House of the Unwanted: A House of Frost Novel

Chapter 1

By Dabeagle

email

“Okay, hold it right there.”

I jumped and then immediately felt stupid. I looked up at the rent-a-cop and considered how much of a chance I'd have if I tried to shake him right now. I ran the scenario in my head, how he'd yell an alarm. Would anyone stop me between here and the door? Once I was outside and into the parking lot, where could I go to hide? Probably better to give this a moment and look for a better out.

The guy wasn't an athlete – maybe never was. He put his hands on his hips, and his brown tie slipped to one side, revealing buttons that were straining to hold the sides of his shirt together.

“Let's see your pockets,” he said.

What a weird way to say that. “Um. How?”

He frowned. “D'you mean, how? You put store merchandise in your pocket. Empty 'em!”

“Oh.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the tube of athlete's foot cream.

“I knew it. C'mon. March.” He made a motion with his finger to turn and walk in front of him. I obeyed, studying routes I might take to get myself out of this little mess. We walked to the back of the store and through a pair of swinging doors to a stockroom. Pallets were stacked with various goods, and a worker, headphones poking from his ears, gave us a curious glance as we turned toward the right. I glanced to the left as we did and spotted an emergency exit door, quickly looking away so as not to let him think I'd seen it and gotten any ideas. In fact, I did have an idea.

As we walked between the rows of merchandise, a doorway appeared to the left and branched into two small offices. He directed me to one side, a small room with a desk with two small metal folding chairs in front and an abused looking office chair behind.

“Sit,” he said and turned to close the door. Instead of sitting, heart racing, I turned toward him and shoved him in the back. I pushed hard and, legs pumping, stumbled over him as he fell forward, his balance felled by his weight. His hand slapped one of my feet as I ran past, and I stumbled into a pallet of dog food, slipped for a heart-lurching moment where I thought I'd fall and give him just enough time to catch me, and then I was running. The worker we'd passed didn't notice me, not being able to hear the pounding of my feet, and I raced for the exit at the far end of the room.

“Stop! Stop 'im!” yelled the guard. I ran on, getting close. “Idgit! Take them damn – are you deaf?” My hands hit the bar on the door, and it burst open and banged back toward me, its hydraulic arm disconnected and flopping. I found myself in a narrow service area between buildings, a small dumpster partially blocking my view toward the front of the store. I knew that way led to the front of the strip mall, where most people would park, so I turned and raced toward the back.

The door banged behind me, and the guard bellowed like an injured bear. “Thief! Stop!”

I wondered if anyone ever actually stopped when people said that. I sprinted to the end of the building and turned, my fingers trailing against the cinder block wall, and ran across a small patch of slushy dirt with patches of snow. While the weather had been warming and melting some of the snow, there were still piles left where it had been shoveled or drifted into a large pile. I slipped and fell, catching myself with my hands and going on all fours for a moment. I swear I was thinking I was about to get a dirt sandwich before I managed to straighten up.

“I'm! I'm warning-”

Warning me you're going to have a stroke. Encouraged by his lack of breath, I raced to the corner of the next business, but was dismayed to see it end in a brick wall. To my right was a chain link fence, and the winded guard was approaching from behind. I couldn't go backward, so I quickly scaled the fence, awkwardly tumbling over the top and down to the slush below.

“Make...me run, you...motherfucker...” I turned and gasped as the guard reached the end of the chain link – open at his end – and grabbed the post to heave himself around it to my side. I turned and ran again. I had no idea where to go, so speed was my only friend. Reaching the far end of the chain link, I turned to find myself in a narrow parking area where through traffic could go – one way – on the right and slanted parking spots on the left. With the guard not far away and my own chest starting to hurt, I climbed into the back of an old pickup truck, balled myself into a corner and pulled a tattered moving blanket over me.

I closed my eyes and tried to keep my heavy breathing from giving me away. A minute passed, and then I nearly screamed as I felt and heard something heavy land in the back of the truck beside me.

“Hey! Hey, did you see a kid go running through here? Black jacket, dirty pants?” The guard sounded worse off than I was in terms of breathing, but he had the advantage of authority on his side.

“Kid? Bout yea high?” The voice was rough but sounded somewhat amused. “Yeah. Tore off around the corner headed toward the drug store like his hair was on fire and his ass was catching.”

“Shit. Toward the drug store you said?”

