Slings and Arrows

Slings and Arrows

Chapter 1

The Full Moon

He paced the kitchen, his dress shoes clattering across the original linoleum of his midcentury home. Scott was usually ridiculously pleased with his black and white floor and shiny red counter tops, but tonight he couldn’t stop circling. His Japanese Chin stared at Scott with bugged out eyes and fled from the kitchen. He dashed around the corner, his nails skidding across the smooth hardwood floors of the hallway. Oreo was a social creature, flying for the safety of the bed was unusual unless a thunderstorm was brewing.

Scott had heard of thunder snow, but he’d never seen it. He sniffed the air; no it was going to be clear. What?! Sniffing the air to detect the weather. It had been a bad day at work, but he wasn’t crazy; he didn’t sniff the air or hold his finger to the wind or consult oracles with magic rocks to determine future weather; he turned on the Weather Channel like all other sensible people.

He circled the kitchen again. He caught the metal edge of the counter with his hand, trying to stop his frantic pacing. This wasn’t him; he didn’t pace. He cocked his head and looked out the kitchen window. It was already dark, not black like in the wilderness but dark for his neighborhood. His neighbor’s security light washed into his yard and through the dining room windows. Farther away he could see the streetlights and the glow of the lamps in the house behind him. Scott flicked his eyes to this own ceiling; he hadn’t turned on the lights. Why hadn’t he noticed his own kitchen seemed dark and murky? But it wasn’t; Scott could clearly see the keypad on the microwave and the insignia on the refrigerator.

Scott opened his kitchen door and stepped out onto the back porch. The sky was dark. He never could see many stars here, too much light pollution, and the moon was covered by thick clouds. The wind blew, shaking the branches on the fragile pear tree that the last owner had thought was a good idea. Just the edge of the moon peaked out from a cloud. It was either full or almost full from the shape of it. Violet, that insane woman from the office, would probably insist there was some special meaning associated with a full moon on Valentine’s Day. She actually managed stock portfolios depending on the owner’s astrologic sign. She was bat shit crazy, but she did have a following. There were more crazy people out there than Scott wanted to contemplate.

And he was entering those crazy ranks. He was standing on his back porch in the middle of February without a jacket, staring at a half hidden moon. Definitely crazy. He stomped back into the house, rubbing his arms briskly against the cold. He was crazy all right, standing out in the freezing cold and looking at the moon. Scott yanked his attention back to his dinner. Chopped carrots and a handful of peas were waiting for him on the cutting board. Peas he snorted; green food was for prey.

Scott jerked open the refrigerator and ransacked its contents: salad dressing, milk out of date, lettuce, a half used can of tomatoes. He wanted steak or hamburger or chicken breasts. Nothing! Nothing! He slammed the refrigerator shut, shaking the drawers and bins. Grabbing his keys, he plunged out the door still without a jacket or a hat.

His car roared to life. He’d always driven a used economy box, but this year for his twenty-fifth birthday he’d splurged. He’d bought a new car, a German import with far more horsepower than he truly needed and a decadent taste for premium gasoline. It was beautiful in its midnight blue, and it was truly a delight to smell the rich leather of the seats and feel the solidness of the steel around him. No more plastic boxes where the knobs fell off the radio every hundred miles.

Scott blinked and reflexively shielded his eyes from the oncoming headlights. The lights flickered off and then back on again. Damn! He was driving without his lights on. He could see the bushes on the side of the road hiding the electrical boxes and the lone dog walker bundled against the cold, an equally bundled beagle in a pink coat forged ahead and looked mortified at his jacket. He flicked on his lights; he always drove with his lights on at night.