It’s a little after six o’clock and Johnny’s still sitting on the couch. He stares unseeing at the TV, trying not to think of anything in particular if he can help it, when he hears something kick the box of Brett’s stuff he left out in the hall. Hitting the MUTE button on the remote, he holds his breath to listen.
Another rattle outside. Someone’s definitely out there, rummaging through the box, and Johnny thinks he knows who it is.
This is the moment he’s been dreading all afternoon.
Clicking off the TV, he crosses to the door and stops just beside it. One thumbnail is caught between his teeth, which nervously nibble at it while his gaze is trained on the knob. Just take it, he thinks. Take it already and go.
But no—it’s not that simple, is it? Johnny hears the box being kicked a
