Page 41 of Deeper

Callen

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

I groan and hold my pillow over my head, but it does nothing to muffle the sound pouring in through my open window. It’s too fucking early. My fist hits the mattress, and I rise from the mess of sheets, just barely caring enough to put some boxer briefs on before I storm out of the door of the RV.

Willy.

My least favorite neighbor is standing in the small space between our two vehicles and playing horseshoes before most have had their morning coffee. The sound of the horseshoe hitting the stake rings loudly in my head as he throws with impressive accuracy. My bare feet slip on the wet grass covered in morning dew. Cold chills race from the soles of my feet to the top of my spine. Willy looks over at me as I approach, and his lips turn up into a smile as he waves an eager hand my way.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for that?” There is a bite to my tone, but Willy doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he chooses to ignore it.

“Oh, good! You’re up.”

“Who could sleep through all the noise you’re making?”

“What noise? Go throw some clothes on. I’ll teach you the finesse that is horseshoes.”

“I’m not playing horseshoes with you.”

Willy heads to his home next to mine. He doesn’t turn around as he throws words over his shoulder. “Go. I have just the thing for you. I’ll see you in a minute.”

I stand stupid for a moment, wondering if I’m losing my touch. That old man doesn’t seem to be intimidated by me in the least. Scratching my head, I turn on my heels and head back toward my place.

Once inside, I turn on the news to listen to the latest conspiracy theories surrounding my killing spree.

“Carter Andrews and Cortland Evans were both graduates of Yale and were known to associate with the same crowd. Speculation is running wild about the connection. Were these two men targeted specifically, or was it all a matter of coincidence?”

Huh.I didn’t know they’d known each other. To be fair, I don’t know all the details, and I don’t ask. I guess I should have assumed that they knew each other. I want to find out what else the talking head will speculate on, but Willy knocks on my damn door. I can see the top of his head through the frosted window on the door. I turn back to the news.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Still, I wait, not wanting to deal with whatever the fuck he thinks is “just the thing” for me.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“You going to leave an old man out here in the cold?”

He isn’t going away.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fuck!

Against my better judgment, I head to open the door, filling the space of my entryway. I open it, and Willy stands tall before me, wearing a crooked smile and holding a thermos.

“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not interested in getting to know my neighbors. I’d appreciate it if this was the last time you knocked on my door. I won’t be here that long, and hopefully, you’ll get someone a little friendlier in my spot next time.”

“Our previous interactions were you not being rude? Move aside and let me in.”

Willy pushes past me. He invites himself in and makes himself comfortable at the tiny kitchen table, and I scowl at him.

“This here is an impressive RV. Top of the line! Must have cost you a pretty penny. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I never gave it.”

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