room, offering a fish-tank view. Darryl was sitting on his couch, a beer in one hand and the other hand tucked into his jeans. Lacey had seen men sit like this many times before, even when they weren’t alone. Still, she felt more like a peeping tom than a private detective. The show on TV was Cudgel. 10 Lacey recognized the contestant and even noted that it was a rerun—how tragic was that? She was definitely getting out of this town.
Fifteen minutes passed without any action except on the TV screen. Then the telephone rang, which made Lacey jump. But not Darryl. He just sat there as if he couldn’t hear it. When Cudgel broke for a commercial, Darryl got up from the couch and pressed a button on his answering machine. Lacey assumed someone had left a message and Darryl was listening to it. She couldn’t make out the voice, only that there was a voice.
Then Darryl looked at her, or right out the window to where she was lurking. Only it was dark outside and light in the house, so she knew he couldn’t see anything. Still, from the way he was looking, he knew someone was out there.
Darryl killed the lights and Lacey made a run for it. This time, she exited through the backyard, scaling the chain-link fence. On her way down, she sliced open her left arm. She felt the pain, but refused to utter a sound.
Darryl peered through the living room window, then raced into the kitchen in the back of the house and saw a shadow escape through his backyard. He’d never be able to identify her. In fact, if pressed for details, he’d say a male, approximately fourteen years of age, wearing a baseball cap, a black shirt, and blue jeans, was casing his home for a burglary. But only because that’s exactly how Paul described the suspicious individual when he left a message on Darryl’s answering machine, explaining that he just happened to be driving by. Had a delivery and couldn’t stop, but he thought he’d be neighborly, even though they weren’t exactly neighbors.
Lacey sprinted to her car, just a few blocks away. Once safely inside, she flipped the light on and got a good look at her wound. There was nothing clean around to stanch the bleeding, so she removed her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her arm. The blood kept flowing, and Lacey was starting to feel queasy and a little faint. She thought about calling Paul but knew that he would ask questions that she wasn’t about to answer. The closest emergency room was over twenty miles away. She didn’t think she could make it.
“Are you the new Doc Holland?” Lacey asked, standing in front of the old Doc Holland’s residence/office, trying not to drip blood on the front porch.
“I guess so,” the sleepy-eyed male replied.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I didn’t think this could wait until morning.”
The new Doc Holland, who was wearing scrubs that most likely performed double duty as pajamas, unwrapped the sweatshirt from Lacey’s arm and studied the deep cut.
“I’ll meet you at the office in one minute,” he said.
Lacey walked ten paces to the adjacent building and sat down on the stoop. In that brief passage of time, the new Doc Holland threw on a lab coat, brushed his teeth, and walked through the interior door that connected his new home to his new office. He invited Lacey inside, turned on the blinding lights of the examination room, and began pulling supplies from the metal chest.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” the new Doc Holland said. “I’m Matthew Egan.”
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Egan.”
“You can call me Matthew.”
“Nah.”
“And you are?”
“Sorry. Got distracted by all the blood. I’m Lacey Hansen.”
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Hansen.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“How did this happen?”
“Climbing a fence.”
“Why were you doing that, this time of night?”
“I don’t know. Just felt like it, I guess.”
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
“A while ago, I think. I’ll
Fifteen minutes passed without any action except on the TV screen. Then the telephone rang, which made Lacey jump. But not Darryl. He just sat there as if he couldn’t hear it. When Cudgel broke for a commercial, Darryl got up from the couch and pressed a button on his answering machine. Lacey assumed someone had left a message and Darryl was listening to it. She couldn’t make out the voice, only that there was a voice.
Then Darryl looked at her, or right out the window to where she was lurking. Only it was dark outside and light in the house, so she knew he couldn’t see anything. Still, from the way he was looking, he knew someone was out there.
Darryl killed the lights and Lacey made a run for it. This time, she exited through the backyard, scaling the chain-link fence. On her way down, she sliced open her left arm. She felt the pain, but refused to utter a sound.
Darryl peered through the living room window, then raced into the kitchen in the back of the house and saw a shadow escape through his backyard. He’d never be able to identify her. In fact, if pressed for details, he’d say a male, approximately fourteen years of age, wearing a baseball cap, a black shirt, and blue jeans, was casing his home for a burglary. But only because that’s exactly how Paul described the suspicious individual when he left a message on Darryl’s answering machine, explaining that he just happened to be driving by. Had a delivery and couldn’t stop, but he thought he’d be neighborly, even though they weren’t exactly neighbors.
Lacey sprinted to her car, just a few blocks away. Once safely inside, she flipped the light on and got a good look at her wound. There was nothing clean around to stanch the bleeding, so she removed her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her arm. The blood kept flowing, and Lacey was starting to feel queasy and a little faint. She thought about calling Paul but knew that he would ask questions that she wasn’t about to answer. The closest emergency room was over twenty miles away. She didn’t think she could make it.
“Are you the new Doc Holland?” Lacey asked, standing in front of the old Doc Holland’s residence/office, trying not to drip blood on the front porch.
“I guess so,” the sleepy-eyed male replied.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I didn’t think this could wait until morning.”
The new Doc Holland, who was wearing scrubs that most likely performed double duty as pajamas, unwrapped the sweatshirt from Lacey’s arm and studied the deep cut.
“I’ll meet you at the office in one minute,” he said.
Lacey walked ten paces to the adjacent building and sat down on the stoop. In that brief passage of time, the new Doc Holland threw on a lab coat, brushed his teeth, and walked through the interior door that connected his new home to his new office. He invited Lacey inside, turned on the blinding lights of the examination room, and began pulling supplies from the metal chest.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” the new Doc Holland said. “I’m Matthew Egan.”
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Egan.”
“You can call me Matthew.”
“Nah.”
“And you are?”
“Sorry. Got distracted by all the blood. I’m Lacey Hansen.”
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Hansen.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“How did this happen?”
“Climbing a fence.”
“Why were you doing that, this time of night?”
“I don’t know. Just felt like it, I guess.”
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
“A while ago, I think. I’ll
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