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‘So, what you’re saying is: you’re not sad and you’d like me to fuck off.’
‘Yes.’
‘Right. Well, okay then. I’ll let you find the door yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ And as I said it the goat trod away into the thicket, so I decided to walk not that way.
I kept walking. Walking seemed the only reasonable thing to do. And after a while, I came to a series of doors. Hills and hills filled with doors. They stood with nothing before or behind them. And I realised what the goat meant. Because above each door was a word. And each word was almost like a magnet. Some I felt a small pull towards. Others I felt pushed away. I read each one with passing intrigue. Spite, ambition, greed, harmony, resonance. The doors went on and on. I searched for a long while. But nothing really felt like me. And when I thought I could force it — I couldn’t. I’d try the handles but they wouldn’t open. Not until I found the one. My one.
The word inscribed above it felt like a beacon, a light, a mast. It became clear that all along, this was the word I’d been searching for. And all along was a lot longer than the distance of this journey. This was my door. It was not especially beautiful. No flashy displays. No intricate details. Just a large door, painted white. It was perfect. I reached for it, and in turn, I felt something reach back for me. It felt like greeting an old friend, it felt like coming home.
My fingertips glided across the brass handle. A high tinkering sound rung, like the high notes on a piano being played.
‘Miller.’
I turned.
A man?
A man. In a suit. A tailored black suit. It fit him well. He had incredible bone structure. And those eyes…
‘Hello,’ I told the stranger.
I watched his brows pinch with confusion. Or maybe anger, fear… longing?
The goat would have had a fucking field day trying to find this guy’s door.
The stranger had strange tattoos to match his overall handsome brand of strangeness. I looked at them and tried to think. There was something. Something about him I could feel, but I couldn’t place. His thumb tapped against his fingers at his side, drawing my attention. I swear I knew the feeling of those hands. Large and warm, holding me, guiding my hips. And those fingers. A chill raced up my spine. And that body — tall, lean, and powerful — crowding me, backed against hardwood.
The corner of his mouth lifted and a spark of recognition fired in my mind, and all that fear and sadness and dread came bowling into me.
Walker.
I couldn’t catch my breath. I felt myself scatter like pins in the pit. I felt myself ripping apart again. I felt myself falling to pieces as he watched.
A smile. Cruel? Elated? Fuck, where was the goat?
He was not a good man, this I knew.
What he said next, I’ll never forget.
He said—
Hold it, Hold it.
I’ve completely fucked the formatting.
Sorry about this guys.
—the story actually starts—
Here…
Chapter One
The Move
I wait on the loveseat in my lounge, which also happens to be my bed, since this space doubles as my bedroom, triples as my kitchen and – on the frequent occasion my ensuite door decides to jam – it becomes my bathroom, too. (I’m not proud of the things I’ve had to do in the kitchen sink.)
