The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) by A.J. Flynn (early reader books .txt) 📗

and it had been until Charlie’s death threw Harry into a panic.

It hadn’t been Harry’s fault that fear had eaten away at him, until he eventually felt that he had to flee like a frightened animal. Not everybody was brave, just as not everybody was light or dark skinned. Not everybody can say that their lives were intervened upon and made complicated by a senseless murder. There would be plenty of people who weren’t able to handle such a situation. It wasn’t just Harry.

She wasn’t quite sure how long she cried, but eventually the tears stopped. There simply weren’t anymore left.

Her head ached unmercifully, and she leaned it back against the chair. She was trying to decide whether or not to go and get an aspirin, when she heard the back door open.

She sat up, startled.

“Who’s there?”

There was the muffled sound of someone bumping into the kitchen table.

“Who’s there?” she called out again, and was answered by a man’s voice cussing about the furniture being where it shouldn’t be.

She stood up from the chair and, clutching the neckline of her robe, stood waiting for whoever might come through the kitchen door.

XX

God, how the bitch had laughed. He could still hear her laugher, as she said, “You better take your money back, mister. I don’t mess with dirtbags like you.”

If he’d had the strength, we would have beat the hell out of her, but he didn’t.

She knew it, too. Lying back on the rumpled bed, naked as the day she was born, she wore a smile that said, “I’m laughing in your face right now. What are you gonna do about it?”

He’d hurried out as soon as he could, but now that he was out on the street there was no place left to go. She’d laugh her head off traipsing back to Simp’s to spread the story. He could almost hear her now.

“You know that Robb Johnson guy?” she’d start, then tell the whole thing. It would be good for a laugh, and laughter was the one thing he wasn’t willing to face.

He stumbled to his car, but there wasn’t any pleasure in getting behind the wheel tonight. He needed a stiff drink and he needed it bad.

The nearest spirit shop was six or seven blocks down, so he started the engine and drove as fast as he could. He’d begin shaking soon, and he needed to take a few shots before it started.

He picked up a fifth of whiskey. A pint might not be enough. When he returned to the car, he split the seal with his thumbnail, took a long swallow and followed it with two more.

He immediately felt better, but there was still fear in him. Tonight was just a coincidence, he wasn’t that old, but what would he do once he was? He didn’t have any children to love him in his old age. There was nobody for him besides that sanctimonious robot, Colleen. No more women, no more booze, just day after day of Colleen.

He started the car and started back towards home. The liquor was kicking in and he didn’t want to pass out in his car.

Because of his present condition, he drove with due caution, and finally made the turn onto his street. Once he successfully parked along the curb he felt that he had achieved a great triumph. He stepped out of the car feeling quite confident and ambled up the driveway towards the back door.

The door didn’t squeak like it usually does when he opened it. Colleen must have given up trying to get him to oil it and done it herself. He didn’t bother turning on the light. It had been a hell of an evening, and he knew that the light wouldn’t help any.

He started through the kitchen and cracked his shin on something that scooted heavily across the floor. His leg hurt like hell, and he gave vent to a few scathing opinions about women and how they couldn’t put things back where they belonged.

There was a faint light bleeding in from the living room, and he started for it, with great care. When he got to the light, he squinted and blinked forward with bleary eyes, trying to get his bearings. It took a good while, but when it finally dawned on him that he had entered the wrong house, he gave a self-pleased smile.

He was proud of his genius, and began offering the courtly apologies of an inordinately polite drunk.

“I seem to have made one hell of a— I seem to have made one hell of a mistake.” Then he stopped and gave his full attention to the tousle-haired, shiny-faced woman standing in front of him, clutching an old robe that looked just like one of Colleen’s.

“Well, I’ll be hot damned,” he said in dismay. “If it isn’t our glamour girl.”

He felt his way towards the nearest chair and flopped down into it. His eyes never left Hayley. At first he was confused, then his confusion gave way to laughter.

“Our glamour girl,” he choked through howls of mirth. “The envy of the neighborhood, and she doesn’t look any different than every other free-loading bitch that’s tied a man down. Dresses to the nines for everyone else, but the old man can have her raw, and he better like it!”

He laughed to himself for a little while longer, then sat forward, staring at her. Hayley returned his gaze, not knowing exactly what to make of the situation. She had known Robb Johnson casually for a while now, but he had never done anything to cause her apprehension. Everybody knew he was a drunk, but nothing ever came from it.

“I guess you’re wondering if I killed the little bastard, too?” he said.

The shock on her face must have registered with him, because he sighed and carried on.

“Colleen seems to think… Wonders, I mean. According to her, it only could have been done by an evil man, and if anyone around here fits the