A Sad Story from my Salad Days

I am convinced that nearly everything extracurricular that I wrote in college was either macabre or maudlin.

What follows is a little something that I whipped up in less than 24 hours during my sophomore year. At the time, my intention was to explore writing from the perspective of someone trying to emerge from the grieving process.

I recall that I submitted it to the Century, which is the literary magazine of my alma mater, previously known as Carroll College. I was a co-editor of the aforementioned magazine at the time, and the only reason I entered my own work was to bulk up the number of prose submissions for the judging process. I can’t remember for certain whether this piece actually passed muster and appeared in the publication or not…and I didn’t really care either way because I felt it wasn’t very good. Even now, it makes me cringe to read it.

Now, if that isn’t sad, I don’t know what is!

Our Sad Stories

When she looked out the window she could see that it was going to be a beautiful night. The setting sun cast its lurid, dying rays across the horizon, tingeing the sky pink like sanguine, warm bathwater. The clouds had already gone to sleep, and Evelyn hovered by her door, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, wishing she could do the same. Just crawl into bed and never wake again. Her throat seized up as she gazed at the photographs on the wall. “I will not cry,” she counseled herself with a quavering voice in the empty room. “I will not cry on a first date.”

From his frozen position above her bed, Luke smiled as he always had, his eyes full of love and reassurance. Evelyn chewed on her lower lip, sucking in a deep breath, and clutched the strap of her purse more tightly. “David will be here soon, and I can’t disappoint my friends…right?” she asked the picture on the wall, her voice desperate. Luke, trapped in time, could only smile. “You…you understand…I’m not betraying you, am I? I’ll always…love…” Here the sobs threatened to break free, and it took a greater part of her strength to swallow them. Just then, someone knocked, rather hesitantly, at her door. Evelyn’s eyes widened. Time to go, she thought, trembling, and opened the door to see David face to face for the very first time.

And almost forgot to breathe.

“Hi…Evelyn?” The young man at the threshold smiled nervously, long-fingered hands folded together to prevent them from fidgeting.

“Hello, David. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He’s very cute. Evelyn caught herself going cow-eyed, and mentally slapped herself for thinking about another guy that way. David’s eyes were an earnest green—the same color as Luke’s—and they stayed fixed on hers instead of darting away, radiating a shy sort of kindness.

Awkward, the young man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck before reaching for her hand. She allowed him to draw her outside of her room. “Yeah, Since Jamie told me about you, I’ve been kind of…anxious.” He grimaced. “No, that’s not right, that sounds bad…”

“No, it’s not,” Evelyn reassured him, craning her neck a little as she looked up into his face with a gentle smile. He smiled back, a little of the tenseness melting out of his features. Sensing him relax, she grasped both his hands and squeezed them. “Please don’t worry about what you say to me, about it sounding bad. I’m used to guys making disgusting jokes.”

David grinned, and Evelyn felt her heart glow. Luke grinned just so, she mused. “Well, uh, Evelyn…I wanted to be a gentleman tonight, having just met you.”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s good, I wouldn’t expect anything less from Jamie’s cousin!” She let go of his right hand and coaxed him away from her door. “Let’s go, the night’s wasting…”

“All right,” David agreed, his hand clammy in hers as they walked down the hallway. “Lead the way, but remember…it’s my treat tonight. Jamie’s rule, and mine.”

Passing by the other rooms, Evelyn felt her senses sharpened. She could hear the chattering and laughter in Dawn and Tracy’s room at the end of the hall, the clacking of her short heels against the hard linoleum. Someone was making popcorn in the kitchen; they could both smell the aroma wafting throughout the entire floor. “Mmmm, popcorn,” David commented, squeezing her hand.

“Should we join their party?” Evelyn asked, feeling her heart speed up with apprehension. “I could introduce you to the girls on my floor.”

“Nah,” David replied, his glance both warm and knowing. “Why would I want to meet any more girls?”

Her face flushed, Evelyn’s heart spasmed, then slowed as she appreciated what he had said. “That’s nice of you.”

“I want to be nice to you,” David murmured, and put his arm around her shoulders, a little uncertainly. Looking into his honest, flawless face, Evelyn decided to let him. She found herself comforted by it, although melancholy tainted her satisfaction.

He knows about what happened, she brooded. He must pity me.