“Yeah. He was fast!” I heard a grunt and another thump in the truck bed, which vibrated under me.

“Damn.” The guard moved off, but I stayed still. I nearly screamed when I felt a hand come down on my side.

“Now you stay put. He's only going to the end of the alley here.”

Shit. I'd been seen. Who was this stranger lying for me? Although I was unsure, I followed his directions. The guard was a known quantity in a sense – he'd try and have me arrested. I could be free of him easily, but that kind of action usually drew unwanted attention. When you're on the run, attention isn't your friend.

“I don't see him.” The guard sounded like he was still catching his breath. I heard his hand land on the top of the truck bed. “Damn kid attacked me!”

Shoved, maybe. Not sure that really counts as an attack. My heart started beating faster, and I tried to calm my nerves in case I had to cast.

“Attacked you?” The second guy gave a gruff chuckle. “He didn't look like much. How'd he get the drop on you?”

“You saw! He's slicker than pig shit on a pump handle! I turned around to close my office door, and he was on my back and knocked me over.” There was a pause. “I wasn't expecting him.”

The other guy let out a few dry chuckles. “Now hang on, I need to get a picture of this. So here's you – what, two fifty? Two seventy?”

“Don't see what difference that makes,” the guard muttered.

“And you get some boy who pockets something, and you – wait. Now hang on.” The dry laugh got a bit louder. “Did you grab this boy in the store or out of the store?”

The guards’ voice got a bit stiffer. “I didn't say I grabbed him.”

“Okay, fair enough. You catch this light-fingered fellow in the felonious act of shoplifting. You were walking him back to your office – but did he leave the store?”

“He ran out the back! I just been chasin' him, so you know he left the damn store! And damn it, McKinley, stop laughin'. That kid's a criminal.”

“Yeah, maybe so. But...if he didn't leave the store, you can't prove he was gonna steal. He could always say he was going to pay, just put it in his pocket 'cause he didn't want to carry it.”

“Oh, please!”

The second guy laughed again. “I'm just sayin', in court that's kind of the standard. Instead of you getting a collar and your boss being happy, this boy's lawyer could say you were illegally detaining him.”

“Oh, that's just bullshit,” the guard grumbled. “If he was innocent, why'd he run, huh?”

I heard a shuffle, perhaps someone shifting on their feet. “Well. Depends on the lawyer, but they could say...young boy, you closing a door....”

“That's...Jesus. My life'd be over.” I heard someone spit. “None of that is worth this job. I'll be watching, he comes back, though. Make me run. The fuck he think he is, anyway?”

I heard footsteps receding and then jumped as another heavy thump rattled the truck bed. “Now you stay put. He spots you, you might get charged with murder if you give him a heart attack.” He chuckled. “What a mean kid you must be, making a man like that run.” Another heavy thud vibrated the truck bed and then the tailgate slammed up into position and I heard two distinct sounds of metal sliding against metal. “He's at the end of the building here, having a smoke, so don’t get no ideas about sprinting off.”

I listened as something that sounded like wheels squeaked, growing quieter as whatever it was drew farther away. I turned this whole fucktangle of a situation over in my head, wondering just what I'd landed in. I should have seen whoever this guy was who was helping me – especially with that squeaky wheel. Maybe I'd been too focused on running and kind of tunneled on the truck bed? I tried to focus and thought I could, maybe, remember seeing the guy before I'd jumped in the truck, but I could be just making something up to connect dots in my head.

I heard a squeak, and then a door opened, and the bed rocked as someone got inside. “Sit tight,” the voice said, and then the truck door closed and the engine started. It didn't sound like most trucks I'd heard, and that sent me back to trying to recall what sort of truck I'd jumped into. I was distracted as the whole thing jerked and then started to move backward, then jerked again before starting to move forward. I felt the front tilt down as the truck came to a stop, likely at the end of the parking area, and then accelerated slowly into traffic, bed bouncing me a fair amount; not a soft place, that truck bed.

The truck jerked a bit, and then the sound of the engine changed, and the truck started to pick up speed. I tugged the blanket off me, then pulled it back as the wind was pretty cold, despite things starting to melt. Wind can cut the temperature right down, I've discovered; make your balls try to climb up and become ovaries.

The truck turned and accelerated again, sometimes lurching as the tone of the engine changed. I sat up briefly and looked around. We were passing houses, but it was clear we were getting toward the edge of town, and the truck was picking up speed, so no chance I'd be jumping out at a light and being on my way. I lay back down, covered myself again to protect from the wind, and waited to see what I'd have to do next.

