The Big Scratch

By Peter DiTomaso

The Big Scratch is a first novel by Peter DiTomaso that blends tongue in cheek excitement with the stylistic prose of a more sophisticated novel.

Meet Nicky Paterson. Hes an average guy, living an average life. His middle class existence in a suburban Connecticut town would be the envy of most until it all comes crashing down.

A bitter divorce and custody trial made worse by his escalating addiction to alcohol sets Nicky on a course of personal destruction.

Enter Tawny. Shes a beautiful and mysterious girl who comes to Connecticut out of nowhere. Shes a girl that takes Nickys mind off the hell hes been through. But shes a girl with her own demons. On the run from her lover and maniacal west coast mob boss, Tawny entangles Nicky in a scheme to cheat the state lottery. Its a scheme that will change their lives forever.

The Big Scratch is a story of everyday human existence intertwined with a fast paced plot, seasoned with just the right amount of sex, violence, mayhem, and human redemption. Contemporary references will keep the casual reader occupied without alienating the sophisticated reader wanting to deeply feel the emotional struggles of the main characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 21, 2010
• ISBN: 9781440197574

Peter DiTomaso

Peter DiTomaso has an eclectic background. He is a Business professional, international tax expert, change management specialist, and former university professor of finance. He holds Masters degrees in Business Administration and Accounting and has done extensive graduate work in Economics. For Peter, Writing is not only a hobby but also a passion. He has traveled extensively in Europe, Asia, and Australia and often uses these experiences as ideas for his stories. When not writing, Peter often enjoys his other favorite pastimes of playing golf and gourmet cooking. Peter makes his home in suburban Connecticut with his wife and two daughters.

Book preview

Prologue

Tawny was hot. She was knockdown, gorgeous hot. The kind of girl you thought about from the moment you laid eyes on her. The first time they met was at the gym. He was doing cardio on an elliptical machine and she was across the gym doing abs exercises on a big rubber ball. He could tell that she knew he was watching her. He wasn’t a pervert, but to him most women in a gym belonged in a gym. Not Tawny. She belonged on a magazine cover. The day he first spotted her, she was wearing tight black biker shorts and a tight white tank top cut just above her navel. Her tummy glistened with sweat and he could see this from across the room.

Her name fit. Tawny had caramel skin, the color of fine port wine. At first he thought she was Latino, but her sandy brown hair made him think otherwise. Instead, he guessed maybe, she was a southern California girl that wandered to the east coast. One thing for sure, she was definitely not from here. And where is here? On a map, it would be an uninteresting town in Connecticut on the I-95 corridor between New Haven and New York City.

He was going at it pretty hard on the cardio machine and his heart rate rose with each passing second that he watched her. She was looking his way when she got up off the rubber ball and came walking over.

And just like that. Bang! She says, Hi, I’m Tawny. You’re Nicky, right?

He tried to be cool, but it wasn’t easy for a 43 year old, out of shape guy, to stay cool when confronted so forwardly by a twenty-something knockout. He responded with the only thing he could think of. Tawny that’s an interesting name. How’d you know my name is Nicky?

She had a little smirk on her face and said, Nicky Paterson, 83 Garfield Avenue.

A bit perplexed, he responded, O.K., now I’m intrigued Tawny and maybe a little nervous. How’d you know that?

Simple Nicky. When you scanned your membership card, your name and address came up on the computer at the desk. I was getting a magazine off the rack and I happen to be very observant.

Problem Tawny. He shot back. I didn’t scan my card today.

I know, but you did last Thursday.

You remembered my name and address from a week ago?

Come on Nicky, I told you I’m very observant. I wanted to meet you. What are you shy or something?

I’ve never been called shy before.

Hey Nicky, can’t you tell when a girl is trying to pick you up?

I’ve never been picked up by a girl before, either.

She smirked again and said, How ‘bout we go get a drink and get better acquainted?

You don’t look old enough to get into a bar. He said, being a wise ass.

Oh, I’m old enough to drink and do a whole lot more than that.

Well, I don’t drink, he said. But I’ll buy you an iced latte.

Good enough. She smiled as she turned to walk away.

As Tawny strolled toward the ladies locker room, Nicky caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the small of her back. It was in the sexiest place it could be and right then Nicky knew he was in for trouble.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a real fat ass working out next to him. Judging from the smile on the big man’s face even he knew Nicky was in for trouble.