By then they were out in the parking lot, and a warm evening breeze caressed her bare calves. David helped her into his car and shut the door. As he rounded the hood to the driver’s seat, Evelyn felt all the grief bubble up inside her. Having heard her story from his cousin, David had felt sorry for her, and Jamie had suggested for him to take her out, and here he was, a Boy Scout doing a good deed.

The car door slammed shut, and she looked up. David smiled eagerly at her as he turned the key in the ignition. “Well, my Lady, where dost thou wish to go this evening?”

“Do you know the Chinese restaurant on Grand?” Evelyn heard herself say brightly. “They have great sizzling rice soup.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied, expertly guiding the car out into the traffic. There was silence for several moments, and Evelyn studied David’s strong masculine features in the urban twilight. The sun had set, and his skin seemed to have a bluish cast as if they were underwater. Suddenly uneasy, Evelyn touched the back of his hand, resting comfortably on the steering wheel.

“David?” Her voice was hesitant.

He glanced at her, his face seeming to light up again. “Yeah?”

“You don’t…have to take me out like this if you didn’t want to.”

David’s face went blank. “You mean…I could just park in the parking lot, grab you…and make wild passionate love to you right out in the open?” Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, sorry! You should see the look on your face…it’s priceless!” Then he sobered, looking at her quickly. “I wanted to take you out…ever since Jamie told me about you.”

“About what happened,” Evelyn said bitterly. Outside, the road wound next to the river, and traffic slackened.

“Yes, she told me about Luke…but I wanted to before then, too.” David heaved a sigh. “There, I finally got to say that, and sound like an opportunistic jerk.” She could see his knuckles whiten as he clenched the steering wheel in a death grip, like a drowning man. Hurriedly, she moved her eyes to his face. He was looking at her again, and she found it difficult to swallow.

“You should watch the road,” she said softly.

David’s jaw tightened, and he maneuvered his car into a parking spot by the river walk. “We need to get to know each other better,” he said earnestly, staring into her eyes.

Evelyn smiled. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested in a quiet voice.

David was silent for an instant; his eyes seemed to soften. “Yes.”

David got out of the car and ran around to help her out, and this time he was anxious, as he had said when he first stood outside the door of her room. He kept his right hand firmly pressed against her shoulder, and insisted that he walk on the street side of the sidewalk. The night was growing cool, and they had the riverside to themselves.

“So…Jamie told you about Luke,” Evelyn began.

“Yes, I’m sorry…for your loss.” Now, David was avoiding her eyes. His dark blond hair hung like a bird’s broken wing as he examined his shoes. “If it helps…I’ll listen to whatever you need to talk about.” He looked up, then. “If you need someone—me—to listen.”

Evelyn took a deep breath. “I should tell you,” she began, carefully. “He drowned…last year…” David’s arm tightened around her. “He hit his head at the bottom of a pool, got disoriented…he was all alone!” I will not cry, she screamed inside, but the sobs tore free from her mouth and David’s arms enveloped her, cradling her against his chest. “I couldn’t save him!”

“There was nothing you could do, it wasn’t your fault,” The words were mechanical, distant, but she could hear his heart, and it was very close, beating strongly beneath her cheek. She thought that if she wanted to, she could reach inside and touch David’s heart, hug it like a pillow in her arms—and he would let her have it, for always.

Luke had done no less for her, but he had gone away.

“David?” Tears streaming down her face, Evelyn sought his eyes, his earnest green eyes, so like those of the man she had loved.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn…I’m just a stupid guy…I don’t know what to say.” He touched her cheek, brushing away the moisture there, looking helpless and rather frustrated. “It’s just, we both have our hard times, and I should know…” He pressed her head back into his chest and stroked her hair. “Jamie never told you, but my brother died a few years back in a fire…our house burned down, and…we didn’t know where to go from there.”

Evelyn choked back another sob and shuddered. “Oh, God…” She reached around and hugged David with a fierce desire she hadn’t known was there inside her. She thought that part of her, the sharing kind of love, had drowned in that horrible pool with Luke. “Why can’t we just die..?” She knew it was foolishness even as she said it.

“I felt the same way, then.”

