plates full of fish and a double helping of fries—one of her personal favorites. Locals joked that the building was so bound to its history that one could still hear the clink of milk bottles that once filled the rooms of this former dairy.
Haley pushed the heavy metal exit door that led out into the college campus parking lot. The northern February weather was just as bitter as ever. As she rushed to her car, battling fierce wind, she looked up and noticed ominous storm clouds approaching and her pace quickened to a run. She hoped to make it home before the clouds opened up and cast down their snowy wrath.
Once inside the calm of her car, she revved the engine and blasted her defroster. Even within the past couple of hours, a glaze of ice crusted all her windows. Reluctant to get out again to scrape them, Haley sat and waited for the ice to melt, mentally rehearsing some points she wanted to cover with Allen later that evening.
She tossed her bags in the backseat, when a sudden rattle startled her. Someone was prying at her door handle from the other side. The haze of ice blurred the intruder’s features. A fist smacked against the window, and she frantically pushed the lock down, thankful that her car door had a knack for sticking during winter’s bitter temperatures. The person was screaming, but the roar of the defroster muted the voice.
By the time she cranked the lukewarm heat down a couple of notches to a low hum, the voice stopped yelling. And then the shadow grew faint as the person, apparently, walked away.
Her heart raced and she sucked in a few throat-chilling breaths.
Whoever it was had given up. Haley peered through the glass, but a hazy outline still loomed on the other side, but this time at a safe distance. She pressed her face closer to the window, with her hands cupping around her eyes to remove the glare. It took a moment before she recognized the contour of the face and the color of the hair. Rolling down the window partway, she peered at the form. Sure enough, she found the bird legs of Allen Michaels pacing outside her car door.
“Allen! ” she called, then waved him closer. “You scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you might be having car trouble so I figured I’d check on you.”
“No, I’m just too lazy to scrape my windows. I’m fine, thanks.” Her heart wildly beat against her ribs as she took a couple calming breaths.
“Hey, um, I actually brought something to class for you but forgot to give it to you earlier.” He pushed a rumpled brown paper bag toward her through the small opening in the window. She hesitantly accepted it and looked up at him questioningly.
“Go ahead,” he prodded, “open it.”
She opened the bag and pulled out a book. A dark hooded figure holding a gun to his head stared back at her from the cover. It strangely resembled Allen with his jutting cheekbones and thick lips.
“What is this?”
“It’s a book I wrote. I thought you might like a copy. It’s an autobiography.”
The clenched jaw of the gunman on the cover evoked a foreboding expression. A shiver crept up her spine as cold, lifeless azure eyes leapt off the book jacket.
“This is you?”
“In a former life, yes.”
“Is that a real gun?”
“Yeah, but don’t ask if I used it. Just read the book.”
She arched an eyebrow up at the man who now seemed more like a stranger than a friend. She realized she knew absolutely nothing about him . This cover picture depicted a… menacing killer, not a professional screenplay writer. Who is he really?
“Th -thank you very much, Allen,” she finally sputtered, at a loss for any other words. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. That’s so nice of you.”
“It’s about some of my experiences back in L.A. Kind of raw, if you know what I mean, but worth sharing. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”
What she thought? She was terrified to find out what exactly the book would reveal about the person she’d be
Haley pushed the heavy metal exit door that led out into the college campus parking lot. The northern February weather was just as bitter as ever. As she rushed to her car, battling fierce wind, she looked up and noticed ominous storm clouds approaching and her pace quickened to a run. She hoped to make it home before the clouds opened up and cast down their snowy wrath.
Once inside the calm of her car, she revved the engine and blasted her defroster. Even within the past couple of hours, a glaze of ice crusted all her windows. Reluctant to get out again to scrape them, Haley sat and waited for the ice to melt, mentally rehearsing some points she wanted to cover with Allen later that evening.
She tossed her bags in the backseat, when a sudden rattle startled her. Someone was prying at her door handle from the other side. The haze of ice blurred the intruder’s features. A fist smacked against the window, and she frantically pushed the lock down, thankful that her car door had a knack for sticking during winter’s bitter temperatures. The person was screaming, but the roar of the defroster muted the voice.
By the time she cranked the lukewarm heat down a couple of notches to a low hum, the voice stopped yelling. And then the shadow grew faint as the person, apparently, walked away.
Her heart raced and she sucked in a few throat-chilling breaths.
Whoever it was had given up. Haley peered through the glass, but a hazy outline still loomed on the other side, but this time at a safe distance. She pressed her face closer to the window, with her hands cupping around her eyes to remove the glare. It took a moment before she recognized the contour of the face and the color of the hair. Rolling down the window partway, she peered at the form. Sure enough, she found the bird legs of Allen Michaels pacing outside her car door.
“Allen! ” she called, then waved him closer. “You scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you might be having car trouble so I figured I’d check on you.”
“No, I’m just too lazy to scrape my windows. I’m fine, thanks.” Her heart wildly beat against her ribs as she took a couple calming breaths.
“Hey, um, I actually brought something to class for you but forgot to give it to you earlier.” He pushed a rumpled brown paper bag toward her through the small opening in the window. She hesitantly accepted it and looked up at him questioningly.
“Go ahead,” he prodded, “open it.”
She opened the bag and pulled out a book. A dark hooded figure holding a gun to his head stared back at her from the cover. It strangely resembled Allen with his jutting cheekbones and thick lips.
“What is this?”
“It’s a book I wrote. I thought you might like a copy. It’s an autobiography.”
The clenched jaw of the gunman on the cover evoked a foreboding expression. A shiver crept up her spine as cold, lifeless azure eyes leapt off the book jacket.
“This is you?”
“In a former life, yes.”
“Is that a real gun?”
“Yeah, but don’t ask if I used it. Just read the book.”
She arched an eyebrow up at the man who now seemed more like a stranger than a friend. She realized she knew absolutely nothing about him . This cover picture depicted a… menacing killer, not a professional screenplay writer. Who is he really?
“Th -thank you very much, Allen,” she finally sputtered, at a loss for any other words. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. That’s so nice of you.”
“It’s about some of my experiences back in L.A. Kind of raw, if you know what I mean, but worth sharing. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”
What she thought? She was terrified to find out what exactly the book would reveal about the person she’d be
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