* 1 *

Five Years Before – Nicky and Laura

His name is Nicolo Giovanni Paterson. Nicky to those who know him. He’s a mediocre accountant, working in a middle management position, for a boring Fortune 500 company. He makes a decent income and it pays the bills. He has a wife that enjoys working for free at every bullshit volunteer opportunity that finds her. He has two beautiful daughters. Kelly is the oldest and Elizabeth, who everyone calls Betsy, is the baby. He’s an average suburban guy, living in a modest house, on a small lot, in a town where housing prices are way out of control. In this town, a million dollars buys 1,800 square feet of 40 year old wood and sheetrock. On the weekends, he plays golf and tends to his garden. He’s an honest man that always pays his taxes on time.

His name sounds Italian with a Waspy twist. The Italian part is authentic, but the Waspy part isn’t. Nicky’s grandfather was an Italian immigrant. His name was Giovanni Patesone. When he landed at Ellis Island at the age of sixteen, an arrogant immigration officer couldn’t pronounce his name, so he gave him the name Paterson, like the town in New Jersey. The name stuck and his grandfather started going by the name John Paterson.

In some ways, what the immigration officer did to Nicky’s heritage actually helped. Once his grandfather learned to speak English he learned to hide his Italian accent and he got day jobs that most WOPS as they were called were passed over for.

Nicky’s father was the first college educated of his immigrant family and was more traditional. He kept the family name Paterson, but he revisited his Italian heritage by naming his first son Nicolo Giovanni. Nicky’s mother however, was somewhat of an elitist and although she herself came from immigrant stock, she didn’t like to admit it. She hated the ethnic name her husband gave her son. Because of that she referred to him as Nicholas.

Over the years, most of his friends started calling him Nicky so that’s what he goes by, Nicky Paterson.

It’s Sunday morning and Nicky is sitting in the kitchen of his modest little house, doing what he did most Sunday mornings during the cold winters in Connecticut. He was sipping a cup of donut shop coffee because Laura, the volunteer wife, decided a long time ago that spending five dollars on two large coffees was easier than making a fresh pot.

As he’s sipping the awful tasting brew, he’s flipping through the local Sunday paper, which is nothing more than two dollars worth of old news and shopping flyers.

He leafs through the paper in about three minutes, stopping briefly at the obituaries and wedding announcements. Nobody he knew from high school died or was married yesterday. Nicky’s at that age where every once in awhile someone he went to school with drops dead prematurely or the nerdy asshole from tenth grade lands a gorgeous babe after making a fortune with some dot com company.

With the newspaper read and thrown on the kitchen chair, he turns his attention to a five-dollar scratch-off lottery ticket. This is not your everyday, run of the mill, scratch-off lottery ticket, that takes a mere 14 seconds to lose your money. No, this is one of those special crossword puzzle tickets. The more words uncovered, the more you win. The top prize is fifty thousand dollars. For Nicky, this is six minutes of exhilarating excitement. Two years ago he won five hundred dollars on one of these tickets, so now every Sunday he thinks he’s in for a big win.

Another Dud? A voice clamored from behind.

Nicky jumps, spilling some of the coffee. Shit, Laura. What the hell is wrong with you? You want coffee all over the floor? And, why the hell do you always have to jinx me?

Laura laughed. Oh Nicky, what’s the big deal? You’re not going to win anyway.

That’s not the point! He shot back.

Why do you waste money on those things? She said.

Because they’re fun and I’m bored.

But, you never win.

I win sometimes. Ten bucks here, ten bucks there.

You know what I mean, Nicky. You never win big.

Forget it Laura. Besides, you waste money too.

On what? She asked, not expecting an answer.

On all those shoes you have in the closet.

He could feel one of their Sunday morning scenes about to erupt. Laura was standing there in red flannel pajamas. Her hair was a mess and she wasn’t fully awake.

Did you get me a coffee? Laura asked just to annoy him.

Yes, with half and half. They didn’t have milk. He said.

I hate half and half. You should have just got it black. We have milk in the fridge.

Then why do you make me get it with milk every Sunday?

Because their milk is fresher. She shot back.

She was really pushing his buttons today.

Jesus Christ, I’ll go out and get you another coffee.

Forget it, I’ll drink this one. But, you know I don’t like half and half.

