Toward the Sound of Chaos Read Online Free Page A

Bad.
    Appointment
with my shrink? Bad.
    Wanting
to punch my shrink in the face when he pushed too hard? Bad.
    Going
through with it? BAD. BAD. BAD.
    I
rake my hands through my beard and step away from the curb, glancing around the
quiet leafy street. Houses line each side. Not grand or overly large, like the
ones on Sea Cliff Drive, but they aren’t rundown either.
    Across
the road, a surly old man watches me from his front porch stoop, but they aren’t
the only eyes trained on me. I turn around. The single story Créole-style home
might be a little run down, but she is a beauty. The cream roller shade
covering the glass-paned door moves. It flicks up violently, stunning me and
exposing the small, angry blonde on the other side of it. Painted on the door
between us is a logo that reads Big Bama Hair and beneath that in pink
script I can just pick out the words close shave .
    It
must be my lucky day, after all .
    Ellie
Mason turns and gives me her back as I amble up the walk. I open the door, the
bell above let out a high-pitched ding. Cool air-conditioning wafts towards me
from the vent and it’s a small mercy because my whole body is burning up from
running several blocks in the Bama heat.
    “Ma’am,
are you open for business today?”
    She
turns abruptly and narrows angry eyes on me. “I was just closing up, actually.”
    “How’s
your boy doin’?” I ask, and when her frown deepens and she doesn’t answer, I
bow my head and prepare to get the hell out of there. “Alright. Well, I’m sorry
to disturb you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
    “Wait,”
she says, sounding resigned. “Come sit down.”
    “I
don’t wanna impose.”
    “Don’t
make me ask twice, Jake Tucker.”
    “Well
alright then.” I close the door behind me and walk towards her. She pats the
back of a barber chair, indicating that I should sit. I awkwardly fold my body
into the too small seat and stare at the mirror in front of me. My reflection
makes me uncomfortable. Mercifully, my face is free of scars, with the
exception of one very small mark marring my hairline—my neck, however, is not.
    “Where’s
your dog today?” Ellie says, as she moves away to grab a black cape.
    “Back
at the house.”
    “Aren’t
you supposed to take him everywhere with you?” She asks as if she’s genuinely
interested. I stare at her a beat. “Olivia Anders is my best friend. I’ve
helped out at the shelter a time or two.”
    I
nod and fidget by running my thumb along the scar on my index finger. It calms
me, until she glances down at my hands.
    “What
did you do to your hand?”
    It
takes me a moment to realize she doesn’t mean the scars; she wants to know why
my knuckles are inflamed and bleeding. I place them in my lap. It may cover the
blood, but not the scar tissue, because both sides are ruined and were
Frankensteined back together almost a year after the original injury.
“Nothing.”
    She
meets my gaze in the mirror and shakes out the black cape around me. I close my
eyes as she lifts my hair from my neck in order to fasten the cape. I’m
breathing heavily. She probably thinks I’m a freak.
    The
metal snap of the press studs closing makes me flinch. I close my eyes, feel
the tight pinch of rope around my neck, the shortness of breath as he yanks me
toward him like a dog on a chain.
    No! I repeat that shitty mantra in my head Every day may not be good, but there
is something good in every day . Every day may not be good, but there is
something good in every day . Every day may not be good, but there is . .
. FUCK!
    “Jake,
are you okay?” Ellie says, looking terrified, as if I’m about to jump up and
slit her throat.
    Breathe,
you fucking cock sucker. You’re scaring her.
     I
meet her gaze in the mirror and bark out a gruff, “I’m fine.”
    Oh
great, ’cause she definitely doesn’t think you’re Ted Bundy now .
    “We
can stop if you like?”
    Sweat
prickles along my spine and over my brow. “I’m fine. Just cut