Desolation Read Online Free PDF Page B

against the door. The room is empty of all but Cain—a good home to echoes—but loud though it is, something deadens this sound. It is as if there is something unseen with him in the room.
    Cain closes his eyes and tries to quiet his runaway heart, but it grows even louder. He opens his eyes again, stands as silently as he can, paces the room. He hears a humming, but perhaps it is coming from him.
    The lights flicker off and on.
    â€œThe old fuck’s coming,” a voice says. Cain—both the child Cain, petrified at his situation, andthe adult dreamer even more scared at being back here—spins around to see who has spoken. But there is nothing in the room with him, no one else. Only a shadow where light should fall.
    The door handle dips, and Cain reaches for the dirty ear plugs.
    The crashing continued. Irregular, loud, hard enough to make pictures rattle on the walls. And then a shout joined in with the banging and Cain sat up in bed, sweating and disoriented.
    Home
, he thought,
I’m home, this is my home
. He reached for the bedside lamp as the shouting began to coalesce into some sort of sense.
    â€œNoisy bastard! Shut up! Shut up, there are people trying to sleep in here. Sleep! Know what that is? Understand that? Or do we now have an insomniac in place of a wheelchair-bound fucking psycho?”
    â€œI wasn’t saying anything,” Cain muttered, and his voice seemed so much louder than the shouting and banging.
I was completely silent
, he thought.
I
had
to be
.
    The pounding ceased, and Cain sat frozen in his bed, waiting for the next round of abuse. The man was still outside his front door. There was no sure way Cain could know that, but he was certain. There had been no footsteps receding across the landing, perhaps that was how he knew. Or maybe the shouter’s breathing was loud enough to make an impression, albeit subconscious.
    Cain let out a breath he was not aware of holding, and there came a polite knocking at his front door.
    â€œCan we talk?” the person asked. It was thesame voice as before; shame and guilt could not hide that certain weight, that timbre.
    Cain stood from his bed and opened the door out into the hall. He half expected to see the front door crashed from its hinges, but it stood firm, unmoved by the appeal hanging behind it.
    â€œCain,” the voice said. “Can we talk? I apologize for my abuse . . . though I assume by your silence that you’ve heeded me.”
    â€œYou know my name?” Cain asked, and his voice carried farther than he had intended. No siren erupted around him, no torture for his eardrums.
    â€œPeter told me,” the voice said. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to know who I was sharing the house with now. After Vlad, I’m hoping it’s someone approachable. And your shouting . . . it
was
very loud.”
    â€œVlad wasn’t approachable?”
    â€œOh, no,” the person said, not elaborating.
    Cain stood quietly for a few moments, surrounded by a sudden silence loaded with promise. He hated silence and tried to imagine anything to fill it. The banging and cursing had been bad, but better than nothing.
    â€œAre you still there?” the voice asked.
    Cain smiled.
Where would I go?
He went to the door and drew the chains and bolt, swinging it wide, having no idea who he was about to see and what they would do once the door was open. The voice had been manic a couple of minutes before. But Cain trusted his instincts, certain that he would reveal a smile.
    He even had an idea of what the smile would look like. He shook his head at what he should not know.
    â€œI’m George,” said the man standing in the doorway, teeth bared in a grin bordering on a grimace. He held out his hand, and it was cold, clammy, shaking.
    â€œI’m Cain,” Cain said, “but then, you already knew that. How are you?”
    â€œYes, fine. I’m sorry for having to wake