Evelyn pulled away so she could look at his face, his beautiful face glowing beneath the lamplight, his eyes smiling sadly down at her. “Did Luke…” David placed his hands on her shoulders, and they were quivering slightly. “Did he ever tell you how beautiful you are?”

Evelyn felt a knot growing in her throat. “All the time.”

“You are, Evelyn. When I saw your picture last year, I thought ‘Wow, that boyfriend of hers is some lucky guy.’ And now you’re right here in front of me.”

“A basket case,” she muttered.

“From what I’ve seen, you’re just lonely, like me.”

“You? Lonely?”

“Yeah,” David smiled bleakly. “Not everyone is as easy to talk to as you. Jamie told me you’re the best friend she’s ever had…because you care and listen.”

“Jamie’s nice,” Evelyn replied lamely.

“So are you,” David countered. “And…” Here he broke off, his face coloring as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Are you okay?” Evelyn touched his arm.

“I want to be your…friend.” He managed to spit it out with some effort, grimacing. “Darn it, that was lame, Dave!”

Evelyn laughed, in spite of herself. “Oh, David!” She shook her head. “I’m ready to be friends, don’t worry about that.”

“And later…” he began hopefully, grinning widely.

Evelyn smiled tenderly and leaned against him. “There will be time for that…maybe sooner than you think,” she replied softly. She looked within herself, waiting for that sense of guilt, but this time the little voice was silent.

David sighed, touching her hair with a kind of reverence. “Do you know, yet, when that will be?”

“After we’ve told all our sad stories.”

David smiled grimly. “That’ll be a while, then.” His arm tightened around her.

And the two stood there by the river, watching the moon rise in a companionable sort of silence.

beautiful beauty blue bright
Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

 

The Assassin’s Tale, Part 1

A little nightmare nugget from my college daze – I mean, days – when I had an overweening sense of my own talent. Okay, and I was obsessed with assassins. Go ahead and laugh at the geeky gothness of it all.

Clean Sweep

I’m going insane.

 The assassin gritted his teeth and kneaded his forehead, inwardly snarling at the headache forming behind his left eye.  He counseled himself to patience. He must wait here in the darkness beneath the oak tree, and not think about the splash of arterial blood on the sidewalk, the hot, metallic spray against his face as Kyle jerked like a rag doll when the bullets hit him—three in the chest and one nicking the carotid artery—the rising shrieks of the children in the playground…

    “Enough,” he whispered, raking his fingers through the unruly mop of  dark auburn hair. He had not bothered to dye it black this time, because this was supposed to be a clean sweep, a strike out of the darkness and retreat sort of operation.  No flourishes. Just a kill like so many before. the assassin took pride in his efficiency; Kyle had been the artist in NEMESIS.

Kyle had also been careless.

The target is on the move. 

The cold little voice he always listened to drove away thoughts of his late partner and encroaching madness, and the wiry young man stirred, uncoiling from his hiding place like a panther in one fluid motion.  He wrapped his black duster tighter around him, embracing the darkness of the early autumn night. He could hear the susurration of a light breeze in the foliage, and the faint ree—ree of persistent crickets.  Cautiously, he crept around the bole of the tree; luckily, the leaves had not yet fallen from the trees, so he wasn’t worried about making too much noise.  Neither was he afraid that he’d be seen—on this far side of the residence hall, the gloom was deepest. There was a hedgerow lining a small path leading up to a dimly lit doorway—it was from there his target would exit the building.

    The assassin cast a quick look behind him, then scanned the surrounding area.  Good, still quiet as a tomb, he thought, sinking slowly into a crouch.  He had grown familiar with the college campus, after all the time he spent here, watching her—seeing that bastard with her an arm slung around her like she’s his property she giggles nervously cringing away the diamond glinting on her finger—

Licking his lips, he thrust a gloved hand into a pocket in the lining of his coat and reverently withdrew his knife like a priest handling rosary beads.  His eyes shone as if reflecting the starlight—in her deep blue eyes so far away I want to get closer—high above, and the blade glinted in sympathy.  This was his special knife, a dagger forged by a blacksmith with revenge in mind.  It was made for delivering swift justice, and if nothing else governed the assassin’s hardened heart, there would always be Justice

—and through the bedroom window the girl smiling smiling up at Neal always a ray of something pure like love splashed crimson blood on stained concrete the children screaming her eyes are the deep blue heavens— 

 The door swung open, creaking on old hinges, and the young man’s nostrils flared as he caught the odor of cigar smoke, sweet and musky.  Peering through boughs of tight-cropped cedar, he saw the target step out on to the path, all alone this time. Last night and the night before the target had had at least one giggling girl draped over an arm, and never the same girl twice.  The assassin’s hackles prickled with loathing; he knew what this target liked doing with—her no I won’t let him do that to her—young women friends.    

