new home. My legs were tangled up in the sheets. My hair was damp around my face, and I could feel a sheen of sweat around the back of my neck. What had woken me? I reached over and turned on the lamp. My pillow lay on the ground, a foot or two away, but everything else seemed in place. Must’ve been a nightmare. Strange I couldn’t remember it though. There was a weariness in me that I couldn’t ever remember feeling prior to moving here. It hovered over me like a heavy stone. I wanted nothing more than to sink back into a cloud of sleep, but I was too wired and my throat felt parched. A floorboard creaked downstairs. I frowned. Someone else was awake? Swinging my

legs out of the bed and shivering from the cold I found there, I got up and fumbled my way to the stairs in the dark. Glancing at my folks’ room, I saw through the door they had left ajar that they were both asleep. And Mark, he had left his wide open, still afraid of the dark. I could see the warm orange glow of the nightlight in his room illuminating his sleeping form. I frowned, feeling puzzled, convinced I had heard something. And then the floorboard creaked again! I froze, eyes widening. I listened for it again, for any sound from downstairs. Past articles I’d read on Austin’s criminal history flooded my mind. Impossible though it seemed, were we being robbed? I stood there, straining my ears, ready to rush into my parent’s room at the next sound. But it never came. Feeling stupid but still being cautious, I edged down the stairs slowly, careful not to make a sound, silently shooting a prayer of thanks for my slight weight. I popped my head into the front reception room. I watched the windows from the doorway, ready to sound the alarm if I saw the curtains move — either from a breeze caused by an open or broken window or a person hiding behind them — but all was as it should be. It was the same with the living room. Moving to the kitchen, I checked every corner and place where someone could be, but there was nothing. Old houses make noises. Guess I would have to get used to that. Feeling foolish, I had a glass under the tap before I noticed the lights were on next door. The curtains were closed, but someone hadn’t drawn them properly as there was a small gap that I could see straight through into.

I moved to the patio door and saw their lounge, not dissimilar to our own. The wallpaper had seen better days but wasn’t an eyesore. Furniture was basic but solid looking. Lucas sat on a couch next to a fragile-looking woman. Must be Janet, I thought to myself. She shared the same delicate features and mousy brown hair. They sat close together but weren’t speaking. They weren’t watching TV either — the television was at the end of the room and I could see very clearly that it was off. Stan paced in front of them, agitated. He was tense, as if preparing for a fight, and he raged back and forth. Whatever he said had Lucas’s mom flinching. Lucas opened his mouth to speak, to explain himself which is when Stan raised his arm to strike him! Lucas shrank back into his seat, and his mom moved herself between him and Stan, steeling her shoulders instead to accept the blow. The world slowed as blood rushed into my ears. I watched, rooted to the spot, waiting for the inevitable, unable to believe what I was witnessing. Stan lunged forward and I inhaled sharply… But then he smiled. A hard, nasty smile, and lowered his arm. Neither Lucas nor his mom moved. Not even when her husband left the room, seemingly pleased with the fear he had just instilled in them. They sat silently. Finally Janet stood up, and said something to Lucas as she stroked his hair. Then she crept timidly from the room. I stood, watching until Lucas eventually left as well. There was a dull ache in my heart. My hands were gripped around the glass so tightly, it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. That poor kid. Whatever was going on in that house wasn’t good. Suddenly wanting nothing more

than to be in my bed, I gulped down the water and hurried back to my room. Exhaustion crept up on me, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while. What I had seen would haunt me. Needing a distraction, my eyes found their way to the floorboard hiding the secret tin. Fishing it out, I flicked through the next notes until I found another mention of the house next door, and what I read, chilled me to the core. Turns out, Stan likes to drink. Mom heard he messed up at work because of it, that’s probably around the time when the arguments started happening. No wonder Lucas is so quiet now. I asked Mom to talk to Janet or something, but she said we have enough on our plate without taking on their problems. I guess she’s right. It has been getting pretty tense at home. I hate that I did this to them. — A I kept reading but I couldn’t find any more mentions. The writing wasn’t as neat as in the first notes now, the strokes uneven as if written by a trembling hand. “A” must have been pretty upset when she wrote this. They never have a kind word to say to each other. I don’t even recognize them anymore. Mom has all these frown lines on her face, while Dad is drinking more and more. Every night, he just sits in his chair, until he’s fallen into a stupor. At first, Mom would try to get him into bed, now she just leaves him. And you know, I never saw any of this coming. I can’t even remember when they fought for real. Of course they’ve argued before, but it was over small things, like who’s turn

to do the dishes it was, or Dad’s habit of leaving his clothes on the floor (that really drives Mom mad). Nothing that they wouldn’t laugh over. They definitely never went to bed angry. Happiness is as fragile as a blade of grass. All it takes is one big problem before you find yourself with the whole sky falling down around you. — A I stopped, thinking over what I had just read. “A’s” words troubling me greatly.

10

TROUBLE

B

reakfast was a sombre affair. I came down, haunted by the night before, determined to talk to Mom about it all once I could get her alone. Black circles ringed my eyes, but I hid them under concealer. The air felt heavy with tension. Mom was at the sink, dressed in her work uniform, her back to us, but something about the way she was standing, the way she didn’t say anything, spoke volumes. I looked over at my dad, nursing a bowl of cereal while his eyes scanned the job listings. He ate robotically, with no enjoyment. I know he always preferred a hot breakfast, but even this lack of enthusiasm seemed extreme for him. The only person oblivious to anything was Mark, inhaling a pop tart like his life depended on it. I came into the room and poured myself a glass of OJ. “So…” I began tentatively, desperate to break the ice. “What’s up?” Like the floodgates had opened, Mom set down the mug she was scrubbing and sighed. “Your father and I are in a disagreement.”

I looked at Dad but he shook his head, lips set in a firm line. I wasn’t going to get anything out of him. “What about?” I tried again. “About the jobs he is going for!” Mom exclaimed. “He’s stooping for ones that are far beneath him and then being rejected for being over-qualified when they would be lucky to have someone with his experience working for them! I keep telling him to go higher, but he thinks the competition is too fierce.” I looked at Dad again but he still refused to join in the conversation, knowing Mom was on a rampage. “You never worried about competition before…” I said gently, hoping to coax him into saying something, but Mom finished my sentence for me. “He never had a problem standing before, either.” And there it was, the elephant in the room. Since the car accident that had left Dad with mobility problems, it was an unspoken agreement between us that we would not mention it, especially as it was this accident and an unruly insurance company that had caused us to lose our beloved home in The Bluff. I knew Dad felt responsible, despite how ridiculous that was — it wasn’t he who had been texting while driving. Dad had always been the best of drivers, so it was a shock when the accident happened and there was nothing he could do. It was just bad luck, really. Could have happened to anyone. After the accident, Dad wasn’t able to do his job to his boss’s satisfaction as it involved plenty of on-site work — he was the IT director for a large car dealership of all things. And that’s basically how we ended up here which is why I tried not to be a brat in front of him. Despite how I was desperately missing Chris, I didn’t want my Dad to feel any worse.