No, I’ll get you another coffee. Give me that cup of shit. He yelled at her, lunging to grab the coffee cup.

He threw the cup in the sink and coffee splashed up on the counter and onto the wall. Laura stormed off.

There were happier times in the Paterson house, when Nicky and Laura were more in love. The fact is that, he loved her from the day they met.

They were both seniors in high school and neither of them was very popular. He saw her for the first time in gym class. He was wearing red sneakers and dark blue, school issued gym shorts that had what looked like a shit stain in the seat. His grey T-shirt was well worn with a tear under the left arm. His hair was long and fell a few inches below his shoulder. In those days, Nicky wore a cheesy looking mustache and when you put the whole package together he left a lot to be desired.

Laura on the other hand looked sensational. She was wearing brilliantly white Keds sneakers and the school issued jumper hung just above her knee. It was a little tight around the chest and when he saw her, his eyes locked on to her perky breasts. Her soft brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he couldn’t tell how long it was. Her eyes were a soft hazel and she had child like freckles around her nose. She tried to hide them with a little too much make-up. Her lips were thin and she had a cute little dimple on the right side of her mouth.

Several days after he first saw her in gym class, he got up enough nerve to ask her out. She took one look at him and immediately said no. She didn’t even bother to make up a lame excuse like she already had a boyfriend. Just one word no and she walked away.

Normally, Nicky would have accepted the rejection and moved on but for some reason he couldn’t. That night, he looked up her telephone number and called her. She answered on the second ring.

Laura?

Yes. She said with what sounded like a sniffle.

Laura, it’s Nicky Paterson from school. Please don’t hang up. I know I asked you out today and you said no, but I really want to take you out.

Well maybe I was a little to short with you today. I guess it would be O.K. if we went out.

He could have sworn she was crying.

You O.K.? He said.

Yes fine. Pick me up on the corner of my street tomorrow night at 8:00 pm. I think you know where I live."

Great, I’ll see you tomorrow night.

Then she said. And, Nicky, shave that thing off your lip and get a haircut!

The next day, Nicky skipped school and did exactly as instructed. He went to a barber and got a haircut. Not too short, but certainly shorter than Laura’s. The barber wouldn’t shave his mustache. He said barbers didn’t do shaves anymore. So he went home and shaved it himself.

That evening Nicky pulled up to the corner of Laura’s street ten minutes early. She was already waiting for him. She jumped in the front seat before he could come around and open the door for her. Pulling away from the curb, the springs squeaked on the beat-up, lemon yellow, Dodge Dart that he drove. He could tell Laura was not impressed with his wheels.

On their first date he took her to a fancy Italian restaurant. It was a big spend for a first date and he wanted to impress her. She didn’t seem very hungry and only picked at the lobster Fra diavolo that he all but begged her to try. Nicky ended up finishing most of her meal. After dinner, he took her for ice cream. She seemed to get her appetite back as she licked away at a chocolate, soft-serve cone, smothered in chocolate sprinkles.

Whatever was bothering Laura during dinner seemed to melt away with each lick of the ice cream cone. She got a little flirtatious when she offered him a lick of the cone. After he obliged, she leaned in close and wiped ice cream from the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

They ended up parked at the beach and Nicky made an uncharacteristic bold move when he planted a heavy kiss on her thin lips.

They made out for two hours that night and then like most seventeen-year-old boys that get a little taste of that action all too seldom, he dropped her off at her house, and went home and jerked off.

So began the relationship of Nicky and Laura. They dated through senior year of high school and all through college. They both went to commuter schools and saw each other everyday.

Through the years, it became clear to Nicky that Laura was never really happy at home and their relationship became the escape that she desperately wanted. Nicky tried to make the best of the situation, but looking back, he should have realized that Laura was yearning for something he couldn’t give her.

As time went by, their relationship continued to evolve. They went from infatuation to experimentation. They learned from each other and about each other. They learned how to love each other and how to make love to each other. It was a given that someday they would get married.

Six years into their relationship they were married on a Saturday afternoon in September. The day was cool and a little gray with off and on rain showers. It bothered Laura that it rained on their wedding day. But, Nicky kept reminding her of the old wives tale that says it’s good luck. And so they began what Nicky wanted to believe would be the perfect life together.

