Metaphysical Furniture

  Where the Fireflies Go by JD Slayton Chapter 2 – Laurel Lane Neighborhoods have personalities beyond what real estate agents write about in glossy brochures. They prefer words like walkable , family-friendly , and great schools . I'm talking about temperament. Some neighborhoods are suspicious. Some are lonely. Some spend decades pretending they're still twenty years younger than they really are. My neighborhood growing up was a rabid bobcat that needed to be put down. Laurel Lane felt pleasantly forgettable in the way a movie does playing in the background while you fold laundry or drink to forget your problems. The subdivision had been built about fifteen years earlier, during that era when developers discovered three floor plans were apparently enough for an entire neighborhood. Every house was large enough to suggest success without quite achieving elegance. Stone facades gave way to vinyl siding around the corners where no one was expected to look. Three-car garage...

  Brian Chan Chapter 1 – The Missing Hour There are three kinds of missing people. The first kind wants to disappear. They pack a bag, leave a note, and convince themselves that someplace, anyplace is better than where they are. The second kind never intended to vanish at all. One bad turn, one unfortunate coincidence, and the universe quietly misfiles them into a drawer that only opens when someone knows what they’re looking for. The third kind is the reason people occasionally knock on my office door. They disappear from places that shouldn't have anywhere else to go. The knock came just after lunch on the kind of hot July Wednesday that announces Summer has arrived and doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. The thick, sultry air leaves even the sidewalks looking exhausted. My office air conditioner had long since given up on cooling the room and settled for pushing warm air from one corner to another with an indifference usually reserved for bad first dates. Across the str...