Backwoods Read Online Free PDF Page A

“It’s an irrational number,” Andrew said. “The
decimal value goes on and on forever without repeating.”
    “I know that.” Her pencil began moving again.
“I just want to make sure.”
    Had he known what pi was at her age? Had he
known more than how to add or subtract? Suzette had told him
Alice’s father was a molecular biologist and geneticist. World-renowned, she’d told him. Apparently the fruit hadn’t
fallen far from the tree in Alice’s case.
    “Breakfast is ready,” Suzette called from the
kitchen.
    ****
    “She’s fixated on numbers,” Suzette said at
the dining room table. “It’s typical for her condition, becoming
preoccupied with certain things. She’s off the charts in terms of
intelligence, but she sometimes lapses into her own little world.
She gets obsessed easily, like the thing with numbers.”
    Alice had sat down wordlessly at the table
and started on her breakfast, a bowl of Cheerio’s. Andrew watched,
curious, as she carefully strained each spoonful of cereal of any
hint of milk before eating. Occasionally she’d pause, poke her
fingertip into her spoon and knock a Cheerio or two out, as if
she’d found them defective somehow.
    “She only eats five pieces at a time,”
Suzette explained.
    “Sometimes extras float into the spoon,”
Alice further clarified, flicking a wayward Cheerio back into her
bowl. Once she’d finished this bite, she’d apparently had enough.
Without another word, she pushed her chair back, scooped up her
notebook and walked away.
    “She has daily rituals and routines, sort of
like an obsessive-compulsive would.” Suzette rose from her seat and
began gathering up the dishes, even though her own breakfast
remained relatively untouched. “She has a hard time showing her
feelings in appropriate ways, so please don’t take it personally if
she seems rude. She’s like that with everybody. It’s my
understanding she’s better now than she used to be. There was a
time, I guess, when she wouldn’t talk to anyone at all, much less
strangers. But she didn’t seem to mind talking to you.” Dropping
him a wink, she smiled. “She must like you.”
    ****
    While Suzette tidied after breakfast, Andrew
stepped out onto the deck off the living room. The morning air was
crisp and cool against his bare arms, and his breath frosted in a
light haze, framing his face. Below, he could see the lingering
wisps of fog creeping in and among the trees, retreating from the
landscaped courtyard. In the distance, beyond the trees, he could
see the undulating silhouettes of the Appalachian foothills.
    He’d clipped his iPhone to the waistband of
his sweatpants and pulled it out now, wondering if the reception
would be better on the deck than it had been in the lobby
downstairs. A couple of impotent attempts at dialing Ted McGillis’
number proved it was not, with that tedious beep-beep-beep signaling he remained out of network.
    “Damn it,” he muttered.
    “Hey!” The voice from behind him fell almost
as heavily as the hand against his arm, which clamped down hard and
spun him smartly about, catching him by surprise. He caught a blur
movement out of the corner of his eye, and then a sucker punch
caught him high on the cheek, snapping his head toward his opposite
shoulder, sending him staggering into the deck railing then
crashing to his knees. His phone tumbled from his fingers, falling
toward the boxwood shrubs and lava rock landscaping beds below.
    “Edward!” Suzette cried out from inside the
apartment.
    “Who are you?” the man who’d punched him
demanded, and Andrew gritted his teeth, biting back a cry as he
felt the man’s fingers coil in his hair, wrenching his head back.
He found himself blinking up at an older man, tall and somewhat
stocky, his brows knitted, his mouth twisted in a frown. “How the
hell did you get in my apartment?”
    “Edward, stop it,” Suzette exclaimed, rushing
out onto the deck.
    “Get Prendick up here now,” the man said