 It was one of the reasons he had looked forward to this assignment.

The target—bastard—strolled a few feet along the wall, kicked a stray stone, then leaned casually against the wall, puffing his fancy Cuban cigar with a smug look on his face.  The target was a twenty-year-old man of average build, taller than the assassin by an inch or two, with dark hair and eyes, a tanned complexion, and moderately predictable habits.  The assassin had catalogued this information religiously, as he always did, not allowing his emotions to drive away rationality. In his mind, he calculated the force he was going to need for the knife-thrust to penetrate the target’s skin. 

Be cold…death has silent wings and arctic breath…Now was the time.  the assassin scanned his surroundings once more, his ears opened for any stray sound of approach.  There was nothing, only the heavy silence and the smell of his target’s cigar.

This is for her

He parted sculpted cedar branches and flowed through the hedgerow, catlike in stealth and grace.  His right hand gripped the knife–familiar in texture and weight as he closed in on his target—a blur of black motion against a starry sky and black bushes.  The target’s mouth went slack with surprise, the cigar dangling, then falling, from limp fingers when he saw the assassin coming for him. Then the knife, a silver slash slitting the muscular neck from ear to ear—a bloody grin—and the assassin’s arctic blue eyes blank and glowing in the dim light as the head fell back and the body slumped to the ground.

 A contemptuous snarl twisted the assassin’s thin lips as he glared down at his quarry, reduced to useless meat all too easily.  Anger seized him then, and he slashed the target’s face, putting out his sightless, glazing eyes for good measure. “You can’t look at her with lust now,” he growled, wiping off his knife on the target’s sleeve.  Replacing the dagger within his hidden pocket, the assassin melted back into the night, berating himself for succumbing to his rage.  To emotion.

Once again, the thought crossed his mind: I’m going insane.

This begs the question: what professional hitman in his right mind creeps around at night wearing a great big bulky coat like a duster on a college campus? So yes, he’s clearly nuts!
Also, there will be no Part 2. If you though that this was bad, the rest of “The Assassin’s Tale” is even more maudlin garbage.

Here’s a little something I wrote during my “salad days,” i.e. college

Originally, this was going to be a fantasy novel tentatively entitled Bride of Callahan, but then life happened.

The half moon glinted coldly down on the strange, shambling, three-fold figure dragging itself across the dormitory parking lot. Two young women walked stooped over with the weight of their drunken companion distributed between them, the toes of his sneakers scraping over the asphalt. Every so often, he would try to walk, throwing his friends off balance.

“Darn it!” Samantha hissed as she nearly fell. “This is the last time I help drag your boyfriend’s sorry butt home from a party.”

“Hey! Hey…it’sh not my fault…he drank so much.” The other girl giggled, staggering a little herself, her brown hair falling into her eyes. “Well, maybe it ishh…”

“We’re just lucky we got away before the cops came, Becca. Or have you forgotten that we’re underage?”

“Not like you drank nothin’ to get into trouble. Good old Sam, the deshignated driver!” Becca giggled again.

Breathing heavily, Samantha managed, with the fumbling aid of her inebriated friend, to muscle the young man up against the side of the building near the back entrance. Grinning inanely, he slid down until he plopped down on the lawn. “I’m a wee free balloony boy!” he crowed happily, and promptly keeled over on to his side and started snoring.

“Darn it, Joey!” Samantha restrained an urge to kick him.

Becca just laughed. “We can shtill take the elevator, right?”

Consternation writ large on her face, their sober companion looked around to make sure that no one was watching them, and then pulled out her key to their dorm building. “Not unless we want the RA at the desk to see how drunk you guys are.” She turned the key in the lock. “No sir. We’s gonna go up the backstairs m’dears.”

In spite of their predicament, Samantha couldn’t help but grin. Watching other people get drunk had been rather amusing, even though her efforts to restrain her friends had failed. She had wanted to leave long before they did, but she had felt honor-bound to make sure that Becca and Joey had gotten back safely.