The room fell silent. Even Mark’s jaw froze, mid-chew. We all looked to Dad, expecting some kind of explosion. Instead, he just set down his bowl, and with his head hanging low, he left the room. Mom must have felt stricken as her eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears. Throwing down the dish towel, she went after him. Moments later, we heard the front door slam. Without saying a word to each other, Mark and I went to the living room which overlooked the street. We could see Mom following Dad into the minivan, setting off to work. Guess Dad wasn’t backing down on his job-hunt however, as he had his “interview” briefcase with him. Pride surged in me. I was thankful that he wasn’t giving up, but I also realized I wouldn’t be able to speak to Mom about Lucas any time soon.

11

DOUBT

A

s we turned away from the window, Mark bounced up and down beside me. “Don’t forget, I have to be at Ben’s at noon — I’m sleeping over there tonight!” I glanced at the clock. It was eight thirty in the morning. It was hard to keep from rolling my eyes. “Dude, that’s not for another three and a half hours. Chill out.” Once I had him in front of the TV, I moved to the kitchen, making sure Mark couldn’t hear me, and called Chris. He answered after a few rings, surprised but happy to hear from me. “Hey hon.” “Sorry, I know you’re working,” I began. “I’ve got a few minutes… What’s up?” he asked. I filled him in quickly, tripping over my words in my haste to get them out. “I don’t know what to do,” I finished finally. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do,” Chris said. “You didn’t actually see anything. What if you’d just turned up at a bad time?”

“But what about what I saw last night?” “He never actually touched either of them though. I don’t know, babe. I think if you are going to do anything, you need to be sure.” Someone called his name in the background, and he didn’t sound particularly patient about it. “I gotta go, I’m sorry. Let’s talk more about this later, OK?” he said. “Sure, speak later. Love you.” I said. “Love you back,” he replied before hanging up. Mind racing, and unsure what I could do, I sat on the couch, blindly watching Mark play until it was time to take him to Ben’s. They only lived a few blocks away so we walked, the crisp air filling my nose and clearing my head. A cloud of red orange leaves rained down around us, a sight I usually delighted in, though today, I had a tough time feeling anything but guilt and concern. Arriving at Ben’s house, I stopped Mark before he could run inside. “Be good, understand?” I told him. “Any problems, you call me.” Mark nodded, the end of his nose red from the cold. He took a step inside when I suddenly found myself wrapping my arms around him in a hug. I’m not usually a touchy-feely person, so this move surprised even me. Mark squirmed in my arms, pulling away from me. “Ewwwww,” he said ungraciously. “Get off me!” I let go, and he bolted inside. Ben’s Mom, a woman I recognized from the party yesterday, smiled at me. “So nice to see some sibling love. My older ones think Ben’s nothing but an annoyance.” I could feel my cheeks getting hot from embarrassment. Mumbling something unintelligible, I

walked away.

12

GIRLTALK

W

ithout Mark to babysit, I wandered around aimlessly, trying to get accustomed to my new neighborhood, but I found myself growing increasingly more depressed. Why had I not trusted my instinct? I should never have gone around there. When I eventually pulled myself out of my funk enough to look up, I realized I was near the coffee bar. My mind drifted back to Lacey. I hadn’t given her much thought in the last few days, but I suddenly felt bad for the way I had reacted at the end of our last meeting. I had a habit of jumping to conclusions, and it was very possible that this was one of those times. I found myself needing to apologize and make amends. Maybe, just maybe, she would be there. I hurried inside. Not much had changed. Like my previous visit, only a few people were present, but none of them were Lacey. I was surprised at the disappointment I felt. The barista and her co-worker were back, though something had clearly happened between them as they avoided each

other like the plague, which was quite the feat as they only had a five foot or so space to do this with. I was willing to bet money on a date or kiss gone horrifically wrong. We’ve all been there. Deciding I was going to treat myself to more than water, I ordered a coffee but still received a weird look from the barista, so that was Lacey’s theory out of the window. Maybe it was the Chinese thing, although this area was pretty multi-cultural so I would be surprised if it was that. I was happy to see that my table in the dark corner was empty. I had never considered myself a creature of habit before but it wasn’t a label I minded. I took my laptop out of my bag, having grabbed it last minute before we left the house. Chris’s advice had given me food for thought and since I couldn’t make up my own mind, I figured research was in order. Waking it from sleep, I opened Chrome and Googled “What to do if you think a child is being abused?” Unsettling articles and hits flooded the screen. So many, I was amazed by the scope of them. Sure, I might not always get along with my brother — he can get bratty like any other kid his age — but I would never dream of hurting him. It sickened me that not everyone felt the same. I read through the articles, noting down their advice. A few warned against pointing the finger at someone unless you were sure — especially if the suspected abuser could be innocent. Rumors were a surefire way to turn a community against them, and suddenly the family you were trying to help could find themselves ostracized. My stomach churned, making me feel sick. I had no real proof, everything was circumstantial. Did I really want

to do go down this route? A well of hopelessness filled up inside, threatening to spill over. Feeling how dry my eyes were, I looked up from the screen, and only then did I realize I wasn’t alone anymore. Someone was sitting opposite me, waving her hand at me to get my attention. Lacey. “Hey! Must be good stuff you’re reading there, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now!” She said this, smiling and well, looking just like the last time. She was even wearing the same wool hat. I was so startled, I didn’t immediately return her smile. She chewed on the corner of her lip, forehead furrowing into a frown. “Listen, about last time… You left before I could say anything,” she began. She seemed so genuinely concerned, I felt myself softening up. “I know. I’m sorry. I’d had a bad day and you got the brunt of it. I’m not usually like that.” “I just didn’t want you to think—” she went on but I raised my hand, stopping her mid flow. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It wasn’t my place to do that. You were being kind but I jumped to conclusions. It’s a bad habit of mine,” I said apologetically. “Well, we all have some of those,” she laughed. “It’s just, I had met some of the locals earlier, in the park, and they weren’t particularly welcoming.” Lacey’s expression became worried. “Who was it? What did they do?” “Oh, just a group of girls, around our age. They were just being stupid. The leader had blonde hair, with pinkdyed tips.” Lacey sat back, nodding knowingly.