They both got jobs and started what would become boring careers. She was a customer service rep with a big retail company and he took a job as a junior accountant with a small manufacturing firm.

They scraped together some money and bought an overpriced one-bedroom condo. The kitchen was tiny and the appliances were old. The building had an ever-present odor of fried onions and garlic that wafted down the narrow hallways. The view from the living room looked over a parking lot and sometimes Nicky and Laura would sit by the window with a bottle of wine and count the number of cars parked illegally in the fire zones.

Another young newlywed couple, the Duffy’s, lived next door. Their bedrooms shared a common wall and Nicky and Laura could hear the Duffy’s loud love making through the wall. A number of times, it even got them aroused and Nicky and Laura would have early morning sex to the wild moans and groans of Jim and Stacey Duffy.

Every now and then they exchanged glances with the Duffy’s in the hallway. Something about the casual hello smile from Jim told Laura that most of the high volume sex coming from the Duffy’s apartment was meant to be heard by them.

After about a year and a half of listening to the Duffy’s and smelling fried onions in the hall, Nicky and Laura bought their modest little house. A year later Laura was pregnant. After Kelly was born, Laura never went back to work. Four years later Betsy came along.

The Paterson’s were on the typical suburban family rollercoaster. They had a few financial strains now and then. And, of course disagreements with their parents on how to best raise the kids. Seems they just got to a point with their parents that it became easier just not to see them much anymore.

Daddy, can you get me some chocolate milk? Daddy?

Life snapped back into focus for Nicky. It was Sunday morning again and he was staring down at the almost spent lottery ticket. Betsy was tugging at the sleeve of his worn and faded, red sweatshirt.

Uh, yeah, what’s up baby?

Daddy, I’m not a baby! I want some chocolate milk!

Betsy was rubbing her tiny fist into her eye, trying to punch the sand man out of existence. He reached for her hand. With her index finger he gently rubbed a sleepy tear from her eye.

Why don’t you have Mommy get you the chocolate milk, sweetie pie?

She’s not home. Betsy replied.

She probably went out for a fresh cup of coffee he mumbled to himself. He could use another cup himself, but after their latest rumble, he thought it would be a stretch for her to show him some sympathy and pick him up another cup.

Betsy, let’s wait for Mommy to come home. Maybe she’ll bring you a strawberry frosted donut.

Betsy returned from the kitchen with a juice box, so Nicky guessed he was off the hook for the chocolate milk.

That’s my girl. He said. You’re so resourceful.

What’s resourceful, Daddy?

It means you can think for yourself, like a big girl.

Betsy eyed the lottery ticket. Daddy, can I help you rub the ticket?

She meant to say scratch, but she was only six years old and from her perspective rub and scratch meant the same thing.

Sure, baby. He replied.

He hoisted her up on his lap and she gave him a squinted look. Her blond eyebrows scrunched at the bridge of a tiny button nose.

I know, I know. He caught himself. You’re not a baby.

He picked up her tiny hand and gently squeezed a shiny penny between her fingers. He glided her hand over the ticket. As each letter appeared they searched for the letter in the puzzle portion of the ticket.

B, Daddy. You got a B. B for Betsy, Daddy.

Now let’s see if we have a B on the puzzle. He replied.

Right there, Daddy. There’s a B in that word. What is that word, Daddy?

BARTER. The word is barter, sweetheart.

Knowing the next question before she asked, he quickly added, It means to trade something.

Nicky thought it interesting that he was sitting here on a Sunday, a day they should be in church, using a vice like gambling to give his six year old a vocabulary lesson.

E, U, S, G, T. Letter after letter Betsy called out as she continued to scratch at the ticket. By now her tiny fingernails were crusted with soot like material from the ticket.

Don’t put your fingers in your mouth, Betsy. Nicky said.

After about the ninth letter, Betsy lost interest and jumped down from his lap.

Where are you going? He inquired.

I don’t want to play anymore. I want to watch T.V.

Go wash your hands first. He reminded her.

Returning to what remained of the ticket, Nicky came to the last letter. By now he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to win.

He paused for a moment. His adrenaline level built and he felt a tingle on the back of his neck. Slowly, he scratched away at the last bit of metallic substance on the card. Z, awe shit! A dud. He muttered as he tossed the penny across the table. "Why do I play these things? Laura is right, just a waste of money." He thought.