It was with that thought in mind that Samantha and Becca doggedly dragged Joey up a flight of stairs to the dorm room he shared with a nice Irish Catholic boy named Eric Callahan, to whom they passed on their burden. He helped Samantha flop Joey down in his bed, and then dug the tarp and barf-basin out from underneath his own with an ease born of much practice.

“See if you can sober him up,” Samantha said, wearily rubbing her brow when they had finished. “Dunk his head in a toilet…or something.”

Becca laughed in delight.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Eric grinned with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ll make him regret he ever smelt alcohol.” He looked at Becca, appraising her condition. “Why’re you even dating him, Bex? He’s just turning you into what he is.”

“A leprechaun?” Becca snorted with laughter at her own joke.

“No, a freaking loser.” Shaking his head, Eric closed the door behind him.

Whaaaat? Ish he saying I’m a freakin’ loosher?” The dark-haired young woman turned to her friend.

Sighing, Samantha grabbed her hand. “C’mon Bex,” she said. “It’s time for bed.” With an arm around her waist, she helped Becca up the stairs to the women’s floor.  “Kim’s gonna be pissed at you, y’know,” she muttered. “I bet she’s sick of you coming home drunk every Friday night.”

“That’s what roomies are for. Getting pissed at. And with.” Becca groaned, clutching at her middle. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

There was one other student in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when Samantha propelled her green-faced friend into a stall. She even held Becca’s hair back while she vomited; like Eric, she had gotten good at it due to the frequency of its occurrence.

“Bex drinking again?” called the other girl from her sink.

“Yeah,” Samantha called back.

“That makes four weeks in a row,” the other girl observed. “She ought to ditch that loser boyfriend. He’s going to get her into serious trouble.”

“Easier said than done,” Samantha grated out from between her teeth.

Why couldn’t she have dated Eric, instead? She wondered, and not for the first time. What does she see in Joey? And why am I still hanging around with them?

Disgusted with them and herself, Samantha helped her friend clean up and led her to her room. She knocked on the door. Fortunately, Kim wasn’t in. She had started playing it smart by going down to the community center—what students called “the Basement”—or watching movies with her friends on the weekend nights. Samantha envied her.

Becca managed to unlock her own door and trudged into her dark room. She collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. “Dear God,” she groaned. She sounded almost sober. “What am I doing?” She rolled over on her side, gazing at her friend, limned in fluorescent light on the threshold. “Go ahead.  I can feel you judging, Sam. Say your piece.”

“What good will it do?” Samantha replied softly. “You’ll just do it again tomorrow night, and next week, and the weekend after that.”

Becca tilted her face to the side, her dark hair falling in waves against her pillow. She’s so beautiful, Samantha mused, but her eyes are filled with sadness.

“It’s not much fun for you, is it?” Becca said, and sprawled out on her back. “But you’re still here.”

Knowing that was the closest thing to an apology that Becca would ever give to her, Samantha went over to her and hugged her, golden hair mingling with brown on the pillow.

“Yeah,” Samantha said. “I’m still here.”

Becca pulled Samantha down next to her, squeezing her tight. Her body shook, wracked with sobs. Samantha held her until she quieted into slumber, and then rose from the bed. She smoothed her friend’s hair back from her face with gentle fingers.

This has to stop, she decided. You should be with Eric. He’ll treat you right and keep you on the right path. Resolved, Samantha left the room, closing the door softly behind her. She turned toward the stairwell, and saw Kim coming down the corridor.

“Is she out?”

Samantha nodded. “Yep. Like a light.”

“Thanks. G’night, then.” Kim smiled at her.

“G’night, Kim.”

Feeling waves of depression welling up inside her, Samantha walked past her own room, two doors down from the back staircase, and down the stairs to the men’s floor.

Eric’s face registered a pleased sort of surprise when he opened the door. “I didn’t expect to see you back here tonight.” He peered down at her distraught expression. “Is Bex okay? Are you okay?”

“I…I think so.” Samantha peered past him into the dimly lit room. “Is Joey…still sleeping?”

“Out stone cold.” Eric grinned. “Come in.  I’d offer to take you down to the Basement, but my cousin is coming over. We’ll go once he gets here.”

