several
feet beyond an ancient oak tree.
His house was well over a hundred years old—a
century home, built in the 1800’s. He’d picked it up for a song a
few years earlier, and he’d been working on it ever since.
Logan hopped onto the porch and let himself
inside where he was immediately accosted by a purring bundle of
energy. The cat had come with the property. It was a stray and he
hadn’t had the heart to turn the pathetic creature away when it had
shown up the first morning after he’d moved in.
The animal had been nothing but a bag of
bones, with matted fur and a missing right eye. Its tail was
crooked, the bone permanently altered—whether by foul means Logan
couldn’t be sure. The only thing he was sure of, was the fact that
the cat was about the ugliest thing he’d ever seen with its
gray/black fur and mottled orange accents.
His nephew had called it weird and oddly
enough, the name had stuck.
Logan slipped out of his boots and trudged
upstairs, still feeling restless but not knowing what to do. He
decided another shower might do the trick, but hours later he was
still wide awake, with Weird curled next to him, purring
loudly.
He cursed, rolled over and sat on the edge of
his bed for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A
glance at the clock on the dresser across the room told him it was
half past three. He’d been home by eleven.
For several moments he stared at the clock,
running his hands over the shadow that now graced his jaw. He
hadn’t heard the low rumble of Shane’s bike, so he was pretty sure
Gallagher wasn’t home.
What the hell was he doing? Was he out with
Billie? Up to no good?
Why did he care?
[i] I don’t[ i].
Except he kinda sorta did and it was the main
reason hours later—after he’d eventually fallen asleep—that he woke
up pissed off. Not even three cups of strong, black coffee made him
feel better. He was grumpy, out of sorts and, he had to be honest,
more than a little anxious. He thought of Sabrina. She’d left a
message on his machine asking him to come over and work things
out.
[i] Women [i]. Last week she’d called
him an unfeeling bastard—no, [i] an unfeeling selfish
bastard [i]. And this week she wanted him back. If he went over
there right now she’d probably welcome him with open arms and open
legs. But contrary to what she’d said last week, he wasn’t an
unfeeling selfish bastard. If he was, he’d let her take the edge
off and be done with it.
He was just uninterested in her.
Logan slammed his closet door closed. He sure
as hell wasn’t interested in what Shane Gallagher and Billie-Jo
Barker were doing either.
Fuck. It was going to be a long day.
After throwing on an old pair of jeans and
simple black T-shirt, Logan opted not to shave and pulled on his
boots instead. He fed the cat, giving Weird a scratch behind the
ears before he headed out into the early morning sun. It was crisp
and his breath hung in the air as Logan’s feet crunched over stiff,
frost covered grass.
His home was surrounded by maple trees, their
leaf heavy limbs a riot of fall colors. Burnt oranges, yellows, and
reds were the palette, something that usually lightened his mood,
but today, nothing was going to clear his dark mood.
He cut across to the garage located along the
side of his house. Nestled between two ancient oak trees, it had at
one time been a carriage house—hence the loft apartment overtop.
Shane’s bike was parked inside, which he pointedly ignored, and a
few seconds later he backed his truck out and drove away.
He didn’t work many Saturdays these days but
good, hard, manual labor would go a long way in relieving the dark
mood inside him. Besides, it’s not like he had much else going on
in his life.
Logan passed the paperboy, Walt something or
other, as he turned onto Main Street and waved as the kid rode
past. His business, Forest Custom Design was located across the
bridge at the far end of town.
Fog slithered along the road as
feet beyond an ancient oak tree.
His house was well over a hundred years old—a
century home, built in the 1800’s. He’d picked it up for a song a
few years earlier, and he’d been working on it ever since.
Logan hopped onto the porch and let himself
inside where he was immediately accosted by a purring bundle of
energy. The cat had come with the property. It was a stray and he
hadn’t had the heart to turn the pathetic creature away when it had
shown up the first morning after he’d moved in.
The animal had been nothing but a bag of
bones, with matted fur and a missing right eye. Its tail was
crooked, the bone permanently altered—whether by foul means Logan
couldn’t be sure. The only thing he was sure of, was the fact that
the cat was about the ugliest thing he’d ever seen with its
gray/black fur and mottled orange accents.
His nephew had called it weird and oddly
enough, the name had stuck.
Logan slipped out of his boots and trudged
upstairs, still feeling restless but not knowing what to do. He
decided another shower might do the trick, but hours later he was
still wide awake, with Weird curled next to him, purring
loudly.
He cursed, rolled over and sat on the edge of
his bed for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A
glance at the clock on the dresser across the room told him it was
half past three. He’d been home by eleven.
For several moments he stared at the clock,
running his hands over the shadow that now graced his jaw. He
hadn’t heard the low rumble of Shane’s bike, so he was pretty sure
Gallagher wasn’t home.
What the hell was he doing? Was he out with
Billie? Up to no good?
Why did he care?
[i] I don’t[ i].
Except he kinda sorta did and it was the main
reason hours later—after he’d eventually fallen asleep—that he woke
up pissed off. Not even three cups of strong, black coffee made him
feel better. He was grumpy, out of sorts and, he had to be honest,
more than a little anxious. He thought of Sabrina. She’d left a
message on his machine asking him to come over and work things
out.
[i] Women [i]. Last week she’d called
him an unfeeling bastard—no, [i] an unfeeling selfish
bastard [i]. And this week she wanted him back. If he went over
there right now she’d probably welcome him with open arms and open
legs. But contrary to what she’d said last week, he wasn’t an
unfeeling selfish bastard. If he was, he’d let her take the edge
off and be done with it.
He was just uninterested in her.
Logan slammed his closet door closed. He sure
as hell wasn’t interested in what Shane Gallagher and Billie-Jo
Barker were doing either.
Fuck. It was going to be a long day.
After throwing on an old pair of jeans and
simple black T-shirt, Logan opted not to shave and pulled on his
boots instead. He fed the cat, giving Weird a scratch behind the
ears before he headed out into the early morning sun. It was crisp
and his breath hung in the air as Logan’s feet crunched over stiff,
frost covered grass.
His home was surrounded by maple trees, their
leaf heavy limbs a riot of fall colors. Burnt oranges, yellows, and
reds were the palette, something that usually lightened his mood,
but today, nothing was going to clear his dark mood.
He cut across to the garage located along the
side of his house. Nestled between two ancient oak trees, it had at
one time been a carriage house—hence the loft apartment overtop.
Shane’s bike was parked inside, which he pointedly ignored, and a
few seconds later he backed his truck out and drove away.
He didn’t work many Saturdays these days but
good, hard, manual labor would go a long way in relieving the dark
mood inside him. Besides, it’s not like he had much else going on
in his life.
Logan passed the paperboy, Walt something or
other, as he turned onto Main Street and waved as the kid rode
past. His business, Forest Custom Design was located across the
bridge at the far end of town.
Fog slithered along the road as
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