A piercing wail came from the family room. Nicky almost gave himself whiplash as he turned toward the den.

Gimme back my doggie! Betsy cried out.

No! You give me back my Gameboy! Kelly growled.

Crash! A ginger jar lamp shattered.

Betsy squealed.

I hate you! Kelly screamed.

God damn it, kids, don’t start this shit now!

Where the fuck was Laura? Nicky thought.

Gimme my doggie. Gimme my doggie!

Ouuuuuch! Stop pulling my hair, Betsy!

Nicky was at the boiling point. He rushed into the den with scarlet red rage in his face.

Go to your goddamned rooms, you little brats. Is this the way you act all week? He yelled so loud the windows rattled. No wonder why Mommy is so freak’in uptight all the time.

The girls ran off half scared, half defiant. He heard their bedroom doors slam in unison. Again the windows rattled.

Nicky was pissed off at Laura for walking out without a word. Sunday was his only day to relax and the day had started with a spilled cup of coffee, a broken ginger jar lamp, two kids going loony-tunes, and a wife nowhere to be found.

Hours passed and still no sign of Laura. He checked his cell phone. No missed calls. No text messages. He tried her cell phone. No answer. "Where the hell could she be?" Nicky thought. He wasn’t worried. He guessed she had probably gone to the mall and decided to add a little to the MasterCard balance as retribution for his earlier behavior.

The girls had calmed down by now. Kelly asked if they were going to church. With the hour fast approaching noon, Nicky decided to skip Sunday mass and wait for Laura to come home so they could patch things up and at least salvage the afternoon.

Dad, when is Mom coming home? She promised to take me to the mall today.

I don’t know Kelly. Can’t you just play a game with your sister? Maybe we’ll go to a movie later, O.K.?

Kelly stood with her hands on her hips and a defiant look in her eyes. There’s nothing good playing at the movies. She said.

Please Kelly, do me a favor and back off. Nicky shot back.

Nicky fumbled through the newspaper again, hoping that he could find something to do with the kids to keep them from going stir crazy.

Gazing out the kitchen window he could see it was a gray, dull day, with that cold winter chill he had come to hate about Connecticut.

A squirrel skipped across the patio and scurried up the lone bare oak in the backyard. Snow flurries began to fall. Mild concern crossed Nicky’s mind because Laura’s car was not very good in the snow.

Minutes bled into hours and still no word from Laura. What was happening to us? He thought. Did we just not care anymore? It was a scary thought.

By now, it was early afternoon. He made some chicken noodle soup for the kids and cracked open a beer for himself. The kids slurped away at the soup as they watched television. Nicky sucked on the beer and munched a handful of stale pretzels.

Betsy came into the kitchen holding an empty soup bowl. That was good Daddy. Are you still taking us to the movies?

How about if we just get a movie at Blockbuster and wait for Mommy to come home? He prayed the compromise would be acceptable.

O.K. Daddy.

With fingers crossed he shouted toward the den. Kelly, are you O.K. with Blockbuster?

Fine. Came the reply with a detectable huff.

After an hour at Blockbuster they settled on two movies. Mary Poppins for Betsy and some moronic high school date movie for the eleven-year old going on sixteen. When they got home he popped Betsy’s movie into the VCR in the den. Kelly had her own T.V. and VCR in her bedroom so she went off to watch her movie by herself. Nicky cracked open another beer and sat with Betsy. The T.V. blared an instrumental version of Chim, Chimney, Chiree as the opening credits rolled.

Almost 5:00 pm now and it was still just him and the two girls. Betsy was watching the Disney classic for the second time. He looked in on Kelly. She had fallen asleep. Boredom had gotten the better of her.

He thought about starting dinner. Nicky enjoyed making Sunday dinner for the girls. He loved to cook. It was in his Italian genes.

Unfortunately, today was a bust because with Laura being MIA all day, he didn’t have time to go to the grocery store for provisions. Luckily, he found enough ingredients in the refrigerator to whip up some spaghetti carbonara. A little bacon, a small white onion, some heavy cream, butter, and an egg and he was in business. It sounded like a complicated dish, but it was a fairly easy dish to throw together and very hearty and satisfying on a winter’s day.

