Page 45 of Ghosts Don't Cry

I grab more wire, adding it to my cart. Let him run his mouth. He can try and get under my skin all he likes with his small-town gossip and old memories.

“Kind of funny, isn’t it?” He follows me down the aisle, so close behind me I can smell him. “You living up there now. After what happened at Feldman’s store.”

I turn fast enough to make him stumble back into a display. Paint cans rattle.

“Afterwhathappened?”

“Breaking into the store, getting caught, and making the front page.” His chin lifts in a move of defiance, trying to prove to himself that he’s not scared of me. But his eyes keep darting to my hands, my arms, and the tattoos that mark every year I wasn’t here. “Now you’re back, throwing money around like?—”

I step into his space, and his eyes widen.

“Like what?” My voice is soft. “Like someone who did his time? Grew up? Paid his dues? Or are you still telling the same stories about the kid who slept in abandoned buildings?”

He tries to hold his ground. I take another step forward, and he falls back.

“At least I didn’t do time.”

“No.” I smile. It has teeth. “You’ve just spent it reliving your glory days at high school. How’s that working out for you?”

The color that filled his cheeks earlier drains away. He looks away first. He hasn’t changed from the guy who peaked in high school. He’s still trying to prove himself by breaking others down.

“Everything okay here?” An older man appears. Wilson himself, I’m guessing, based on the name tag.

“Fine.” I don’t take my eyes off Dan. “Just need a breaker panel.”

Wilson looks between us, easily reading the tension. “Dan, go check the delivery that just arrived out back.”

Dan’s jaw works. For a moment, it looks like he might argue, then he turns and stalks away, shoulders rigid with anger.

“We keep a few panels in stock.” Wilson gestures for me to follow him. “You got experience with electrical work?”

I pull out my phone and show him my certifications. He reads them, unlike most people who just want to check a box.

“These are good.” He hands back my phone. “You’ll need permits too.”

“Already on it.”

He walks around the store with me, filling my cart with wire, conduit, junction boxes and the tools I’ll need, then rings everything up. The total is high enough to raise his eyebrow, but low enough that it barely breaks into the ten thousand allowance I have. I hand him my bank card.

“Need help loading up?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Dan reappears while I’m packing everything into the trunk of the car, hovering in the doorway. The same ugly looks twist his features, but there’s something else there too, now. Something desperate. As though he can’t stand that the kid he used to torment turned into someone who doesn’t need to take his shit anymore.

“Those rich neighbors know about your record?” His voice carries across the parking lot, sharp with spite. “Or where you used to live? Do they have any idea who you really are?”

I slam the trunk.Hard. The sound cracks through the air like a gunshot. “Why don’t you tell them … since you’re so interested in my life.”

He steps out of the doorway, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Just think people should know what kind of person has moved into their street.”

“What kind of person is that, Dan?” I cross the distance between us in three long strides. He backs into the brick wall with a thud. “Someone who did his time and moved on? Or someone like you, who needs to push people around to feel big?”

His face flushes, then pales. Sweat beads on his upper lip despite the cold.

“You think you’re better than us now? Is that it? With your fancy house and your?—”

“Better?” I plant one hand on the wall beside his head. “No, not better. Just different. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Sinceyouhaven’t changed at all.”