50
Adam wasn’t sure what had roused him. The only sounds were the shush of his found blanket against the crackling plastic beneath him, and the reassuring rhythm of Harlan’s breathing across the room. Adam had nearly drifted off again when the thought arose, But Harlan’s not in his bed.
It was dark in the old house, but not pitch black. Harlan sat in the sole chair next to the window, chin upon his hand. He’d pulled the curtain to one side, leaning to see out without being seen. A patch of reflected moonlight found its way in through the gap, coming to rest on the bare floor.
“Did I wake you?” Harlan asked, without looking in Adam’s direction.
“I don’t think so. What woke you?”
“An old man’s prostate,” Harlan said.
He was lying. “What do you see?” Adam asked.
“Nothing,” Harlan said.