By now whatever daylight was left of this gloomy Sunday had melted away into the inky darkness of February. The chopped bacon and onion sizzled in the pan. Nicky heard a car pull into the driveway. A car door slammed and he heard familiar footsteps making their way up the front walk. The front door opened with a whoosh and a gust of cold February air made its way from the foyer to the kitchen.

For Chris’sake Laura, where the fuck have you been all day?

Mommy, Mommy. Betsy raced in from the den and wrapped her arms around Laura’s neck.

Mom, you were supposed to take me to the mall. Kelly said with a yawn as she rubbed the midday sleep from her eyes.

Girls, go into Kelly’s room. Daddy and I need to talk.

You bet your ass. He barked, over the splattering bacon.

The girls hurried off.

Laura walked into the kitchen, reached for the burner knob, and turned off the stove.

Nicky, it’s over. She said. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Don’t tell me it’s over. I’ll tell you when this god damned thing is over.

Nicky thought she was talking about the morning’s argument. He wasn’t going to let her off so easy.

You don’t get it Nicky. It’s over. I want out.

He stood there holding kitchen tongs and dripping bacon grease on the floor. Her words, I want out, echoed off the back of his skull.

What the fuck are you talking about? Out of what? He stammered.

Our marriage, Nicky. It’s no good anymore.

Kelly came rushing back into the kitchen.

No Mommy. Don’t say that to Daddy. You love Daddy.

Tears streamed down Kelly’s face. She was listening to it all.

Get back in your room. He screamed. The vein in his neck felt ready to explode.

Laura again, what the fuck are you talking about?

Laura started to walk toward the den. He grabbed at her arm and spun her toward him.

Don’t you touch me! Leave me the hell alone! She cried.

Baby, c’mon. What’s the problem? We had a little fight this morning. What’s the big deal? We do that all the time.

Laura glared at him. Her jaw was clenched and mascara ran down her face. Her eyes were red and puffy.

That’s the point Nicky, we do it all the time. Sunday mornings, Monday nights, Wednesday afternoons.

Laura, don’t lay all this bullshit on me. We’re married. We argue. We’re not newlyweds anymore. So what?

I’m bored Nicky. I’m sooooo damn bored.

With what? He pleaded for an explanation.

With everything. This house, the car, this marriage. Nicky, I’m bored with you!

Jesus, Laura. What is wrong with you? Maybe you need some help. We can work through this. I promise.

Nicky, listen to me. It’s just no good anymore. Day in and day out, nothing ever changes. I wash your clothes, I cook your dinner, I clean your house, I listen to you complain, I listen to you snore at night, I watch you watch T.V., I watch you struggle through your own boredom. That’s my life with you Nicky.

They had made their way into the den. Nicky was sitting on the edge of the couch and Laura was half slumped in the leather recliner.

I’ve given you everything Laura. Everything. This house and our family. You’ve got a lot of fuck’in nerve telling me I bore you after all these years. I’ve been a good husband to you. I’ve never cheated on you and I hope I’m not being naïve in saying I don’t think you’ve ever cheated on me. I’ve been good to those—

You’re being naïve Nicky.

When she said that he felt his testicles move up into his chest.

You fucking bitch! That’s what this is about! You’re screwing around on me!

With that he rose off the couch and did what any poor bastard in his position would have done. He slapped her. He slapped her hard across the face. Her lips quivered.

No Nicky, I’m not screwing around on you, but I haven’t been as faithful to you as you’ve been to me.

You don’t just wake up one morning and say you don’t love me anymore. He replied.

And then she dropped an A-bomb.

That’s just it Nicky, I don’t think I have ever loved you.

Nicky walked toward the front door and as he passed the hallway he paused and heard the whimpering of the two most important people in his life. How hurt they must have been to hear the anger in the profanity, laden voices of their mother and father. The whip-like snap of their father’s hand against their mother’s cheek and their mother’s numbing response.

Opening the door he stepped out into February’s frigid grasp. Wearing only a sweatshirt and jeans the winter air pierced his flesh like a thousand daggers. Nicky became instantly numb.

Car keys in hand, he pulled at the door of the silver Honda. Frost had formed around the door. He tugged harder and the door finally gave way.

Collapsing into the front seat, all he could think about was getting as far away as possible. Inserting the key in the ignition, he prayed the battery held its charge. One turn of the key and the engine turned over. He stared beyond the frosty exhale of his breath. Through the windshield he stared at the house in which he was now a stranger.