C
ap slept in a chair that he had made with his own two hands. The bottle of Wild Turkey nestled between his feet. An empty glass beside it.
Cap dreamed. He dreamed of things that felt real, but he wouldn’t remember them in the morning.
He drove his parents’ Dodge Coronet station wagon. The snow so thick outside that he couldn’t see anything but a wall of white. He felt anxious about something, but it wasn’t the dangerous conditions—not the snow or wind or driving blind. Instead, he was worried about not getting to his destination on time. A destination that escaped him, but he knew that he needed to drive faster before it was too late.
Over the howl of violent winds outside, Cap heard distressed voices whispering from the back seat.
He peered into the rearview mirror and saw his mot
