Page 1 of The Silent Mountain Man

1

Eddie

I hate the mountains.

Despise them.

I could quite happily live the rest of my life without setting foot anywhere near or on one ever again.

And I've never hated the mountains as much as I do right now.

"This is bad," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel with ghost-white knuckles. No matter how hard I squint, I'm barely able to see anything through the intense rainstorm engulfing me.

"This isrealbad."

It's been raining on and off for most of the drive up the mountain, but it's really bucketing down now.

Is this how I die?

I've only just turned twenty-seven and have finally,finally, started to get my shit together. Dream job. Nice apartment. Made the final loan repayment on my car last month.

Why does my life have to end now?

I can already picture the headlines:Eddie Boyd joins the 27 club.

Okay, so I'm not a musician, artist, actor, or some other celebrity, but that doesn't mean I can't be the first hotshot marketing exec. to get admitted, right? I spearheaded theBarbiemovie campaign rollout in Europe. I convinced Taylor Swift to promote collagen-infused bubbly water drinks in Japan. There is literally no club or bar I can't get into in LA or New York.

But do I really want to use my charming smile and ability to talk under water to get me into the big club in the sky?… No, I very much do not.

The rain eases off a fraction. Not a whole lot, but enough to give me a chance to take a few deep breaths and try to compose myself.

I'm crawling at twenty miles an hour, but there's no one else stupid enough to be out on the road so it doesn't matter. There's no way I'm going any faster and risking careening over the edge of the mountain.

That's it. I've decided.

I amnotdying today.

27 club, you can go fuck yourself.

I continue inching my way up the winding road.

Guess the bad weather is my karma for delaying this trip for as long as I have. I've come up with every excuse I can to avoid coming back here.

My father died a few months ago, and this is my first time back since his funeral. He left me his house and all his worldly belongings. It's time to sell his place. I guess I'll have to sort through all his stuff and decide what to keep, what to give away, and what to throw out. I'm not really sure what the playbook for dealing with the aftermath of your estranged father's death is.

All I know is, Isodon't want to be doing this.

Growing up, I used to love Pa more than anyone. Mom would drop me off at the start of summer, and he'd take me hiking, fishing, teach me how to start a fire by rubbing sticks together like they do in the movies, show me which berries were safe to eat and which weren't.

All my best childhood memories are from here, from this place, from him…

Until the summer I turned eighteen and everything went to shit. My whole world got turned upside down. It's taken meyearsto recover.

A deep, earth-shaking rumble rattles the car. I peer up at the dark-gray sky. "That wasn't thunder."

Yes, I'm a talker.

No, I don't require an audience.

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