“That’ll be Mandy Burrows and her gang. They like to pick on people but they’re all talk. You don’t have to worry about them.” I must have looked a little hesitant as Lacey went on the explain. “Seriously. Mandy runs around the neighbourhood with them, looking tough, but if you ever have any real trouble with her, you just speak to her dad. He’s head of the local paper and isn’t too happy with her constant bad behavior. One word from you and he’ll put a stop to it. He doesn’t believe in bullies.” “Well that’s one down at least,” I said, somewhat relieved. I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the strong, hot drink. “So,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation away, “you really like that hat, huh?” Lacey laughed. “Yeah. It’s my favorite because it doesn’t scratch. You wouldn’t believe how much of a difference that makes.” I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it. Lacey must have picked up on this as her eyes shone with concern. “What’s up? You seem troubled?” I shook my head, put down the coffee cup. “It’s nothing…” Lacey smiled encouragingly at me. “Well I noticed you said “that’s one down” just now. So what’re the other ones?” I hesitated, not sure if I should say anything, but Lacey gave me an encouraging look. “Come on, you know what they say, a problem shared…” It was probably her kind expression and the fact that she exuded empathy, but I suddenly found myself telling her everything. The words spilled out of my mouth unheeded or censored. Lacey listened, calm and

attentive. She didn’t comment until I finished. “Wow. No wonder you’re stressed. I would be too,” she finally said. “I just… I believe it’s happening, but I just don’t think I can do anything about it. Some of these articles say I should have proof before making a giant assumption like this. Once this stuff gets into the open, it isn’t something you can take back, and I can’t be the one who makes life worse for him. Again.” “Kim, everyone always thinks that, but they are so wrong. You can do something. You spotted it. You know. So now, you can help him.” I clenched my hands into fists, frustration bubbling over. “But how? What can I do?” “Can you tell your parents?” Lacey asked. “No… they have their own stuff going on right now… We… There’s a lot happening at home. I don’t want to bug them with this unless I’m one hundred percent sure. I just feel so helpless, you know?” Lacey’s eyes softened as she looked at me. “At least when you’re watching them, they’re not alone anymore.” Her words managed to cut into the pit of misery I found myself in. I felt a small pang of hope, battling through the darkness. Embarrassed by all the emotions I was feeling, I reached for my coffee but misjudged the distance. My hand only nudged the edge of the cup but it was enough to send half its contents spilling over. Hot brown liquid landed on Lacey’s hand. I gasped, horrified and went to dab at the mess with my napkin, but Lacey just smiled, waving me away. “It’s OK. It didn’t hurt.” “Are you sure?” I tried to help, but she shook her head.

“Honestly. Didn’t even feel it. Don’t worry.” “I can’t believe how clumsy I am,” I admonished myself. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing all you can,” Lacey said. I wasn’t done trying to make up for burning her hand. Despite what she said, I knew it must have hurt but I guess she just didn’t want me to feel any worse than I already felt. It struck me then that Lacey was a truly nice person. And even if she didn’t want to give me her personal details, I was grateful for what friendship we had. We sat there for a while, just talking. She tried convincing me to read some history books, but I wasn’t buying, which actually amused her. Seemed she was always getting this response but it hadn’t dampened her own enjoyment of the subject. When the last of my coffee was well and truly done, we left together. Standing outside, I realized I was feeling so much better about myself and all credit was due to Lacey. She just had this way about her. You couldn’t help but like her. “So, where are you heading?” I asked. “Oh, just a few blocks away. I live close by,” she replied. “So do I. Actually, do you want to come round for dinner? My mom always cooks way too much for the four of us,” I offered. Lacey tilted her head, studying me. “Are you still trying to make up for earlier?” “No… well, maybe a little,” I said. She laughed. “I’d love to but I can’t tonight. Another time?” “Sure.” I paused then, sentences tumbling through

my head, fighting for attention, but all that came out was: “Thanks for earlier. For listening and stuff.” Lacey smiled again. “You’re welcome.” She turned to walk away, so I took her cue and was starting the other way myself when she called over her shoulder at me. “Hey Kim…” I stopped, looking back. “Don’t give up on Lucas. You might be the only one who can help him.” A sudden lump developed in my throat. “I won’t. Thanks for being a good listener.” Lacey smiled at me again. “Dum vita est spes est”. It took me a second but I recognized the words — they were the same as the ones on the plaque in my room. “What is that, a town motto?” I asked. She smiled at me. “Something like that.” Waving, she turned and starting walking away. I headed off in the other direction before it hit me — how was I going to invite her for dinner another time when I still didn’t have her details? I turned around, but she was already gone.

13

CAUGHT

I

walked into a dark and empty house. Where was everyone? Surprised, I headed into the kitchen to find a note on the table. Mom had gone to dinner with Dad, to take his mind off work matters. And probably to make up for this morning, I thought to myself. I was glad. They needed time together. Back at The Bluff, they used to go on weekly dates but I couldn’t remember when they had last done that. For sure they hadn’t since Dad’s accident. Mom mentioned there were leftovers from the party in the fridge. As if in answer, my stomach emitted a low rumble. I hadn’t had anything since breakfast so I was feeling relieved when I opened the fridge to see how much food was still there. I grabbed a few of the roast pork buns and nuked them in the microwave, thankful that Mom wasn’t home to see me. She was a stickler for things like this, and would never use the microwave to heat them. She would steam the buns, even though it was a lot more hassle and would take triple the time. When the microwave chimed to let me know it was

done, I looked across the yard to see Lucas sitting on the bench again. He looked so forlorn, my heart hurt for him. Guilt raised its ugly head, knowing that I was the likely cause of his misery. As I tore my eyes away from him, I noticed the stash of doggie bags that were still on the counter, yet to be put away. I shoved the food I had just heated up into a bag and went outside. Moving towards the fence cautiously, I scanned Lucas’s house. The lights were on inside, highlighting Stan asleep in a recliner, oblivious to the world. Seeing how relaxed he was when poor Lucas was out here in the cold filled me with a red hot fury. I leaned in close to the fence. “Lucas… Are you alright?” I began, hating how my voice trembled. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” He looked at me with a weariness that shouldn’t be possible in an eight-year-old. “It’s OK. You didn’t know…” The fact he wasn’t in the least bit mad at me, well, that just killed me even more. I swallowed the lump in my throat, desperate to make amends. “Where’s your mom?” I asked. “Watching TV in the bedroom…” He hesitated. “She’s not feeling very well.” I had a feeling he wasn’t telling me the whole truth but didn’t want to push. Everything about this kid plucked at my heartstrings. I held out the doggie bag to him. “I thought you might like some more food… we still have plenty leftover…” A grubby little hand shot forward and snatched the bag from me. He didn’t even bother looking inside to see what was there. Just shoved his hand in, grabbed the first thing he could, and put it into his mouth. He ate so

fast, I was afraid he would choke. A part of me wanted to tell him to slow down, but I also knew he probably hadn’t eaten in a while so I was content just to stand there, keeping him company. Suddenly, my cell — which was in the back pocket of my jeans — blasted out a Muse track. It was the ringtone I had given to Chris. The uplifting music seemed inordinately loud out here, and I found myself fumbling for my phone to turn it off, but in the few seconds that it took for me to retrieve it, I saw a blur of movement coming from Lucas’s house. It was Stan. Woken up by the loud music, he was no longer sleeping in the recliner, but barrelling towards us! “Boy, I told you to stay away from them!” He lurched towards us, slurring some of his words. In the midst of my panic, I realized he was drunk. My suspicions were confirmed when his flushed face landed in a bright beam of moonlight. His glazed eyes darted in all directions, struggling to locate us. I shrank back away from the fence, instantly afraid of the fury I saw in them. But Lucas… Lucas had nowhere to go. “No matter how many times, you never behave. But you’ll listen to my fist, won’t you?” Stan lunged forward so fast that Lucas couldn’t react. He grabbed him by the arm, yanking it so hard I was afraid it would be torn out of its socket. “Leave him alone! Don’t touch him!” I yelled, my concern for Lucas over-riding my own fear. As if he suddenly remembered I was there, Stan strode over to the fence in three quick strides, dragging Lucas behind him. Then, as easily as if he were just swatting a fly, he reached over the fence and backhanded me across my face!

