Tap.


    It sounds like footsteps, like the noise Vincent makes when he walks across the floor. Vincent? Who’s Vincent?


    Tap.


    Their shoes walk all over our floor, dirtying the hardwood floors as men in suits circle around the still body like vultures, taking Proids.


    My knees are still filthy with Dad’s blood.


    I’m thest of him. His blood dries on the floor. Soon it will be washed away and his body will go in the ground to rot and I’ll be the only thing left in the world keeping half of his DNA alive.


    Tap.


    “What’s this kid doing here?”


    Someone grabs my shoulder roughly, turns me away from the scene as they pull me into another room. A grizzled, old man looks at me through bushy, dark eyes.


    “I need you to tell me what happened.”


    I can’t talk. What just happened? It’s like I’m in another dimension and his words echo out to me, trying to contact me.


    “Listen, sweetie. You need to talk to us. We need to find out who did this to your Daddy.”


    Grabbing the nket on the couch, he wraps it around me because I’m still shaking. It’s not from cold, but I cling onto it. Daddy used to sleep on the couch, sometimes, and Mom would cover him up with the nket. It was the only tender thing I ever saw her do.


    “Call social services,” someone says.


    Tap.


    Waking up from the dream is like swimming through a dark, murky pool. I clutch my sheets against my chest like it’s the nket.


    “Delivery!”


    I almost fall out of bed when someone knocks on my door. The clock on the wall reads: 9am. It’s way too early. I yank open the door, and a youngish guy stands in front of me, holding a paper bag.


    “Good morning! You’re Adriana Baldino?”


    I blink. “Yeah.”


    He hands over the bag to me, which is quite heavy. And warm. Puzzled, I nce back at him.


    “I didn’t order anything, buddy.”


    “It’s already paid for. Bye!”


    He turns around and leaves as I back into the room, confused. There’s a note taped on the outside of the paper bag. I unfold it.


    Good morning, beautiful.


    – V


    Laughing, I set it aside and open the paper bag. A delicious, spicy smell fills the room and I reach inside, grabbing the styrofoam box. Inside, there are a couple Italian hot links and a croissant. I smell the freshly baked, key dough and I bite right into it, moaning when it falls apart in my mouth. There’s also a cup of cappino in a styrofoam cup. I smile to myself and bring it all into my room, carefully stepping around Maria’s luggage. She came intest night.


    Grabbing my phone, I step back out and call Vince’s number.


    “Hello there.”


    Right away, my heart thumps when I hear his gravelly voice.


    “Good morning to you, too.”Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org.


    “You got it?”


    “That was really sweet of you. Thanks.”


    “No problem.”


    “What are you up to?”


    “Nothing much. Just thinking about you.”


    Smiling, I take a sip of coffee. “Yeah? Howe?”


    “I don’t know. Maybe because I like you so much.”


    He sounds almost troubled by that. I grin against the phone, twirling a loose strand around my finger. “Well, I don’t.” I wince and immediately regret it. I’m so bad with men.


    Vince takes it in stride. Heughs a deep bellyful. “Smartass.” Theughter dies and Vince sighs into the phone. “There’s a big game tonight.”


    The way he says it makes tense. “Big game?”


    “Yeah. I’ll pick you up at seven.”


    “Okay.”


    “All right, hon. I gotta go.”


    “Thanks again. Bye.”