Clancy always knew they’d come for him one day. He knew too much. He’d spent the majority of his life looking over his shoulder, and though he now often spent it looking out of a window, he knew he couldn’t hide from them forever.
He couldn’t exactly remember who “they” were, and the details of what he knew were fuzzy and jumbled, but the fear was real–and ever-present–even when he couldn’t remember why he was afraid in the first place.
“Hey Clance. What’s shakin’?”
That voice—familiar. A friend? Yes, a friend. But who? From when? Izzat Tommy Cornwell? No. Now wait a minute…what was I–
“Y’hear me in there, Clance? I asked you what’s shakin’. Y’hear me? Oughta get that pretty little gal that wipes your ass to turn your dang hearing aid up.”
All the pieces clicked together, for just a few moments, and…
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