Searing pain exploded in my cheek as my head snapped back. Reeling from shock, I blinked back the tears that had sprung up in my eyes. Never had I ever felt anything like that before. I looked over the fence to see Stan almost had Lucas inside the house. I froze, not knowing what to do. Throughout it all, my phone kept ringing. Showering the scene with a cheerful soundtrack that only made it seem more surreal. I watched Lucas, sobbing now, as Stan pulled him away. You can’t let this happen! He’ll kill him! Come on Kim, think… THINK! I answered my phone. Before Chris could speak, I yelled into it. “Call the cops, Chris! Send them to my house. Tell them the neighbor’s little boy is in danger — he’s drunk and I think he’s about to beat him, bad!” Chris’s voice came down the line, baffled. Hesitant. “What? Are you sur—?” “NOW CHRIS! Hurry! I’m going after them.” I shoved the phone into my pocket, keeping the call connected. I could hear Chris’s panicked voice yelling at me to stop, but I couldn’t. Maybe it was the conversation I had had with Lacey earlier, or the fact that the last time this kid had a beating, it was down to me. Whatever it was, I was determined that it would not happen again. Moving back a few steps, I took a running leap at the fence and scrambled awkwardly over. I wouldn’t be winning any awards for my effort but at least I made it over. I landed ungracefully on the grass and sprang after them without a second’s thought. Stan had gotten Lucas inside the house and was taking off his belt. I sprinted up to the patio door just as he whipped back his arm. THWACK! I started banging on the glass with my fists. Stan

stopped, startled, seeing me at the door. I guess he wasn’t used to a witness, but he was beyond reason, the drink clouding whatever judgement he might have had. Letting go of Lucas, he rushed towards me. “Lucas… RUN!” I screamed at him. He looked at me, startled, then bolted away, back into the house. I allowed myself a moment of relief when I saw he was safe for now, but then I realized Stan had a new target — me! As he reached the door, I ran back to the fence, frantically scrabbling to get over it. I got one leg over and was swinging the second one around when my foot was seized! Terrified, I glanced back to see Stan with it in his meat hook hands. He yanked — hard — and I felt myself free-falling backwards. I hit the ground with a thud. Pain flooded my side where I had landed. Something cracked beneath my hip. In the back of my mind, I knew it was my phone. I had broken my phone and possibly, my lifeline. I couldn’t hear Chris’s voice anymore. It was then I understood the very real danger I had put myself in. I was alone and utterly vulnerable. Winded, I couldn’t immediately move and Stan knew it. He loomed over me, a towering presence with a menacing smile. Still holding onto his belt, he raised his arm ready to lash out at me. There was nothing I could do but raise my own over my face to block the inevitable blow. I squeezed my eyes closed, bracing myself. An image of Janet doing the same thing flashed across my mind. So this is what that felt like. But the blow never came. I opened my eyes again. Stan was frozen, ready to strike, but he stared out over the fence into my backyard,

at something I couldn’t see from my position on the ground. As I watched, the blood seemed to drain from his face, until he looked positively terrified. I couldn’t see or hear anything, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t distract him for long. Seeing my chance, I kicked out with all my might. My feet caught him smack bang in the stomach. Unprepared for my attack, he went flying backwards, hitting his head on the ground. Holding his head, moaning, his rage seemed to have vanished completely, taken over from pain. I scrambled to my feet, backing away. In the distance came the welcome sound of fastapproaching sirens.

14

AFTERMATH

T

he next hour flew past. Having been alerted by Chris, the cops arrived and quickly surrounded the property. Within seconds, they had Stan in handcuffs and a paramedic saw to my injuries, which luckily, consisted of only bruises. I was more concerned for Lucas, who they finally found, hiding under his bed. He sat across from me now, swinging his legs, eyes pinned to the floor as a social worker tried to talk to him. They discovered Janet in the bedroom with a swollen black eye, having been “taught a lesson” by Stan, earlier. A policeman, Officer Wells, stood by me, having taken my statement. Lines covered his weathered face, though his eyes shone kindly. Despite many years on the job, he hadn’t lost the drive that had originally drawn him to this role. “That was a brave thing you did there, Kim. Probably saved that boy,” he said now. “I almost got us both killed, so… I have a different view of the situation,” I replied shakily. I was happy we were safe, but I couldn’t believe how stupid I had been. It

could have turned out so much worse. “You’re too hard on yourself. Do you know that less than 2% of the kids your age who witness a crime actually report it? Because of you that man won’t be hurting them any time soon.” Hearing his words perked me up some. “I’ve been working this area for twenty-five years now and there hasn’t been one report logged on this house. Not one. No one knew how much Lucas and his mom were suffering.” “She never said anything?” I asked. It seemed so improbable to me that his mom would accept that treatment for them both. He shook his head. “Abuse is a strange thing. It never starts in an obvious manner. It’s insidious, and by her account, it only began two years ago, after he lost his job and started drinking. Don’t be too hard on her. She was scared too.” A voice cackled over his comms, I wasn’t able to make out the words but he seemed to understand them fine. “Roger that,” he said into it before inclining his head at me. “We’ve managed to reach your folks, they’re on their way home now. Come on. I’ll walk you back.” We went out the front door, around the front path and into my house which seemed serene in comparison to the commotion next door. I lead him into the kitchen. “Do you want a coffee?” “I’d love one, thank you.” I grabbed a mug and crossed over to the machine. As I was pouring his drink, I noticed my hands were still shaking. He must have noticed too, as he deliberately looked away. It was as he was taking in the room that I saw he seemed sad. “Is everything OK?” I asked, curious. He smiled,

caught. “Sorry. I was just seeing what changes you’ve made to the place.” I handed him his drink. “Oh, you’ve been here before?” “Yes. I knew the family who lived here before you. They were really good people. Did a lot for the community.” “Do you know why they left all their furniture? Didn’t they need it for their new house?” I asked. “Well, the couple divorced after their daughter died of cancer, so I believe they just wanted a clean slate. She was a lovely thing, always helping around the neighborhood, ever since she was little. She made food drops to the elderly who lived on their own — even forced the local council to keep the library open when they threatened to close it. She loved to read — history — I think it was. Can’t count the number of stray dogs she saved.” “Wow. She sounds like a great person,” I said, awed by my predecessor. “Yeah,” he said. “That Lacey was one of a kind.” Hearing the name, blood pounded in my ears. The room spun, swirling around me. I felt like my body was becoming detached from my head. When my voice came, it sounded really far away. “Her name was… Lacey?” “Well, it was actually Alyssa, Alyssa Lewis, but everyone called her Lacey. Funny thing actually — that’s who Stan said he saw… When he had you down on the ground and you said something scared him? Stopped him from hitting you? He swears it was Lacey, standing right there.”