“Oh! I can go…”

“Nah, he won’t care.” Eric waved her in. “He likes meeting my friends.”

Samantha found herself sitting in an elderly orange bean-bag chair while Eric sorted through his manga collection for a volume he was dead certain that she’d find interesting. Behind her, Joey noisily sawed logs.

Samantha stared at the back of Eric’s head, the way his black hair tapered down neatly to the nape of his neck. “Eric,” she said. “You like Becca, right?”

He froze, a book in hand. He turned to face her, his blue eyes wary. “Yeah,” he replied slowly.

“I mean like like her,” continued Samantha, feeling lame.

“Yeah.” The young man glanced over at his roommate, as if to be sure he was still asleep. Snoring, Joey remained oblivious to their conversation. “What’s your point?”

Feeling her face heat up, Samantha looked down into her lap, confusion clouding her resolve. “You’re nice.  I just wish…Becca was with you.”

“Well, she’s not.” Eric’s voice was brittle. “We could wish the stars from the sky, but it’s not gonna happen.”

“Sorry.” Samantha felt ashamed for hurting his feelings. Eric wasn’t a close friend, but she cared about him all the same. Tears burned in her eyes.

“Shoot.” He crouched down beside her, an awkward hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t cry, Sam. You can talk to me.”

Her heart in her throat, Samantha looked up at him, and was just opening her mouth to speak when the call buzzer went off by the door. Eric mouthed an obscenity and went to the speaking grill. Samantha wiped her eyes with the hem of her T-shirt.

“It’s me, Eric!” A distorted male voice spoke loudly through the grill, and Samantha started, her heart palpitating.

“Okay, I’ll be right down. With a surprise!” Eric shouted back into the grill. He turned to the despondent young woman in the bean-bag chair. “He’s here.  Maybe you should come with me. I don’t want to leave you alone with my drunken roommate.”

“Are you sure? I could just go back to my room.”

“I already promised him a surprise. That’s you. C’mon.” Eric jerked his head toward the door. “We’ll cheer you up. And no booze, I promise.”

Samantha laughed and awkwardly lurched to her feet. Spontaneously, she hugged him. “Thanks, Eric.”

“No problem,” He said, blushing. “Hey! I’ll race you there.”

Suddenly feeling happier than she had for days, Samantha bounced down the stairs behind him, a strange giddiness bubbling within her breast. It was odd, the way her emotions were swinging around tonight. For a fleeting moment, she wished that Eric liked her the way he did her best friend, but she hastily banished that thought. She wasn’t even sure if she liked him in that way; the young man she was interested in was a fellow biology major with artistic aspirations. As far as she knew, Greg seemed like a nice enough guy. She grinned to herself as she rounded the last bend on Eric’s heels, and crashed into him when he stopped suddenly to avoid trampling a group of girls coming up the stairs.

“Whoa-ho, Callahan!” one of them yelled, leering at the two of them.

“Hey, it’s Samantha!” another girl exclaimed, reaching out to snag her arm and disentangle her from the embarrassed young man. It was Mary, one of her upperclassman friends. “You wanna watch a movie with us? Your cute friend is welcome, if he wants.”

“Uh, no thanks, ladies,” Eric responded, blushing furiously. “Sam and I are meeting my cousin…unless you’d rather go with them?” He glanced at Samantha.

“Maybe tomorrow, Mary,” Samantha told her friend. “I promised Eric I’d meet his cousin.”

“Have fun, Sam!” Mary winked at her. Continuing up the stairs, the other young women laughed amongst themselves, as if they knew a secret that Samantha did not.

“Sheesh,” she said. She felt her face heat up as her eyes met Eric’s.

Eric shrugged. “They’re just being girls. C’mon.”

With the echoes of the group’s laughter echo receding behind them, the two emerged into the lobby. As they passed the front desk, the RA on duty looked up from her paperback book—something by Stephen King, Samantha noted in passing—long enough to say “your cousin’s here again, Eric.”

“Thanks. And have a good night.”

“You too. Oh, hi Sam.”

Samantha smiled and murmured something polite before following Eric to the front door. Peering into the vestibule, she could see someone leaning up against the wall. Her heart froze in her chest.

It was a cop.

And that’s all I have. So, what do you think? Does it have novel potential or is it crap?