PreyThe old man barely looked Dan in the eye when he opened the door.
“You’re here,” he said, then turned around and shuffled away toward the kitchen.
Dan didn’t follow. The day was as wonderful a day as he could remember, and it was made even more wonderful by the fact that, thanks to a very rainy early spring, the grass was green, the cherry blossoms were blooming in full force, and tulips, yellow, satin, and red, sprang up in freshly mulched beds. Birds sang. A soft breeze ruffled his hair. Watching a shower of yellow pollen blow across the street, Dan was grateful not to suffer allergies.
If the outdoors were an Audubon painting, the old man’s house was Bosch. The shades were drawn, the furniture saggy and defeated, the air stale and cold, like a crypt. An old plant sat dying and br
