Thursday, September 9

2:09 a.m.

Andrew jerked awake. It must have been a clap of thunder that woke him. The lightning outside the bedroom window reminded him of a blinking neon sign, constant but dim. The rain tapped against the glass. But the thunder was gone. No, wait. A flash of lightning lit the room, and Andrew began to count, "One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand, four, one thousand-" The crack wasn't quite as loud as when he had gone to bed. The storm seemed to be moving away according to his brother, Mike's, archaic meteorology.

He turned on his side, the wrong side, and the jolt of pain flipped him to his back. He had forgotten what it felt like to sleep in any position he chose. Or to sleep through the entire night.

He adjusted the hard foam pillow, wishing he had brought his own. Since his accident he had learned to appreciate the value of a soft but firm pillow. He wondered if he'd be able to stay out here for two whole weeks without a decent one. Geez! He was already looking for excuses to leave. What the hell was wrong with him?

He watched the shadows of tree branches dance across the ceiling every time the lightning blinked. It wasn't that long ago that he'd lay awake in bed, unable to sleep and worried about how he would pay his monthly bills, wondering which credit card he would take out a cash advance from this time. He had come such a long way since those sleepless nights. Now he worried that his good fortune- his windfall, as his father would have called it-could all disappear with one severe case of writer's block.

Sometimes he could hear his father's voice in the back of his head telling him, "What makes you think you deserve all this? You think you're something special? You think you're better than the rest of us?"

His father had been gone for almost five years, and yet he lived inside Andrew's head, in a tiny dark corner in the back, just enough of a presence to keep Andrew in line. To warn him when he dared to get too confident. To bring him back to earth when he dared to dream too big.

Andrew closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. He needed to think of something else. Or perhaps someone else. He tried to conjure up Erin 's image and how she made him feel when she smiled at him or laughed. She had a great laugh. He remembered-

A noise startled him and his eyes flew open. He stayed still, holding his breath and listening. It hadn't been thunder. That he was sure of. It sounded as though it had come from inside the cabin.

He waited and listened. Squinted into the dark. He had left a lamp on in the main room, but its dim light didn't reach the hallway to the bedrooms. He waited out the rumble of thunder then listened again.

Nothing.

Maybe his imagination was playing tricks on him. He probably shouldn't have had three beers when he was still taking pain meds. It also didn't help matters to be dreaming up a killer for his novel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

He heard it again. And this time he was almost certain it came from inside the cabin.

He tried to concentrate, tried to explain the sound away. It could simply be one of the open windows or a loose screen banging against the sill with the wind. There had to be a logical explanation.

That's when Andrew saw a shadow move along the wall of the hallway.

Someone was inside the cabin.