15

REVELATIONS

M

om and Dad arrived home in the next moment, which was lucky really, as I had lost the ability to speak. After they checked me over and were assured I was fine, they continued talking to Wells, informing him that they were going to press charges which apparently, would also help Lucas and his mom’s case. I escaped as soon as I could, racing upstairs to my room. Since the moment Wells had told his story, I had felt a desperate urge to finish reading the notes in the tin. Surely, surely, there was some kind of logical explanation for all of this? Snatching up the tin, I flicked past the remaining notes, until I got to the very last one. My eyes ate up the messily written words hungrily. It’s not long now. I know I will go soon, and I’ve made my peace, but I feel bad for my parents. They’ve been at each other’s throats this whole time, each blaming the other for things they couldn’t possibly have known ahead of time. I

really hope they can help each other through this. Please don’t let them suffer any more. And then there’s Lucas. I keep seeing him outside, alone and cold. I hope someone watches out for him after I’m gone. — A That was it. Her last note. Lacey must have died soon after. Mind whirling with my discovery, I opened my laptop and went to Facebook. This time I knew exactly what name to put in… Alyssa Lewis. Her profile came up immediately. And there it was… her unmistakable face. My Lacey. I clicked on the profile, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. There were a ton of messages being posted to her page, all from friends who still missed her. By their posts, I figured out that Lacey had died three or four months ago. Her friends were still tagging her on photos. I scrolled through the pictures reeling at seeing Lacey’s smiling face. How was any of this possible? Despite the proof, my brain was still having a hard time assimilating all this information until I scrolled right to the end of the page, where the last photograph showed Lacey wearing that same wool hat I had seen her in, except here, Lacey looked pale and frail, and most of her hair was gone. “It’s my favorite because it doesn’t scratch.” Lacey’s words reverberated in my head. I held my breath. Still unable to voice the truth. My mind flicked back everything I had learned up until now… “I’m not on Facebook anymore.” “I don’t actually have a phone anymore either. It was cut off.” She had been telling the truth, I just didn’t know it at

the time! And now other examples came crashing into my mind. Like how I had spilt hot coffee on her hand but Lacey said she couldn’t feel it. I remembered how I have always felt cold in this room, despite the temperature outside. And maybe this was why I had trouble sleeping here, maybe it’s because… Lacey was a ghost! I sat back on my heels, stunned, unable to take it all in. As I stared blankly around the room, my eyes caught the sign on the bookshelf. “Dum vida est spes est” And suddenly I remembered Lacey saying those very same words to me. I typed them into Google, which politely informed me that the words were Latin. Moments later, the translation appeared on the screen: “While there is life, there is hope” And even beyond life it seemed. I sat there stunned as I tried to come to terms with all these revelations.

16

HOME

I

must have sat there in the dark for at least an hour. Although I had finally accepted the truth, it would be a very long time before I would get over it. Lacey had come back to help us both. Hooking up my laptop to the printer, I printed out a photo of Lacey — the one with the wool hat. Placing it on top of Lacey’s notes, I slid the tin back into its home beneath the floorboards when thundering footsteps raced up the stairs. Suddenly, the door was flung open and in dashed Chris! It was so sudden, so unexpected that I wasn’t sure he too wasn’t some kind of mirage. But then Chris sprang across the room to me and crushed me to his chest. I could hear his heart beating wildly against my face. It was the most wonderful sound I think I’ve ever heard. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?” he said, planting his lips on top of my head. “I’m so glad you’re OK.” And you know what?

So was I.

17

TOMORROW

D

ays later, life settled back to normal. It was almost as if that momentous thing hadn’t happened, except several things had changed. Dad was still looking for a job, but he’d already had several interviews for one… he was pretty confident he would land the gig and Mom wasn’t pressuring him on which job to take now. I think she realized that he needed to be working, to be providing for us, to be happy. And since living here was so much cheaper than The Bluff, he could afford the salary cut. And Chris and I? Though originally we were planning on going to college in California, I felt I couldn’t leave my family after all we had recently gone through. So instead, he was transferring to a local college in Chicago — and we would be back to seeing each other every day again! I was thrilled! I haven’t seen Lacey again, and things don’t bump in the night anymore. That could be a coincidence but I like to think she must be at peace, having finally helped both the boy next door and me. Sounds came from outside, drawing my attention to

the window. I looked down to see Lucas — wearing a jacket — happily kicking a soccer ball around with Mark. They were shrieking and laughing, the way kids their age should be. The boys must have seen me move to the window as they both looked up. They waved at me, and I waved back. And as I went to finish the last of my unpacking, Lacey’s words — which would be forever scorched in my heart — echoed in my head. “At least when you’re watching them, they’re not alone anymore.” I smiled to myself. The End.

WANTED, BOOK 1 OF THE CHASE RYDER SERIES

WANTED Book 1 of The Chase Ryder Series A YA sci-fi thriller by Jo Ho “I pounded my fists at the door, banging and screaming until my hands were throbbing with pain, but it was no use. I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and cried, as I waited for them to kill my best friend.” Teenager Chase Ryder has been living rough on the streets of New York for months – a harrowing experience yet still better than what she endured at home. When she and recently widowed vet, Sully, rescue a super intelligent Collie, Chase finally finds herself part of the loving family unit she has always craved, but every display of Bandit’s special skills brings them one step closer to the mercenary billionaire who created him… and he wants his expensive experiment back. With the enemy’s personal SWAT team out for blood, a devastating turn of events finds them running for their lives as they fight to save one of their own.

Read the first few chapters of Jo’s debut book here.

PROLOGUE

N

EW YORK CITY, NY He had been running now for days. The hot asphalt stung his cracked soles and the burning sun pounded onto his thinning frame, but he knew he couldn’t stop. He had to get away. A battered blue truck thundered past and he flinched. No matter how often it happened, he still wasn’t prepared for the rush of sound that roared into his ears. Where he was from, there were no cars. No vehicles of any kind. He lifted his nose to the wind and welcomed the heady sensation of another new smell to add to his collection. Juicy, with a hint of smoke. He licked his lips, mouth watering in anticipation. Crossing onto the sidewalk, he moved towards the aroma, to where an overweight man in a greasy apron cooked on a stand. Meat patties sizzled on the grill. He hadn’t eaten since the escape, and now his stomach protested painfully. He padded up to the man and gave him a hopeful look, but clapping eyes on him, the vendor grabbed a broom and started shaking it in warning.

“Get lost you filthy beast!” Red from the heat of the flames, perspiration slid down his wobbly chin and landed with a plop an inch away from the meat. When his target failed to move, he glared down at the optimistic hopeful and— WHAAM! Steel-capped boots lashed out onto his rump. The sharp stabbing pain shocked the brown and white dog who had never felt anything like it in his life. He blinked back tears and howled.