As it was, I'd have to go back to get my bag. When I go into a town, I never take my bag with me; I stash it somewhere beforehand. If I have to run, I don't have the risk of having to drop it to get away. I can get replacement items, but it's always something of a risk. Rather than focus on my bag, I thought about my situation. Why was this person helping me? Was it, in fact, help? I wasn't entirely concerned about the cost of the help – one on one I wasn't someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley. I could do more than defend myself, but it was far better for me to stay under the radar where possible.

You never know who'll hear about you.

The truck shuddered and slowed before turning. The truck bounced over a rough bit of road before I felt it turn again and slow to a stop. The engine cut off, and I sat up as the door opened and I got my first real look at the driver. I judged him to be old: white hair, facial hair neatly trimmed in a goatee, red and black checked flannel under a jean jacket with wool showing on the lapel. Jeans, work boots and a black ball cap with grease on it completed his look.

“Well. You don't look much like a thief,” he said, leaning on the side of the truck bed. “What did you take?”

I pulled out the tube of anti-fungal cream and showed him before putting it back.

“Well, seems like more of a need.” He turned and spat. “If it had been cigarettes, I might've run you back to the store and hauled you in myself.” He sighed. “As it is...why don't you help me get these bags into a wheelbarrow, and then I'm hungry.”

I was completely confused by his attitude. I glanced beside me as I stood up, noticing the bags of concrete mix beside me. Those must have been the heavy thumps that had shaken the truck bed as I'd hidden under the moving blanket. I glanced to my left and studied the home there. It was yellow brick, a single story, and smoke curled from a chimney.

He'd turned and walked toward a barn-like structure about ten feet away and entered through the open sliding doors. I hopped out of the truck bed and looked around. We were definitely out of town, but not so far I couldn't find my way back. I wasn't sure recovering my bag would be worth the trouble. This seemed like a small town, so that guard would have a decent chance of spotting me. The wind picked up, and I glanced up at the sky and noted how it was darkening. It was too early in the day for it to get dark, so it likely meant some kind of weather. I'd need to find a place to hole up.

“Okay!” The guy was back, pushing a wheelbarrow. “Come on, fella. Give me a hand, eh?”

I shifted on my feet. The guy was no threat to me I could see, even if he was acting strangely. I could run, but he could catch me easily in his truck if he wanted to. I had no desire to cause him harm; in the meantime I decided to wait and then slip away when it was more convenient.

He hefted a bag and put it in the wheelbarrow, and I stepped in, grabbing the next one and stacking it atop the first. Once we had all four bags loaded, he wiped his forehead.

“Getting too old for this shit.” He grinned. “Okay, let's get this into the barn and get some lunch.”

He started to walk toward the open doors, so I lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and followed behind. The damn thing was heavy, and the single wheel kept wandering, making me feel like I was going to dump the whole thing any moment. The barn was long, with a raised center. One side had a large workbench set in a U shape with a toolbox in the center, up against a post, and then another U-shaped bench next to it, set up so both benches had equal access to the toolbox.

“Just set it there,” he said, motioning to the toolbox. I set the barrow down and glanced around. There was a tarp over something large and an H-shaped metal item on the floor; I couldn't guess what it was for. Finally, I set my gaze back on the driver, and he put his hands on his hips.

“My name's Leonard McKinley.”

I moved my tongue in my mouth and swallowed. “Tilman Becker.”

He nodded and jutted his chin back toward the open door. “Now, you've probably thought of running again, but a storm's fixing to come down. We're outside of town, and my wife has ham and cheese sandwiches waiting for us inside. So if you don't mind a little advice, Tilman, I'd suggest you come fill your belly, maybe have a little conversation, and figure out your options.”

I took a half step back. “Why?”

“Why what? Why are we here, an existential question?” He smiled. “Okay, I'll spare the dancing around. I don't know what trouble you're in, but you're in trouble. Your clothes are dirty, and you probably are, too. You have a rash of some kind on your feet. I'm guessing you're hungry – which I am too – and I so happen to have food and a place for you to get clean.”

I took another step back and toward the door. I shook my head. “What's the price?”

He shrugged. “No charge.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Nothing's free.”

