Chapter One

"Mom, I don’t feel safe.” Fifteen year old Rory Falcon said. Archer Falcon opened her eyes and tried to focus on the illuminated hands on the clock beside her bed. It was either ten minutes after midnight or two in the morning. A cool September breeze blew through the open window. A Bangor, Maine sanitation truck rolled along the street, whirling brushes spraying water and sweeping the road.

Lit by a moonbeam, Rory paced at the foot of her bed, following the path he had previously worn in the carpet. Five steps forward, five steps back. Repeat.

I don’t feel safe. Archer knew the meaning of the words. Rory’s counselors used it; the high school used it; the psychiatrists used it. He was contemplating suicide.

She pulled the string on the faux Tiffany lamp next to the bed, feeling tears in the back of her eyes and tightness in the hallows of her throat. She looked at him to assess. There were no new cuts on his arms or chest. His face had narrowed over the last year and his chest and shoulders had broadened.