THE CEO

T

he CEO wasn’t pleased. Though considered an attractive man by many, The CEO had an eerie way of smiling that never reached his blue-grey eyes. Of slim build, he took great pains with his appearance, which showed in the Saville Row tailored suits he’d had shipped in from London. Custom made, a single suit could feed a starving African nation for a week — not that he ever would, abhorring charity as he did. Deceptively soft-spoken, The CEO’s calm exterior masked a ruthless streak that terrified men twice his size. Any who failed to do his bidding had a way of vanishing, never to be seen again. The CEO stood by his desk in the glass office overlooking The Facility. Pouring himself a glass of Cognac, he sipped at the drink, letting the warmth of the liquid slide down his throat. For all intents and purposes, The Facility was a hightech laboratory where secretive experiments were being conducted on a daily basis. White-coated scientists rushed around below conducting wide-ranging research,

but few knew the real reason for The Facility’s existence. Only The CEO’s most trusted advisors had the key to that secret, which essentially included only two people: the muscle, and Dr. Elora Robins, the brain. After years of research, they had finally created the perfect specimen, only for him to escape. The CEO frowned, remembering the ineptitude of the staff member who was ultimately responsible. His name was Julio and he was one of the night janitors. Julio had worked at The Facility for close to twenty years, when its number one focus was genetic engineering and DNA splicing. An illegal immigrant, The CEO had hired him specifically (as he had done with all low level staff) as he knew Julio couldn’t afford NOT to keep quiet about what went on in the lab. As an added bonus, Julio also worked for below minimum wage. The CEO had never understood anyone who paid higher rates to such low dwellers, unless they liked flushing company profits down the drain. On the night of the escape, Julio had been suffering from a bout of food poisoning. It seemed he’d left out some food at home that had been visited by houseflies. On his fourth trip to the toilets, when the nausea and diarrhea had almost forced its way out, Julio had left a security gate unlocked. This was all the opportunity that the resourceful dog had needed. Sticking to the air shafts and lesser used walkways, the dog had snuck out of The Facility before the alarm was even raised. Needless to say, when it was discovered that Julio was to blame, The CEO had had him disposed of. His family are still searching for him to this day. The CEO fingered his sleeve now as he waited for the call to be patched through. The Mercenary wouldn’t let

him down. He knew what was at risk. They had lost the dog for a few days, but a new sighting had pinpointed him in New York City. Feeling the beginnings of a headache, The CEO took another sip of his drink, a three hundred year old brand of Cognac that cost the same as a small car. Finally Suzanne, his assistant spoke through the intercom. “Sir, he’s on one.” The CEO activated the speakerphone and spoke one quiet word. “Well?” The Mercenary’s voice was strained. “Alpha escaped.” The glass slid out of his hand, smashing onto the granite floor. Shards of glass flew in every direction. Almost immediately, the office door flung open and Suzanne bustled inside. In her forties, she was his right hand and prepared for every eventuality. Including this it seemed. Suzanne had entered carrying paper towels, which she now used to mop up the spilled liquid. He watched her in silence before issuing The Mercenary’s next command in a voice loaded with threat. “Find him, or don’t bother coming back.”

CHASE

G

REENWICH, FAIRFIELD COUNTY Everyone loved sunsets. Everyone, that is, but me, Chase Ryder, to whom sunsets signalled that yet another hard night was approaching. In the leafy upmarket park surrounding a man-made lake, wealthy couples strolled hand-in-hand admiring the mottled orange sky. I stirred, waking from my nap beneath a towering oak. Oaks were best as they provided plenty of foliage to protect against sudden showers and prying eyes. There was also the added bonus of loadbearing lower branches that someone nimble could scramble onto should trouble come calling… and you should know, trouble had me on speed-dial. I stared at my reflection in the water. The face that stared back at me was fourteen but looked younger. A button nose and blue eyes gave the illusion of innocence . My mouth was plump; a little bigger than I’d like, but at least I’d never need collagen. The shoulder length hair would be a glossy chestnut if it weren’t hanging in one big, greasy streak. Despite my current condition, I knew I

was above average, but I’m not exactly what you’d call vain, usually choosing to hide my face rather than show it. My stomach emitted a low rumble. I slipped a hand into a pocket and retrieved the last of my money, a hundred bucks or so. All that’s left of my stash. It might seem like a good amount, but I’d already been on the road for eight months. In that time, I learned to only spend when I absolutely had to. If only I was rich I wouldn’t be in this mess. I looked around at my surroundings. Yummy mommy’s with Pilates-honed bodies bouncing designerclad babies on tanned knees. The only hunger they knew was self-inflicted. I compared my figure to that of a passing cyclist, frowning when I realized that the only difference between us was our ages. Originally from “The Paper City” Holyoke in Hampden County — one of the poorest cities in Massachusetts — I’d come here thinking I would receive more charity in affluent Greenwich, which had seen Mel Gibson and Meryl Streep among its wealthy residents, but these people, so caught up in their self-made dramas, barely noticed me. I’d totalled less here than if I’d stayed home. I frowned as a shadow fell over the water, obscuring my face. Strange. The shadow didn’t encompass the whole park, just me. Too late the danger signs came into my head as a hand clamped down on my shoulder. The nails were ripped and blackened with dirt. I noticed the smell next, pungent, like raw sewage mixed with a brewery. “Spare some change?” I spun around to find myself gripped, vice-like, in the arms of a guy who was maybe seventeen. His glazed eyes focused on the money in my hands. I looked at his

arms — yup, mottled with needle tracks. I scanned the area quickly, searching for help, but help wasn’t coming. Note to self: if tree’s are leafy enough to shield you from prying eyes, they’ll also shield the nasty druggie who has you in his grasp. I froze in terror. The druggie eyeballed the money in my hand and snatched it from me. He hesitated then, doubt clouding his eyes, but when he realized we were isolated from the rest of the park, they narrowed shrewdly. “That it, or you holding out on me?” Without waiting for an answer, his hands started patting me down. Here’s something you should know about me: no one, but no one, touches me without my consent. Instantly a surge of white hot fury broke through the fear. I screamed into his face. “Don’t you touch me!” and struggled like a wild cat. He was startled but much stronger than he seemed and moved like I was nothing but a mild annoyance. As he reached into my pockets I saw my opportunity and plunged two fingers into his windpipe, slamming the palm of my other hand under his nose, snapping the weak cartilage there. Eyes wide with shock, he released me instantly. Groaning in pain, he sank to the ground, hands around his now bloody nose. Fallen, he looked much younger. Not much bigger than me and nothing like the terrifying beast I’d thought he was. I swooped in and snatched my money back. Shooting a quick prayer to the YouTube gods of Krav Maga, I grabbed my backpack and got the hell out of Dodge.