He nodded slowly. “In an economic sense, that's true.” He put his hands in his pockets. “My middle child had a friend, boy name of Benny. His parents lived a few miles up the road, ramshackle little dump, and the only thing his parents were really good at was giving birth.” He paused and looked up at the rafters and smiled a bit more before looking to me again. “Well, I guess fucking and giving birth, to give credit where it's due.” He shook his head. “They sure were a fertile couple. Anyway, Benny up and goes missing for a few days, then turns up here. He was trying to steal some clothes off the line and maybe whatever else he could carry.”

Leonard took a few steps toward the open door, and I matched him to keep a clear line of escape.

“Well, as you may have guessed, Benny was looking to sell something for money so he could run away. Trouble is, he had no real plan beyond that – just anywhere but here.” He looked out the doorway into his yard. “You remind me of that, a bit.” He turned his gaze back to me. “Benny's parents weren't much help, but we sat him down and filled his belly and helped him think of a better plan. Then he did some chores here for some pocket money, and we passed some clothes his way; little food in his belly and some guidance into his head.”

I moved into the open doorway and glanced around, ensuring I wasn't about to be trapped or ambushed. I looked back to Leonard. “I'm not one of your children's friends. You don't know me.”

“True, true,” he said, not coming closer. “But I know boys like you. Youngsters who're doing what they need to to get by, maybe chasing freedom of a sort.” He held his hands out to his sides. “Lunch at least, Tilman? If you run after that, at least I know you went on a full belly.”

I took a few steps out of the barn and glanced over at the house. There had been no movement from it that I could tell. I closed my eyes and let out a breath to center myself and then opened my senses to the latent magic around me before opening my eyes again. I could sense nothing magical about the house, nor the grounds, and I did a slow circle. I closed my eyes again and let go of my hold on the threads of the aether around me. Just because there was no magic, didn't mean it was safe.

“Look,” Leonard said as he walked up beside me. “I don't know your story. I figure you have your reasons. But I'm hungry, and I'm going inside now. If you're hungry, you're welcome to come in. But...if that's too much for you, I'll wrap you up a sandwich and wish you luck on your way.”

I studied him for a moment and glanced at the house once more. “Okay.” I glanced back. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “My pleasure.” As we walked toward the house he started to chat. “I enjoyed a bit of petty theft in my youth, to be honest. Right up until my mother caught me and made me go downtown and 'fess up.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “'Course first she whipped my ass like it was her job.”

He pulled open the outer screen door. The wooden inner door opened into a small room, where he set about removing his boots.

“Just leave your shoes here. Dorothy doesn't put up with mud getting tracked in.”

I toed off my sneakers and followed him through another wooden door into the house proper.

“Leonard, lunch is waiting!” a female voice called out.

“My stomach's ready,” he replied. I trailed behind him into a kitchen. Painted metal cabinets surrounded a deep, white porcelain sink. Checkered linoleum covered the floor, and a small table with tube metal legs and matching chairs were off to one side next to a large window that looked out over the driveway.

“Well, hello there. I'm Dorothy, and you are?”

“Tilman, ma'am,” I said, nodding to her.

“Well, very nice to meet you. Leonard called to tell me about your adventure downtown,” she said and laughed a little. “What was it you popped into your pocket? Must not have been something too terrible from a drug store.”

“Cream for athlete's foot,” I replied.

“Can't blame you for taking medicine,” she said with a shake of her head. “Please wash your hands in the sink there, and let's get started.”

I glanced around the room for a moment and then headed to the sink to do as she asked. I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie and ran the hot water before soaping up to my elbows and getting clean. I shook my hands afterward, and Dorothy said to use a dish towel from the door of the fridge. I did so before joining them at the table.

“Don Haskins called while you were out. He said the floor pans you ordered came in,” Dorothy said.

“I swear he calls the house instead of my cell just to talk to you,” Leonard said.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, he has a wife,” Dorothy said with a wave of her hand.

“And you've met her,” Leonard said and chortled.

“Be nice. She tries hard. It can't be easy being married to Don. Free ticket to heaven if you ask me.”

I listened to them talk while Dorothy spooned some potato salad on my plate and then made a quick sandwich with ham, cheese, tomato and lettuce with mayonnaise. She paused as she prepared to hand me the food. “Oh, fiddlesticks. I'm so used to making Leonard a sandwich, I didn't even think to ask – is this all right?”

“Yes, that's great. Thank you.”

