Forest of Shadows Read Online Free

a couple of shots, hitting Keith in the face, before taking off to the front yard. 
    John slumped into a chair and took a long pull from his beer. He’d been in the house all day, kept comfortable by the central air he’d had installed last year. Now that he was out in the sun, he remembered why he’d stayed in the house. His father kept complaining that he was pale, even though he explained to him that tanning was officially out, a dangerous habit of the past. No sir, a little darkening of the pigment was all he really needed.
    Despite the heat and humidity, the warm caress of the sun on his face did feel good. He’d have twenty minutes, tops, before his skin would start to burn. If he timed it just right, he’d have the beer finished at the exact moment it would be time to head back into the house. 
    It was peaceful out in the yard. Most of the neighborhood was still at work, firing off emails in Manhattan offices or working in any of the thousands of various stores in Long Island’s malls. The few stay-at-home mothers on the block were inside their air conditioned homes, preparing dinner, getting ready to watch Oprah or playing with the kids. 
    The shrill chirping of cicadas was hypnotizing. They had started a week ago when the heat wave swamped New York and hadn’t stopped since. At first, they were a welcome sign of the impending arrival of summer. By day three, they had become highly irksome. Now, almost seven days later, they had transformed into just another shred of white noise, like sleeping with the television on low. He suspected that when they finally did stop their hazy, hot and humid love song, people all across the area would talk in whispers for fear they’d disturb the silence. 
    Knocking back the rest of the beer, he stretched from the chair only to find that he had sweated so much his shirt was plastered to his back. Rivulets of sweat ran from his hairline and down the sides of his face. The metal surface of his patio table was scorching to the touch. His heart picked up a few extra beats as the full force of the heat hit him at once. 
    “Man, it’s hot.”
    As he went back into the house, the palpitation of his heart visibly pulsated along his neck and throat. His mouth felt like it was jammed full of sawdust. 
    He tossed his empty beer bottle into the blue recycling bin and cringed when it shattered. Walking on sea legs, he paused at the windowsill by the sink and eyed the bottle of Xanax. He thought about popping one in his mouth and how it would take about ten minutes for the drug to take effect and stem the rising tide of anxiety. It was a pretty high dosage, thanks to the tolerance his body had built up to it over the years, now used only for extreme occasions. 
    John took a few deep breaths to settle his slightly racing heart.
    His stomach turned and he felt an urgent need to run to the bathroom. He’d ridden out many panic attacks sitting on the bowl, shivering with fear and drenched in sweat while unleashing the shit of the damned. 
    Look at you. Only thirty-seven and you can’t handle a little heat. Dad has more stamina than you, and he’s pushing seventy.
    The pills rattled in the bottle as he plopped into a chair. John slammed it onto the table. 
    “Not today.” 
    Instead, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. It only took a few minutes to regain his equilibrium. 
    The cool air in the house calmed him. As quickly as it came, the sense of dread had receded. The entire incident was painfully common for John. Living with anxiety disorder was like walking across a landscape where every square inch was filled with trap doors. It gets to the point where all you do is worry. Is this the one that will open and swallow me up? Eventually, instead of moving forward, you freeze, consumed by your own fear of what’s underneath the next trap door. Sooner or later, you have to make a decision. Do I stand here pissing my pants or do I keep on walking?
    John chose to