SULLY

E

LLINGTON, CONNECTICUT I tossed aside the thin sheet that covered my body and glanced at the bedside clock’s digital display: 1:47. Those seemingly innocuous numbers filled me with a sudden, though expected, weariness. I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Every night, the same goddamn thing. As I rolled over to stare out of the window, a stray beam of moonlight caught the wedding band on my finger. The ring glinted, a tiny spark in the inky blackness, but I ignored it, the same way I ignored the framed picture that was currently lying face down on the vanity table. I didn’t need to see it to know what it contained; the image was seared into my brain. Taking care not to disturb the empty side of the bed, I picked up my watch, absently running my fingers over the engraved inscription on the back. “To Sully, with love and thanks from the Bauer family”. The watch was a gift from a grateful family whose beloved cat I had saved. Although my actual name is Jake Sullivan, no one but my father calls me that, and anything that helped distance

myself from that tool was a good thing in my mind. I slipped on the watch, grabbed a pair of tracksuit bottoms from the floor, and tugged them on. Moments later, I jogged out into the dark. With my mussed brown hair, week’s facial growth, and sweat encrusted gym clothes, I knew I wasn’t quite the poster boy this prestigious neighborhood insisted upon, but to hell with it. There were extenuating circumstances. The barren streets were silent, but in their own way, welcoming. Out here, in the dark, I could let the full range of my emotions run riot. And tonight it was anger. They say grief comes in seven stages, but for me, they alternated each night. Days were tough, especially the sunny ones that taunted me with how life could have been. On those occasions, I stayed away from parks and beaches, anywhere that might prove too nostalgic. The memories would flash up, stabbing like a knife in the chest even now, almost a full year later. Things were changing though. I was beginning to find the odd moment to be grateful for: the scent of freshly cut flowers, a traffic-free Route 83 during an emergency callout. Little by little, I was learning to cope… but as soon as my head hit the pillow, the demons would come. Placing one foot in front of the other, I stared up at the stars and wondered how much longer it would be before I would get used to sleeping alone.

CHASE

T

he sun had barely risen, but I was already on the hunt for breakfast. Like they say, it’s the most important meal of the day. It had taken me all night to shake off the druggie incident. I knew I was lucky this time, but I couldn’t afford another slip up. In future I would stay away from trees, bushy or otherwise. From experience, I knew Monday mornings were the most fruitful, with restaurants tossing whatever hadn’t sold from the week before. It was with this promise of delectable treasure that I jogged into the backend of a strip of restaurants and climbed into the dumpster behind The Blessed Palace, a popular Asian establishment. The place was kinda tacky looking, covered with gold and red dragons that looked more like distorted fish then those epic mythological characters, but they do a weekend buffet that never failed to impress, judging by the length of the waiting line that curved around the block on a regular basis. Sadly for me, Lady Luck hadn’t just left the building, she’d taken a slowboat to China, as a deep dumpster

dive only delivered some decomposed fish heads (seriously gross), half a fortune cookie (semi gross, and empty, so no good fortune for me — figures) and something I’d prefer not to examine in closer detail. All you need to know is it looked like Swampthing’s illegitimate lovechild with a roach. Enough said. I sighed with irritation. Damn greedy staff must have taken the leftovers home with them. That’s the problem with Asians. Never waste a thing. Shoving the cookie into my mouth, I picked my way over the remaining mess of empty cartons and boxes. As I grabbed hold of the skip to haul myself out, I heard a sound and froze. Someone had just yelped. Loudly. In a that-really-hurt kind of way. I raised my head and peeked over the edge of the dumpster. A mangy dog, some kind of collie mix, was backing away from a man. There was a bone in his mouth, but the guy had one hand on it. He wore the uniform of The Blessed Palace and struck repeatedly at the dog with a wet dishtowel. THWACK! The towel made a whipping sound as it connected with the collie’s flank. The dog whimpered, but didn’t let go. He didn’t attack either, just kept backing away. It’s like the thing didn’t know he had two rows of sharp teeth. My eyes narrowed into slits. From the collie’s thin frame, I could tell he was starving, maybe even more so than me. It could have been my own lack of food, or the injustice of it all, but I felt a sudden rage building. Stealthily, I crawled out of the dumpster and dropped silently, landing behind the guy on my Kmart sneakers. He twirled the towel, readying another strike. Neither of them had noticed me yet, so I took full advantage of the

situation. I reached for the nearest trashcan, snatched the lid off, and HURLED it at the guy’s head. The dull sound it made on contact made us all wince. He dropped like a hot spring roll. I looked at the dog. “RUN MUTT!” And took off. I only glanced back when I reached the end of the block, so it was a shock to see the dog panting right behind me. “Shoo! Scram!” I waved my hands at him, but he just cocked his head at me. Seeing that we were alone, I slowed my running to a jog. Clearly Angry Chinese Man wasn’t after us. Which, come to think of it, was weird. I suddenly stopped. What if I’d hit him too hard? Heads are pretty soft and not the best defense against steel. What if I’d… killed him? My life didn’t flash in front of my eyes so much as my mugshot. Muttface suddenly dropped his bone. That alone was shocking enough, but then he clamped his jaws around my wrist and started tugging. “Hey, dufus! I just saved you! What kind of gratitude is that?” And then I heard it. Furious shouts. Furious foreign shouts. I glanced back and saw Angry Chinese Man was not dead after all, but alive and kicking — and he had brought friends. With cleavers. The dog and I stared at each other, the same expression mirrored in our eyes… holy crap. Muttface tore off, stopping a few meters ahead of me. He looked at me and barked once before tearing off again. Didn’t need a membership to Mensa to figure out what he meant. Having no plan b, I sprinted after him. The dog ran fast, but never in a straight line. It was like he had experience evading capture. Already lightheaded, I was becoming dizzy with all the twists and turns we were taking. I had no idea where we were

anymore so Angry Chinese Man and chums had no chance. I followed Muttface down a side street. And suddenly I collapsed. One minute I was running, the next I tasted tarmac. I felt a wet, sandpapery tongue on my face. And then there was darkness.

SULLY

S

taring moodily into a mug of black coffee, I stifled a yawn. I sat at a kitchen table, eyes staring blankly at a newspaper open in front of me. My next client was due any second, but I found it difficult to care. While the late-night workout sessions meant my body was in its prime, my mind felt groggy, and I wished I could sleep the day away. But duty called. “Your eleven thirty cancelled,” came a shout from the next room. Or maybe not. It was Florence, my elderly, nononsense receptionist-come-assistant. This was a small practice that didn’t require many staff, so multi-tasking Florence was a Godsend, though her domineering attitude wore me thin on occasion. Her long floral dress made slapping sounds against her legs now as she marched into the kitchen. An image of Florence doing a Hitler salute flashed into my mind before I shook it guiltily away. When I caught the determined look on her face however, I steeled myself, ready for trouble. “Since there’s nothing in the diary until three, now would be a good time for you to do some spring cleaning.