Putting the sandwich on my plate, she smiled. “Well, you're quite welcome.” She turned back to Leonard and started back with the chatter about Don and his wife and how awful they were. I mostly ignored the conversation in favor of eating. I don't starve, but I don't always get to eat when I'm hungry either. I ate my sandwich and salad and was pleasantly surprised when Dorothy told me to help myself to more. I ate three sandwiches and three helpings of salad. Potato salad isn't my favorite, but this one was pretty good by my measure.

When the conversation died off, I cleared my throat. “What happened to Benny?”

Leonard leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Joined the Army. Got married. Got divorced. Moved out west and got married again, I heard.” He shrugged. “He got a life.”

“What do you hope to do, Tilman?” Dorothy asked, forking a piece of potato.

“Keep my head down. Find someplace quiet where I can be safe.”

Leonard looked at Dorothy and she at him before he returned his gaze to me. “That sounds kind of sad, but I can see the appeal.”

I nodded. “I should probably go.”

Dorothy's husband shifted in his chair. “Leonard,” Dorothy said.

He held up a hand and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Do you mind if I offer you some guidance?”

I glanced at Dorothy then out the window at the gray sky. The wind whipped up and died down as quickly as it had come. I looked back to Leonard and said, “All right.”

He tapped his clasped hands on the table. “As I see things, you're running from something. Now there's always a time to run, no question. But...snow storm's coming. I don't see any spare clothes with you. Those sneakers aren't exactly boots. Keeping your feet in sweaty, dirty socks means that cream you got in your pocket is fighting a losing battle.”

I cleared my throat. “Okay.”

He nodded. “So I suggest you consider holing up here a bit. Get clean. Get healthy. Do a few chores, get a few meals. Let the weather clear up a bit so you don't run the risk of frostbite, chilblains or hypothermia and whatever else nature can throw at you this time of year.”

I cleared my throat and glanced at Dorothy and back to Leonard. “Why would you offer that?”

“Because you need it and I – we – can do it. Sometimes that's all the reason you need.”

I jerked back. “What?”

He laughed. “I know! What a concept. Helping just because you can.” His smile faded. “I don't know what happened to you, but I'm pretty sure you didn't deserve it. Even if you did, we have no quarrel with you or you with us. We have no reason not to offer you a helping hand.”

I pushed back my chair as I stood up. “I appreciate the offer, but it's not a good idea. Thank you, though.”

“You can't go out in this weather, Tilman. You'll freeze,” Dorothy said quietly.

I pressed my lips together and tried to smile. “Thank you for lunch, ma'am. It was really good.” I turned and headed back the way I'd come in and slipped my shoes on. I heard them stand up and low voices communicating urgently, but they didn't understand, and I didn’t feel up to an explanation. I pulled up my hood and zipped my jacket, closed the door behind me, and set off back toward the road at a brisk pace. I didn't glance at the house – I had no desire for a movie moment where they'd be framed in a window, watching me leave. They seemed like good people, which was rare enough; they didn't need my trouble, and I didn't want to feel responsible for bringing it to their door. I turned onto the road and kept up my pace. The wind picked up its pace, and the first flakes began to fall. With a bit of focus I raised my internal temperature by speeding up my body's water molecules. It wasn't a long-term solution, but it would help until I got my bag back and found a place to hole up.

At least I had a full stomach.

It took just over an hour to get back to town. It was longer than I'd have liked, because I'd gotten off the road to hide in a stand of trees not long after leaving Leonard and Dorothy's home. Despite his promise to let me be on my way, I wasn't surprised to see Leonard's truck creep by as the snow swirled. I'm sure he'd thought I'd look at the weather and take them up on a night in a soft bed and a nice shower. Maybe over a few days a bond would form, and they'd reach out to authorities to get me 'help'.

I stayed hunkered down a good fifteen minutes before Leonard's truck passed me heading back to his home. I was sure he'd go home and shrug at Dorothy and say he'd tried. Perhaps one day they'd ask each other what might have happened to the strange, dirty boy they'd met so briefly. They had a point about the socks and my feet, though. I'd need to find ways to keep them clean and get some clean socks.

I trudged back into town and skirted the center to head over to the overgrown barn with a caved in roof where I'd stashed my bag. I drank from my water bottle and stashed it back inside before shouldering my bag. Taking a closer look at the ruin, I decided there wasn't enough of a building to really hole up in. I headed back toward the road, thinking to backtrack toward the town. I'd seen a scrapyard, and there was a decent chance of a reasonably intact car I could stretch out in for a night.

