Chapter 4

I walked out of the school building, and the sunlight was so harsh I could barely open my eyes.

I did not want to go back to the classroom, and I did not want to go home.

I wandered aimlessly along the street.

When I passed a stationery store, I stopped.

In the display window sat a set of watercolor paints.

It was exactly the same as the set my dad had smashed last night.

I stood outside the window and looked at it for a long time.

Only after the sky went dark did I turn and walk home.

The hallway of our apartment building was always filled with a moldy smell.

The light had been broken for a long time, and no one had fixed it.

I climbed up to the third floor in the dark.

Just as I reached the turn on the third floor, I heard an argument coming from upstairs.

“Are you sick or something?! Why are you knocking on doors in the middle of the night?!”

It was a man’s voice.

It was unfamiliar.

My heart tightened, and I quickened my steps up to the fourth floor.

The door on the left side of the fourth floor was open.

A man wearing a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos, stood in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand and anger all over his face.

My dad stood opposite him.

He was holding a stack of old newspapers.

His hair was messy, and his eyes were empty.

“Where is Mr. Walker?” my dad murmured. “I brought newspapers for Mr. Walker. Ethan said Mr. Walker likes listening to him read the paper.”

“What Mr. Walker! My last name is Miller! I moved in a month ago! If you dare knock on my door again, I’ll break your legs!” The man waved the baseball bat in his hand.

I rushed over and pulled my dad behind me.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I apologized over and over. “My dad isn’t right in the head, and he got the wrong door. Please don’t take it personally.”

The man looked me over and snorted coldly.

“If he’s crazy, lock him up at home! Why let him out to scare people!”

After saying that, he slammed the door shut.

The hallway returned to dead silence.

I turned my head and looked at my dad.

He was still holding that stack of newspapers, staring blankly at the closed security door.

“Dad.” I tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s go home.”

“Where is Mr. Walker?” He turned his head and looked at me. “Where did Mr. Walker go?”

“Mr. Walker’s son took him away a year ago. This apartment was sold.”

“Impossible.” He shook his head. “Ethan said yesterday that he was going to read the newspaper to Mr. Walker. Ethan never lies.”

My anger flared up all at once.

“Ethan is dead!” I yelled at him. “He’s been dead for three years! He can’t read the paper anymore! Can’t you wake up for once!”

I snatched the newspapers from his arms and threw them hard onto the floor.

The newspapers scattered everywhere.

The dates printed on them were from three years ago.

My dad froze.

He looked at the newspapers on the floor and slowly squatted down.

He started picking them up one by one.

The hallway was very dark, and I could not see his expression clearly.

But I could hear his muffled sobs.

“Ethan isn’t dead,” he said while picking them up. “Ethan is right here. He’s just being disobedient and hiding.”

I looked at his hunched back, and my throat tightened.

I hated him.

I hated him for forcing me to pretend to be Ethan, hated him for smashing my paints, and hated him for turning me into a joke at school.

But I also pitied him.

He was trapped in that summer three years ago and could never walk out.

I squatted down and helped him pick up the newspapers.

“Dad, let’s go home.” My voice softened.

He did not speak, only hugged the newspapers tightly.