The laptop glows in the dim kitchen, the window giving nothing back. I click Join anyway. By the time we reach the trail, I already know I don’t belong. I notice the tracks before anyone else. Large. Deep. Clean. Not crossing. Running alongside.
“How do you stay so calm?” “Stop expecting rescue. Reinforce the spine. Guard the soft spots.” “Lonely costs less than therapy.”
An affair. A gun. One question that demands yes or no. But the wrong answer isn’t the only danger in the room.
The road turned mean under an early September snowstorm. Icy switchbacks knifed along a drop so steep the birch clung to the slope out of stubbornness. The Glenn Highway vanished behind our truck in sheets of white as we climbed toward Chickaloon, mountains folding inward, dark and close. Wind pressed against the truck like it wanted inside.
Content Note: This story contains a brief reference to suicide. Please take care while reading. The ringing phone dragged me out of a dream. I rolled toward the noise and groped for the phone. Sleet pecked at the windowpanes like fingernails. A distorted voice slid into my ear. Walk away from the case. Accidents happen. I jolted upright. A sudden weight landed on the bed. My collie Zeke, warm breath stirring my chin. His dark eyes met mine, they way…
