The Storm and the Darkness by Sarah M. Cradit Read Free Book Online Page A

other than the fact that he had hated Alex’s father Bill when they were growing up.
    “Are ya now?” The sheriff’s tone suggested he did not think much of whatever help Alex was offering. “I was getting ready to check in on her, introduce myself. Make sure she has everything she needs and whatnot.”
    Alex bristled at this. “I’m taking good care of her. Ya needn’t worry yerself.”
    The sheriff laughed, his belly trembling. “Oh, I don’t doubt that ya are, Alex, but I’ll be stoppin’ in just the same. G’day.” He tipped his hat again and trudged back down the street.
    Alex’s fists were balled at his side and his face was on fire. There was nothing he hated more than being made to feel like he wasn’t useful. He dreamed of a day when the sheriff would need to turn to him and Alex could, with a proud satisfaction, turn him away. Alex’s face erupted in a slow grin at the thought.
    Unfortunately, there were more people on the island that thought like Sheriff Horn than those that didn’t, and so Alex was used to people who did not see his value and did not appreciate his helpfulness. But there were a few that did...and for every hundred Sheriff Horns there was at least one Ana, who needed him, and wanted his help. Alex Whitman could handle, and would even permit, the snide comments from the sheriff and other townies, because he could almost feel sorry for them and their meaningless lives. His pity for them meant that they were entitled to their opinions all they wanted, but Alex drew the line at interference.  
    He would not tolerate anyone coming between him and his purpose.

Chapter Seven: Jonathan

    Jonathan St. Andrews awoke at 6:50 in the morning when his alarm sounded. He hit snooze once, and promptly got out of bed without complaint at seven.
    He slipped his legs off the right side of his bed, and his feet found the slippers he had methodically laid out the night before, as he always did. Slippers on, he turned and made the bed, making extra sure the pillowcases were turned so that the open end faced inward and that the sheets were even on both sides.
    Jon went to his dresser, opening the second drawer down, where he kept two neat rows of white t-shirts and black shorts. He chose one of each, careful not to disturb the folds of the others, and went downstairs, to the small room near the back porch where his treadmill was. He set the timer for 30 minutes, at a pace of 8 MPH, and set his music while the treadmill slowly ramped up. He never started his music before the treadmill started moving, and he always stopped it a minute before the timer ran out.
    After a quick shower–where he first washed his hair, then cleaned his body–Jon went back downstairs to have coffee and breakfast, but not before a quick scan around the room to ensure nothing was out of place, and that all doors were closed.
    The coffee was already made, as Finn had already been up and gone about an hour before. Although still warm, Jon microwaved his cup for thirty-seconds before adding two precise teaspoons of milk. He heated up a muffin–40 seconds–and placed it on the table first, before the coffee, but did not sit down until he had pushed in another chair that had been only pushed in halfway. “Finn,” he muttered.
    It was not important what day this was, because this was the same thing Jon did every day, even on weekends. But, in the past three weeks, Jon had added one more item to his daily ritual: checking to see if the lights were on at the neighbor’s house. He harbored an irrational fear of an unexpected knock on the door, and while it might be unavoidable, he did not like being caught unaware. Ever.
    At eight, Jon unlocked the doors to his small office in town, which was located next to the City Hall on one side, and an empty building on the other. His office didn’t open until nine, but Jon liked to spend the first hour checking in on any overnight patients and reading up on his files.
    You could have been a