Azalea Road was draped in dusk that fell over well manicured lawns like a fine sprinkling of sand one didn’t notice until a porch light clicked on, pushing back the growing night. Vic squinted, looking for house numbers as his mind reached out to flicker across the homes, seeking Matt’s familiar presence. When the road ended in a cul-de-sac, he turned around and retraced his route, looking for the house he’d seen in Jordan’s mind during the phone call…
There. At the end of the second block, a long rancher sprawled across a corner lot, the numbers 256 written in gold script on the mailbox at the street. Vic slowed to a stop and stared past the rusting chain-link fence that hemmed in the lot to the house beyond.
Every window was dark, making the house seem…deactivated, or something. Turn
