Alone Read Free

stillness. A man wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants trails behind her. His clothes are clean, but they’ve seen better days. Haven’t we all, though? Sometimes I feel exactly like the shirt he’s wearing: worn and faded and ready for a break. Pathetic at the age of seventeen.
    “Mr. Carmichael!” the man calls in an overly enthusiastic tone.
    “Mr. Smith, how nice to meet you.”
    “Call me Rick, please.” The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkles when he smiles.
    “Rick, of course.” My father returns the Regulator’s smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t have a sense of humor, and he takes work way too seriously. Mr. Smith will not be finding a new poker buddy in my father. “This is my daughter, Juliana, by the way.”
    I’m an afterthought, like always.
    The Regulator gives me a quick nod before turning back to my father.
    Oh joy, another person to look through me. As if I haven’t gotten enough of that since my mom died.
    With the exception of their indifference to me, my father and Mr. Smith don’t seem to have much common ground. In fact, going just by looks, I’d say they are polar opposites. My father is impeccably groomed, as usual. So much so that a person may not notice how worn his suit is or how scuffed his shoes are. It would be clear to anyone the minute they saw his perfectly in-place dark hair and immaculately trimmed beard that he was once an important and wealthy man. I guess he still is, as much as people can be these days.
    Mr. Smith, on the other hand, is completely forgettable. He’s of average height and build, and is neither good-looking nor unattractive. His brown hair is cut short, but not too short, and his eyes are an unspectacular color of brown. Dull like mud. He resembles a Chemistry teacher more than a politician during zombie times. When there were Chemistry teachers, that is.
    “Welcome to Coastal Manor! I’ll give you a quick tour of the place on the way to your new house, but before that why don’t I give you a little tour of the building?” The Regulator’s voice is enthusiastic, but there’s something about his tone that catches my attention. It sounds fake. Guarded.
    I study him while my father asks a few questions, but there’s nothing about Mr. Smith’s answers that seem off. He’s perfectly relaxed and friendly. Professional, even. Whatever it was I thought I saw, it must have been my imagination running away with itself.
    “Alright then, follow me,” he says, waving for us to follow him.
    My legs move on their own, trailing after the two men who don’t even seem to notice that I exist. On the way out of the room, I sneak a peek at Roz. She doesn’t even look up. The silent boredom must be part of her persona.
    We go through the former living room and toward the back of the house, with Mr. Smith talking every step of the way. The things he points out don’t seem that important, which tells me he just likes to hear himself talk, and he doesn’t stop until we’ve almost reached the kitchen.
    He finally stops walking just outside a closed door, and when he turns to face us his expression hard. Like a statue etched out of marble. The Chemistry teacher that greeted us in the foyer has somehow vanished, and in his place is a man whose eyes swim with darkness. Is this a glimpse of who he really is? It’s impossible to tell. He’s so guarded that his face appears almost emotionless. Everything is smooth but his eyes. They crackle with fire.
    His gaze meets mine, and his lips pucker as his eyebrows pull together, almost like he isn’t sure if I should be here. That makes two of us.
    “I’m obligated to show this to everyone who decides to live in our town,” he says in a cold voice. “As a warning. We have a zero tolerance policy.”
    He pushes the door open, and there’s so much production to the whole thing that I find my heart pounding in anticipation. My father and I lean forward at the exact same time, trying to get a better