Dark Intentions - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,19

just to not tell her. This would be my secret. This would be the way that I try to make everything right.

I go back home and find the old books that my dad kept in the back of the closet. Mom wanted me to throw them away, but I never could throw away a memory of him.

I held on to them because, well, I didn't have much else. She threw away a lot of the pictures after he left in order to try to erase all the pain that he had caused her.

What she didn't realize was that she wasn't the only one in that relationship. There were also Michael and me, and we needed him to be around, even if it was just in spirit.

I read through the books while Mom took a nap in the other room. I try to remember what he taught me about the game, and then I go online and read more.

I read everything that I can find and I decide to play on my laptop just to see how it would work out. At first, I play with fictional money and I lose every single hand.

I fold.

It's poker, and after five games in a row, I feel like a fool. Then I make an account, put up fifty bucks, maybe it would work better if the stakes are more real and the money is more immediate.

I play another round.

I play one game and then another, and then another with a computer or some unknown person on the other end. After two hours, I lose it all.

The fifty dollars is gone just like that. It’s gone. I saw the cards, and I couldn't make them work. I bluffed, but no one believed me.

Maybe I don't have the same skills my father did, or maybe I didn't learn enough. It's probably a little bit of both.

What about now?

What the hell do I do now?

I close my laptop and pace around the room. Just a few hours ago, learning how to gamble, making that much money at the casino seemed like an actual plausible business, but, of course, there are lots of people with a lot more experience vying for the same thing.

No, if I can't win online with fifty bucks, I shouldn't try to play for real.

I could get better, of course. Learn the tricks, maybe even take a class, but I don't have time for that.

I owe them the money within a couple of weeks, as soon as they call to schedule Mom to come out, and what then?

What do I do then?

13

Dante

I move my legs swiftly as I cover the ground, one heavy step after another. The rain is falling in sheets.

Seattle is not my favorite city in the world, even though it is one of the most beautiful places in the summer.

But it's not the summer. It's April, and the skies are gray, and the sun hasn't visited this part of the world in months.

Luckily, I don't live here.

I don't live anywhere.

I have a suitcase and a laptop and a tablet and a phone and a storage unit outside of Bangor, Maine, and that's it.

I live my life on the road. The world can be a dark place, but every time it gets a little darker, I get on the plane and fly away.

Not many people survive in my position, doing what I do. They get restless.

They miss their friends and their families. And I've worked this job longer than anyone.

I like the consistency of it, despite the fact that I travel almost every week. I live out of hotel rooms and room service, and the only thing that stays the same are the gyms and the pools in those four and five-star hotels, as well as my daily or almost daily five-mile run.

No matter where I am, I wake up early and hit the pavement in order to ground myself.

I run before I get into the shower and get to work. I run before I sit in long, oversized conference rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out onto the skyscrapers and listen to pitch after pitch of why my company should invest in their risky venture.

I've skipped a couple of days of running, due to jet lag, and it shows. My muscles ache and my lungs burn, and I push through until I get back to the hotel.

After a quick shower and a breakfast of black coffee and a vegetarian omelet, I head over to the office and ride all the way