As gently as possible, Josh got alongside the woman and lowered her to the pavement. She fought him, but without much effort. She may have been walking for miles. Her skin was cold, no fever, but shock could be infecting her. “Get me a blanket from the trunk. David? A blanket. Get one from the trunk.”

“I’m on the line with nine-one-one,” he said.

“Do two things at once, asshole!” Josh loved his kid brother, but damn him sometimes. Damn him.

The woman bucked, arching her back. She coughed, gagged. Josh rolled her onto her side, so she faced away from him. He didn’t want her to choke on vomit or her tongue, or anything, but neither did he want to watch her if she did. She blows chunks; he’s going to be blowing chunkier chunks right along with her.

“I got the blanket.”

“Cover her legs.”

“What about the blood?”

“Seriously? Cover her legs, please!” Josh grunted. He would have yanked the blanket away and covered the woman himself, but she still twisted, tried rolling over, or getting up. Josh had no idea what she was trying to do. He didn’t want to let go of her shoulders and risk letting her cause more damage. “They sending an ambulance?”

“They said they were and they asked me a million questions. I didn’t know how to answer any of them. Felt stupid. Had to keep saying, ‘I don’t know.’”

Yeah. That’s what made you feel stupid. “The police?”

“I guess they’re coming, too.”

“They say how long?” Josh made sure the blanket covered her legs. He stretched it as far up to her lower chest as he could without leaving bare skin exposed. It was October. Not freezing out, but too cold to be in a short skirt and tank top. “Give me your coat, David.”

“My coat, Josh?”

“Your coat. I want to cover her shoulders.”

“What about your coat?”

“I’m wearing mine,” Josh said.

David hugged himself; his fingers ran over his arms. “It’s in the car.”

Distant sirens.

“Okay. Can you get it, David? Can you, please, just fucking go and get it?”

David stared off into the distance. “Could be them?”

“Could be. She still needs your coat.” Josh looked up and down the main road. He thought the sirens got closer, but couldn’t yet see the responders. “I have a feeling she’s not going to make it.”

“Dude, she looks dead already.”

Josh could only nod. No argument. She did indeed look dead.

Chapter One

“Chase, you know it’s not your Halloween this year. It’s mine.”

Just the sound of her voice ate through me. Thank God, we were on phones, not talking in person. The urge to clock her made my bicep muscle twitch instinctively. “Look, Julie. Charlene is fourteen. Cash is nine. They aren’t going to want to go trick or treating much longer. All I am saying is, let me go around with them. A couple of houses. You and Douglas—”

“Donald.”

“—can stay home and hand out candy. You don’t want to leave a mini mansion like that unattended on a night like that anyway.” That was thoughtful of me. Worrying about the safety of Dougla—Donald’s—possessions, expensive possessions. At least I thought so.

“Chase, we’re not doing this. You had them last year. I didn’t do this to you. I didn’t call and beg to impose. I will send you pictures of them in their costumes.”

“They’re my kids, Julie. I’m not imposing if I want to spend time with my kids.” I lit a cigarette. My morning cup of coffee forgotten, gone cold, sat next to the butt-full ashtray.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“I hate that. You know I hate that.”

“Can you guess what’s great about being divorced from you? I don’t care what you hate.”

“See, you can’t do that. You can’t ask me to guess and then just give the answer. I need a chance actually to guess.”

“Fine. You know what, from now on, to make it easier for you, I won’t tell you when I—”

The line disconnected.

“You hang up on me? Jules? Julie?” I threw my phone, pissed off enough to aim for a wall, but broke enough to ensure it slammed into a couch cushion instead. I leaned back in the wood chair, but not so far that the legs might snap. Because they might. The square card table was dressed up with a kitchen-like tablecloth and surrounded with a mismatch of chairs. Curb side furniture.

Smoke billowed up from the end of my cigarette, hit the yellow stained ceiling paint and burst like a silent exploding cloud. I shook my head. Thirty-five, divorced, not where I saw myself.

Work and beer when not working. Killing days until my every-other-weekend, and one day a week with my kids. She cheated. She forced me out. She got the kids. Courts favored mothers.

I fought. At first.

Whole time we were together I promised her, if anything ever happened to us, I was taking the kids. Her boyfriend at the time hired an expensive firm. The only way I’d win in court was airing laundry in front of a judge, and dragging my kids through the stink.

That didn’t help them. The kids. I made it about them. She made it about winning. Rough enough having their parents split. They didn’t need to testify and choose sides. She was prepared to put them through that. Not me. I walked away.

One day, I told myself, they‘d know I didn’t give up. I sacrificed . . . for them. It’s always been for them.

The phone chirped; it was a text. I turned and parted the kitchen curtain and watched the rain as it fell. Not heavy. Gray clouds covered any sunlight. It was the end of October and I might not see sunlight until March. I worked from four in the afternoon, until midnight. Got home. Got drunk. Passed out. Woke up, usually around now—which was what? Two? Showered and headed back into work.

We were coming up on the weekend, the busiest time at work and it would be ten times worse this weekend, because it was Halloween weekend. Years when the holiday fell on a school night, things were better. There were fewer parties and fewer drunks. Not a lot less. But fewer.

I stood up, pushed in my chair, set the cigarette down in the ashtray, and retrieved my phone.

Allison. Entered my password. Read the message.

As I walked back for my smoke, I spoke my reply. “Reply. Hey, dear. Getting ready for work. You want coffee? See you there. Send.”

I set the phone down and walked toward the bathroom.

The scream came from outside my door. I stopped. Listened. Eyes narrowed, like that helped my ears. It didn’t.

A moan. Loud. Long. I back stepped through the living room, and pressed my ear to the apartment door, straining to listen.

Nothing. Silence.

I waited.

I had been living in this building for close to a year. I said hello and goodbye to the other tenants, but little else. I wasn’t here to make friends. I needed a place to sleep, and drink, and it worked fine for my purposes.

When several minutes passed without another sound from the hallway, I walked past the television. A news journalist reviewed the shortness of H7N9 vaccinations, and the alarmingly large number of U.S. citizens infected with the fast-spreading flu. I would take my chances. Saw no reason to stop for a flu shot. Never got one before, and wasn’t getting one now.

At the table, I crushed out the butt, lit a fresh smoke and went to the bathroom to shower. I’d grab hot coffee at the drive-thru and head into work.

Work was not solace. It was a place that kept me sober eight hours at a time. You might consider 9-1-1 a sanctuary. Unless you worked there. Then you’d know it was more like a detention center. A holding cell for the mentally employed, and moderately deranged. I fit the mold. Explained why I still had a job.

Chapter Two

Allison Little answered on the second ring. “Hello, Chase.”