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Destroy All Monsters

Sam J. Miller
Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Acknowledgments
  75. About the Author
  76. Praise for Destroy All Monsters
  77. Books by Sam J. Miller
  78. Back Ad
  79. About the Publisher

Cover

image

Dedication

For Juancy,

my husband, my hero, my heart

Epigraph

I always thought of photography as a naughty thing to do—that was one of my favorite things about it, and when I first did it, I felt very perverse.

—DIANE ARBUS

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.

—HELEN KELLER

One

Ash

“He’s sleeping on the front porch again,” my mom said, her voice sounding sad the way only Solomon can make it. “Do you want me to have your father talk to him this time, Ash?”

I did not want that. Dad would scare the shit out of Solomon. Our front porch was probably the last safe place Solomon had, and I could never let Dad take that away from him.

“I’ll go,” I said, getting out of bed even though it was 2:00 a.m.

Not that the time mattered. I hadn’t been asleep. I stopped by the kitchen, fished two sodas out of the fridge. Diet Coke for me, vanilla Coke for him. I always made sure we had vanilla Cokes cold and ready.

When I stepped out onto the porch, I was almost ashamed to wake him. There was a cold edge to the night, and he was wearing a tank top and what looked like boxer shorts. He seemed so small, in spite of the bulk of his biceps. The sturdiness of his shoulders.

Another reason I didn’t want to disturb him: he was smiling. I only ever saw him smile when he was asleep.

Someone at Solomon’s aunt’s house—or was it his mother’s friend Sioux he was staying with these days?—might have been wondering where he was. Might have been worried about him. But that was a big, unlikely “might.” If Solomon had anyone else who cared what happened to him, he probably wouldn’t have been sleeping on my porch in October in the first place.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down on the porch swing. I noticed he was curled up just right to leave enough space for me to sit.

He mumbled something, curled up tighter. I grabbed one of his feet and squeezed it.

“Ash, hey,” he said, like it was nothing, like this was totally normal. The night smelled like rain and smoke and a little bit of skunk.

“Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer me right away, and I knew he was weighing his words. Wondering how much to tell me. The stories he told—they were part of why everyone was afraid of him. Crazy stuff he didn’t seem to understand was crazy. A city full of monsters and magic and vicious police officers.

And dinosaurs. With Solomon it was always dinosaurs.