The snow swirled and came down faster, and I stumbled as the wind picked up. Out of nowhere a pickup appeared, coming near me. The driver swerved, the truck slipped, and I tried to dodge, but the mirrors – hung far out for towing – clipped my shoulder and sent me spinning into the deepening snow on the side of the road. As I crashed into the snow my head hit something and I saw stars, immediately getting disoriented.

“Fuck! Holy shit, are you okay?” I heard snow crunching, but my thoughts moved slowly. Pain radiated from my shoulder, throbbing in time with my heart. “Buddy – don't move. I called nine-one-one. Shit, is that blood? That's blood. I didn't see you!”

Blood? I started to raise my left hand, but my shoulder sent out a lance of pain, so I used my right hand to touch the back of my head. My fingers came away red. Shit. Probably not too bad – head wounds bleed a lot. Still, I was getting cold now; the blow had broken the concentration I needed to keep my temperature up. Another downside of that trick was sweating with clothes on, especially winter clothes.

“Cold,” I said.

“Shit. Don't die. Are you dying? Don't die.” I started to sit up, and hands grabbed me, helping me to my feet. “I wasn't sure if you should move – you know, spinal injury or something. Is your back okay?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” I said.

“Wait. Are you joking? I mean I just hit you with a truck!”

I couldn't help but laugh a little and glanced at the driver. He was near my age, maybe, with curly brown hair, nose squared at the end, and a worried expression. He wore cowboy boots, jeans and a brown jacket that looked lined with black wool.

I stumbled to his truck, feeling a little lightheaded – and then I threw up all the food I'd just eaten.

“Oh! Oh, God...damn that's nasty, bro. Thanks for aiming away from me, anyway,” he said

I spit a few times. “My bag. Can I have my water bottle, please?”

“Oh, yeah, hang on.” I heard him unzip the bag and winced as it shifted on my back, then gasped at the sharp pain from my shoulder. He rummaged quickly and then handed me the metal bottle. I poured some water in my mouth, swirled it around and spit.

“Yuck. Thanks.”

“Come on, sit down here, bro,” he said, opening the passenger door and letting me sit down on the edge of the floor – I wanted no part of trying to climb up onto the seat.

“I should be okay in a second. Just let me catch my breath,” I said.

“Bro, no way. Hit by a truck, remember? You're bleeding from your head, and you walk like there's a crab clamping one of your balls.

I guffawed, winced and looked at him. “A crab?”

He smiled. “They could probably snip a ball off, not that I've tried.”

I shook my head slowly, feeling a second thud start in my head to match the throb in my shoulder. I needed to get myself moving. I tried to stand but felt dizzy and sat back down awkwardly. A jolt ran through my shoulder at being jostled, and I gasped again from the sudden pain.

“Seriously, bro, sit the fuck down,” he said nervously.

“Right, right. Just give me a minute,” I said quietly. “Um, my bag. Ibuprofen.”

“I think you might need more than an aspirin, bro,” he said, but reached past me to dig in my bag. “Hang on, let's slide the bag off.” He tried so hard to be gentle; I bit back a yell, as my shoulder just wasn't having it. “Okay, here.” He handed me three pills and my water, which I gulped down. I leaned forward, losing my balance, and he steadied me quickly. “I see the lights.”

“Lights?” I slowly glanced around, picking up on the flashing lights in the swirling snow. Shit. An ambulance. I tried to stand again and had more success, but the driver pushed down on my shoulders to make me sit, and I let out a really shitty sound as my shoulder let me know how much it didn't like that.

“I'm so sorry but stop trying to get up!” he said, both scolding and sounding scared and concerned all in one.

I heard doors close and boots crunching in the snow. The driver explained what happened, and the paramedic started to check me out. They got me onto a gurney, though I had to throw up once more before that happened. Funny, I thought I'd emptied my stomach the first time. As they got me into the back of the ambulance, they asked me who they could call for me.

Damn.

Double damn.

As a second car with lights – the police – pulled up, I really had no option for the moment. “Um. Leonard and Dorothy McKinley.”

To read the entire serial right away, either sign up for my Patreon account and always get the whole story first, or donate through my PayPal link to have the story emailed to you!

Next Chapter