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NEVER SMILE
AT STRANGERS
Je
Never Smile at Strangers
Copyright © 2011 by Je
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Inkbug Media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9848173-0-6 (print)
Cover Design by Brian T. Jaynes
Photograph of “Girl” on Cover by dolgachov
Photograph of “Curving Road” on Cover by Hank Shiffman
Interior Design by Jera Publishing, LLC
First Edition
“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
- Te
Acknowledgements
There are many people to thank for making this novel finally happen.
My husband, Brian, who believed in me from day one. His encouragement, support, creativity and insight have meant the world to me. I’m very lucky—in so many ways—to have met you. Reida and Terry O’Brien who have always been incredibly supportive of everything I do—and who have always been there during the tough times.
Ken Atchity and Chi-Li Wong at AEI for offering me representation. Todd (jefe) Grover, the best boss ever. Thank you for reading several drafts of this book and offering such valuable advice. The late and very talented Diane Domingo, Vanessa McDaniel, Ayla Dyer, Chris O’Brien, Jessica Purser, Chuck Schreck, Andy Corso and Augie Corso.
My good friend, Mark Klein, who, for over a decade and across many projects, has read my work, offered honest critiques and boosted my confidence. Your friendship and support have been priceless. You deserve many more glamorous roles in upcoming movies.
I’m also extremely grateful to my handsome and spirited twin sons, Christopher and Ryan—who helped me learn what’s truly important in life and whose existence has taught me to push past fear in order to achieve my dreams and pursue work that fulfills me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
NEVER SMILE
AT STRANGERS
PROLOGUE
THE BOY OPENED his eyes and turned to the window. It was late, and the screen door to the back of the house had just slammed shut.
Thunder rumbled and raindrops struck the glass in loud, maddening beats. He clutched the wool army blanket that reeked of urine, and brought it closer to his body; then, wide-eyed, watched the downpour through his tiny bedroom window.
A burst of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the branches and the Spanish moss that clung to them. As quickly as it arrived, the beam disappeared, and the world grew pitch black.
A branch from the giant oak outside scraped the dingy glass, and the screen door to the back of the house banged shut a second time. A restless energy filled him. Something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t the door or the storm.
His small room, not much larger than a closet, always smelled of mildewed wood. When it stormed, the nasty odor grew thicker, more menacing. Gulping musty air, he reluctantly crawled out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway. He stood outside his mother’s bedroom door, listening for her usual drunken snores. All he heard was the ticking of her wind-up alarm clock.
Something was smeared against the door jam.
Blood.
His heart skipped a beat as he gazed down at the floor. There, too, was blood. An image of his mother’s torn body filled his mind, and he smiled.
Grim faced, he moved past her bedroom to the tiny kitchen, the scarred linoleum cool and bloody beneath his bare feet. He stood at the window and watched the storm. The weeping willows leaned, overpowered by the screaming wind. He looked out at the moonless night and tried to remember if he’d flipped the pirogue, the small boat they kept out back.
Earlier that afternoon, his baby sister, Allie, had followed him to the pond. Her small eyes had been teeny, mischievous. She wasn’t supposed to wander past the small yard, and he’d been too worried about convincing her to follow him back to the house to even consider the small boat. But he worried now. If Mother saw it filled with rainwater, there’d be trouble.
They usually didn’t lock the house, but he now flipped the latch on the screen door. He grimaced, imagining his mother in the morning, her thin mouth angry, set in a stiff line, furious about the slamming door that had kept her up at all hours of the night, whether it did so or not.