Clear out anything you don’t need,” she suggested. She gestured upstairs, at my house above the practice. Her eyes bored into me, but I refused to take the bait, lowering my gaze to the paper. “Another time. I’m busy.” She glared at me, but not without some sympathy. It was quite the feat and a Florence special. With a sigh of impatience, she snatched the paper away, grabbed my chin, and raised it to meet her gaze. But when she spoke again, it was unnervingly soft. “It’s unhealthy, dear.” I swallowed. I knew she was right, but just the thought of clearing her things away caused my chest to constrict. Experience meant I knew Florence wouldn’t be dropping this any time soon however. With no energy for a fight, I nodded meekly. “I’ll make a start,” I conceded, and made my way slowly up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I shut the door that separated work from home and walked into the living area. The room was decorated eclectically, the result of many happy weekends perusing the local flea market, but right now, it seemed as if a tornado had left its devastation in its wake, with empty microwave trays and beer cans littering the floor. I stepped over them and turned the television on, finding comfort in the inane infomercial chatter. Tossing a crusty pizza box from the sofa, I lay down and shut my eyes. I’d get to it, but first I needed a snooze…

CHASE

I

don’t know how long I was out for, but it was the smell that woke me. My mouth was as dry as parchment, and my eyes felt like they were stapled shut, but I forced them open. I had to see what was causing the delicious aroma wafting towards me. There was a something on the ground. It took a second for my vision to clear, but when it did, I thought I must still be in La La Land. There, in front of me, lay a carton of STEAMING DUMPLINGS! I blinked. The dog sat next to them patiently as if waiting for me to react. When I gaped stupidly, he nudged the carton towards me and grinned. I spotted the Blessed Palace logo on the side of the box and pulled what can only be described as a comical double take. No way… I forced myself into a sitting position, dusted the street scum from my face, and reached for the food. My fingers closed around the edge of the box. It felt real enough? Muttface woofed and pawed the ground as if to say get a move on. I needed no further urging and shoved a

dumpling into my mouth. Holy taste bud explosions! Turns out, those lines were onto something! I inhaled the box of scrumminess, even giving a few pieces to my new best furry friend, surprised to see how delicately he ate them. Clearly I could learn a thing or two. Together, we woofed them down. In no time at all, the carton was empty. I tipped it upside down, just in case there was another sucker hiding in there but nada. C’est finito. I looked at the dog. “That was the best meal I’ve had in… just the longest time. If only we had some fritters too, huh? I could die and go to foodie heaven.” Muttface cocked his head like he was actually considering my words, then suddenly took off without a backwards glance. I felt a pang of crushing disappointment. “Thought we had something going here,” I called after him — but I was talking to thin air. Littlest Hobo was long gone. Feeling kinda bereft, I thought about how I was humanizing the dog. Me. Miss Anti-Dolittle. Eight months on the streets could sure change a person. As a kid, the only pet I’d ever had was a baby duck, and that lasted for all of a week. One day, as a treat, I decided to let him swim in the gutter (The Paper City = Poor = No Paddling Pool for Ducky), only he got swept away by the current and into a drain. I’d lain on the sidewalk, ear pressed to the drain, listening to his cries until they were all but swallowed by the gushing water. I cried for months after. OK, I was five, but still. Back to my present situation. Muttface is just a dumb animal. So, somehow, he brought me food from the same restaurant we ran away from. Ironic, but hardly rocket science. Maybe he’d already stashed them some place when Angry Chinese Man caught him. And while I was having my tarmac nap, he’d fetched provisions. It made

sense. Kind of. I could stay here waiting for Big Trouble in Little China to eventually happen, or I could move on and find a bed for the night. It was a no-brainer. I staggered onto my feet, swaying a bit, my blood sugar still low despite the recent meal. I’m one of those annoying girls who can eat whatever she wants without putting on a pound, but that also meant my high metabolism required more sustenance than the average girl of my size which, being homeless, sucks big time. I made my way back onto the main street, and spotted a bus shelter on the other side of the road. It wasn’t great, but it might do. I just needed to check if it was water-tight —nothing worse than waking up to a mouthful of rain. Expensive cars roared past, not in the least concerned by my bedraggled state. Car-jacking was low in this part of town, but these guys weren’t going to risk a higher insurance premium just to test out that statistic, especially for pungent moi. I wasn’t counting, but it’d been at least five days since my body had seen any water, and that was even before the dumpster dive. I waited for a break in the traffic. “Woof.” The sound came from behind. I took an involuntary gasp and spun around — but a bit too fast. Balance and co-ordination fled me as my foot slipped from the curb. I caught a brief glimpse of my furry best friend before I felt myself tumbling backwards into the sea of cars. Time slowed to a crawl. When you’re about to die, adrenaline pounds through your body, and details fly out at you in what can only be described as supersonic vision. Like Muttface’s eyes, which I only just noticed were an emerald green with gold

flecks. And the see-through plastic tub he gripped in his mouth containing banana fritters, covered in sesame seeds that formed the initials BP. While I was in slo-mo, the dog, conversely, seemed to be moving in super speed. In one quick motion, he dropped the fritters and lunged for my chest, snagging a mouthful of T-shirt. I hung there, suspended over the road, just inches away from my demise, anchored only by this animal’s teeth and a prayer that the cheap polyester fabric wouldn’t give out. A car horn blared to tell us to quit messing around. As if. And then the dog pulled me to safety. I sank to my knees, shaken, gasping for the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t dead. I was alive. The dog had saved me. Muttface tapped his paw on the tub of fritters, which had landed unscathed on the sidewalk, and chuffed softly, like he was inordinately pleased with himself. My jaw hit the floor.

GET IT HERE

WANTED, Book 1 of The Chase Ryder Series can be purchased HERE BOOK 2 of The Chase Ryder Series is coming in 2017!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A self-taught screenwriter who learnt the craft when she locked herself in her room and binge watched studied her favorite genre movies and television shows, Jo’s writing life began in film and television, when she created the ground-breaking, critically acclaimed CBBC action fantasy television series, SPIRIT WARRIORS, which introduced leading actress, Jessica Henwick (GAME OF THRONES, STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKES, and the upcoming Marvel/Netflix show, IRON FIST) to the screen. Granted the biggest budget ever given to a CBBC show at the time, it was nominated for Best Children’s Programme at the 2011 Broadcast Awards, with Jo herself, going on to win the Women in Film & Television’s, New Talent Award in 2010. Since then, Jo has worked with some of the most acclaimed producers in the world, creating big budget projects with even bigger ideas, with several television shows and movies currently in development including supernatural horror, BLOODLINES, and family fantasy, SKETCH.

WANTED, is Jo’s first foray into novel writing. Next up, she will be working on book 2 and book 3 of THE CHASE RYDER SERIES, and WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU, book 1 of the YA supernatural series, TWISTED, where we’ll be introduced to four outcast girls who discover they command some super dark powers. A self-confessed geek and video gamer, and champion of female driven stories, Jo typically creates kick-ass female protagonists like the ones found in THE HUNGER GAMES, DIVERGENT, and the MAXIMUM RIDE series. Jo lives in London and hopes one day to travel across America in a super kitted out, Zombie-apocalypse-ready RV, with her lovely fella, Matt, and three equally lovely kitties. For more information @johoscribe johowriter www.johoscribe.com [email protected]

LASTLY

Want to be the first to hear about Jo’s books & screenplays ? Subscribe to Jo’s Newsletter Want the lowdown on her latest work as it is being written? Join Jo’s Facebook Page If you loved The Boy Next Door and want to see more of Jo’s work published, please leave a review on the book seller’s site - reviews are essential for helping a new series and author succeed. Please spread the word and let other readers know why they too should read this book! Lastly, check out the first episode of Spirit Warriors! Spirit Warriors Episode 1