Refraction
Chapters (31)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
- Copyright
Cover
Title Page
REFRACTION
NAOMI HUGHES
Copyright Notice
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Dedication
For the One who believed in me
when all I could see were the shadows
CHAPTER ONE
THE COPS START TAILING ME ON BANYAN LANE. I should be worried about the contraband sewn into the bill of my baseball cap, but all I can think about is whether or not I remembered to lock my loft before I left this morning.
“Marty Callahan,” calls one of the officers in an easy voice, like I’m an old friend he’s spotted at a party. But his eyes are trained on me like I’m a dangerous animal, and whatever Cisco Island is nowadays, it’s definitely no party.
I give the cops a faux-surprised grin and a middle-finger wave—carefully measuring the amount of disrespect in the gesture, enough to seem normal for me but not enough to piss them off more than necessary—then speed up a little.
I did lock the loft, I’m sure of it. I can almost hear the way that final, biggest dead bolt clunked heavily when I slid it into place, can almost feel how the rusted padlock flaked in my hand when I pulled the key out. But the need to go back and check just in case tugs at me anyway, even though I should be way more worried about the two jokers behind me.
“We’re talking to you, Callahan,” says another voice. It’s the other officer, the younger one. He sounds a lot less casual than his partner. Which probably means he intends to stop me, pat me down, do a “random” search for the dangerous illegal goods they suspect—but haven’t yet managed to prove—I sell. Any other day, that would be no problem for me. I haven’t moved any goods in weeks. But today, the desperation got a little too strong, and I managed to convince myself the heat had died down enough for me to venture back out. A decision I’m cursing myself for now.
There’s a small crowd ahead of me, weaving in and out of the early-afternoon shadows cast by the gnarled trees that line this street. The islanders must be headed to the ration dispensary for weekly distribution. Maybe I can merge with them, buy myself some time while I figure out an escape route. I step off the sidewalk and onto the cracked asphalt of the road.