The shouting started again. Devon froze halfway down the narrow hall, one hand still on his doorframe. The voices downstairs carried easily through the old house heated. Sean and Father. It always came back to them. He eased the door shut behind him, careful not to let the latch click. If Ethan Curtis was angry, the whole house held its breath, and that happened a lot because Sean was always getting into trouble every now and then. Devon moved on silent feet down the hallway, the boards creaking just enough to remind him he didn’t belong here, not really. He passed Diana’s door and paused. A soft light spilled from beneath it, and a small part of him hoped she was asleep. She shouldn’t have to hear this again. She was too young to grow up in a house this dyfunctional. “You're not all that grown yourself, Devon. You're just fifteen.” his brain said to him. “Yeah well, Diana is just twelve.” he muttered back. “You’re insane, Sean! How could you?” Ethan’s voice cracked throug

Jogging this early was normal for Devon, what wasn’t normal was the open space around him. No walls closing in, or any echo of footsteps bouncing off concrete. Just clean, cool air that burned his lungs in the best way.The ground beneath his shoes wasn’t polished cement but damp earth and gravel, the crunch of it strange and freeing all at once. For twelve years, his runs had been measured in laps around a cell block; fifty steps one way, fifty back. Now, every stride felt like a small rebellion.He slowed near the end of the street, hands on his knees, drawing in deep breaths.Five minutes later, he was back in his apartment, taking a shower. He wanted to get to the shop early to make a good impression. That had been one of the reasons the guards back at the prison liked him, the fact that he was always giving good impressions about himself. He got dressed and started downstairs after locking the door, and when he got out front, Hector was already waiting. “Hey, Devon.”“Hey

It’s been two weeks since his release, but it was still the nightmare from that night that always woke him up, like clockwork. Devon was drenched in sweat by the time he woke up. Groaning, he pushed up into a sitting position from the worn bed. He wondered how much longer before it gave up under his weight, his thoughts shifting to his dream, and then to the day he saw those people. Thank goodness they didn't come by to the shop after that, or he would have run off. Pushing Ethan out of his mind, his thoughts strayed to Diana. Dee had changed a lot from what he last remembered.He sat there for a long time, elbows on his knees, head bowed, trying to catch his breath as the remnants of the dream thinned and faded. The dim morning light crept through the thin curtains, brushing over the cracked walls and the small table cluttered with empty water bottles and a half-eaten sandwich.He dragged a hand over his face, still damp with sweat, and exhaled. It had been two weeks since he

For three days straight, Devon worked like his life depended on it, maybe it does, but he was also trying to put behind him the thoughts of the people that caused him pain. And he was actively waiting and hoping Hector had something for him, but whether or not he did, he was seeing Miguel today, soon actually, because his shift was almost over. He needed to tell him he was leaving. He owed him that much. Clearing his throat, he closed the bonnet of the car he had just finished working on, and was walking towards Miguel’s office when he heard someone called him. “Dev?” Without turning, he knew who that was, and he wanted to pass out. What in the world was she doing here? He thought as he stood mid-step, praying to God it was just his ears playing tricks on him. “Dev, is that you?” she asked, and he turned slowly, making sure to put in place the usual mask he always had on. It was true that his chest was burning, and bile had risen up to his throat, but he sure made sure to

Eight The woman rounded the corner and stood in front of a huge mahogany door. Then, she knocked once and twisted open the knob. “Mr. Winyard, the man is here now,” she said. “Oh, finally. That's good. Let him in.” Devon couldn't see the person inside the office, but he heard him clearly, and he could tell he was old, at least, maybe enough to be in his sixties or so. He tried to look into the office but the woman had already turned back to him. “You heard him, young man. You can now see him.” she pushed aside, allowing him to enter into the room. It wasn't until he did that he saw how large the place was. There were tall, elegant wooden racks that stretched from floor to the soaring ceiling, their angled beams now lined with hundreds of wine bottles glinting in soft, natural light that came from outside. Each shelf holds bottles of varying hues; deep reds, amber golds, and pale greens, their glass catching the sun that filters through the floor-to-ceiling slatted windows o