“There’s a problem with Mr. Belledyne’s skin. I think Mom and Dad are worried it’s contagious,” He said darkly.
“Like a disease? Like cancer?” I asked hurriedly.
“Cancer isn’t contagious stupid. It’s not a disease either. It’s just the fact that Mr. Belledyne is black,” Jonathan said.
My life there would have remained dull and happy and glow like a post card if Mr. Belledyne had never moved into the house at the end of the lane.
He didn’t want the game to end. Each time he took her to the brink of consciousness, to the point where she hoped that she would slip over into the black and never return, but she survived. Natalie hated games.
I glanced at the clock. It was 2:12 a.m., but light flooded through the windows of my house as if it were midday. That wasn’t the strange part.
Within a matter of seconds, a trip, whose base purpose was enjoyment, turned to terror, confusion, and, potentially, my own mortality.
There was a time I watched as this played out in front of me and I questioned the purpose but those times have passed, I have learned it is better to silence the mind and simply follow the cues. Nothing here can harm me, I no longer worry.
The swinging door hit my chair so hard that it shoved me into the table I was already pressed too tightly against and my mostly full beer launched a hoppy spout like the snort of a great whale from its mouth with a trajectory for Alice’s face.
![](data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,<svg height="252" width="450" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1"/>)
![](data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,<svg height="281" width="450" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1"/>)
![](data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,<svg height="298" width="450" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1"/>)
![](data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,<svg height="225" width="450" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1"/>)
![](data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,<svg height="300" width="450" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1"/>)