by Jo Ho
THE BOY NEXT DOOR
A Novella
Jo Ho
Contents
Also By Jo
STAY IN TOUCH!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
1. The Boy
2. Lunch
3. Park Life
4. Coffee Date
5. Social Network
6. The Tin
7. The Party
8. Invite
9. Fragile
10. Trouble
11. Doubt
12. Girltalk
13. Caught
14. Aftermath
15. Revelations
16. Home
17. Tomorrow
Wanted, Book 1 of The Chase Ryder Series
Prologue
The CEO
Chase
Sully
Chase
Sully
Chase
Get it here
About the Author
Lastly
Book Cover Design by Bukovero
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Copyright ©2016 Jo Ho
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Jo Ho.
This story is dedicated to Matt who watches over me even from across the ocean.
Also By Jo
Books
Wanted, Book 1 of The Chase Ryder Series (YA Sci-Fi Thriller)
Book 2 of The Chase Ryder Series - Coming 2017
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Screenplays
Monkey Nut Tales (Fanatical Drama, PG)
Spore (Sci-Fi Action, Rated R)
The Harvest (Sci-Fi Thriller, Rated 15) - Coming Soon!
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For purchase links please go HERE
STAY IN TOUCH!
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Follow her blog where she talks about writing not just indie books, but for the film and television industry. Her blog is usually where she’ll post behind-the-scenes pictures of her latest film and TV show sets…
Sometimes these include famous people!
Jo’s blog
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You can also follow her on Twitter
@johoscribe
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’ve been writing screenplays and television scripts for over a decade now and have worked with some of the most acclaimed producers in the world, but most of you won’t have heard of me - even though I did create a kick-ass action fantasy television show for BBC Children’s called SPIRIT WARRIORS - as my projects have been either too risky or expensive to make, or stuck in development hell, or a million other reasons.
So, I decided to self-publish, both my screenplays and new fiction material.
This story is an adaption of a short film screenplay that I originally wanted to make as a film, however I just could not find the funding for it, try as I might. After being turned down by all the usual suspects, I decided to adapt this into a novella.
I’ve moved to many new towns and homes, and though they were usually accompanied with a sense of great excitement, I have also felt the isolation and loneliness that can occur through starting life in a new place. This story is for those who feel lost and hopeless, and to let them know — you are not alone.
I’d love to stay connected to you and hope you’ll sign up to my mailing list. I will write to you when I have something to exciting to say, or when I’ll be releasing new material or doing a giveaway. I am also currently looking to develop my street team so if you want to be a part of that and receive free advanced copies of my books in return for reviews on the book seller’s site, Goodreads etc and social shares, than please let me know at [email protected].
I’m nice I promise, so don’t be shy! I love communicating with my fans and promise to get back to each and every one of you.
— Jo
1
The Boy
Black clouds rolled across the Chicago skyline, almost as dark as my mood.
I stared out of the window, at the rundown buildings and trash littered street, missing my hometown with something akin to pain. Although I had only been here for two weeks, it seemed so much longer, and the idyllic village that I grew up in — only an hour’s drive away in distance — might as well have been an ocean away.
I turned from the window and took in the sight before me.
Boxes littered every inch of the scratched wooden floor. A few were opened — the ones marked EMERGENCY CLOTHES — but most still needed to be unpacked. In the time I had been here, I hadn’t been able to force myself to put my things away, happy in my land of denial, but even I knew it was time to face up to my new reality. There was no going back.
In five years, The Bluff hadn’t seen a crime more disturbing then neighbors warring over a tree, or the local farmer’s market running out of pumpkins during Thanksgiving. Back home, people didn’t lock their doors and a girl could walk anywhere safely by herself, whatever the time of day.
Not so in Austin, Illinois which had the dubious title of being one of Chicago’s most dangerous areas. Here, I wouldn’t take out the trash if the sun had set. It didn’t help that like most Asian girls (well, half Asian if we’re being technical since my dad is White), I was pretty small-framed.
Dragging my feet, I moved to the largest box, the one I knew contained my beloved books. An avid bookworm since the moment I could read, I had kept all of my books, unable to give any away. Back at The Bluff, Dad had had to install special shelves just to house them all. Luckily my room here had come with several large bookcases. The fact it was dead cheap and came with all its furniture was one of the reasons my parents had gone for this place. Thinking it a bargain, they had jumped on it but I didn’t like living amongst someone else’s things. It gave me the creeps, especially sleeping on someone else’s bed. Since I had been here, I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep, imagining who might have been here before me, what they might have done on the bed…
Shuddering at the direction my thoughts were heading, I grabbed a few books from the box and and moved to the wall of bookcases. They were old but made from a solid oak and looked like they would take even my giant collection. As I starting stacking the books onto the top shelf, I noticed a small brass plaque screwed onto it. The metal sign was inscribed with writing that had faded with time. Leaning in, I had to squint my eyes to make out the words:
“Dum vita est spes est”
It wasn’t any language I was familiar with. I wondered what it meant. Reaching for my phone, I meant to Google the saying when a chime came and a message flashed across the screen. I called it up to see a sticker of a broken hearted panda on Facebook Messenger and beneath it the words: “missing you like crazy xoxoxo.”
It was from my boyfriend back home, Chris.
I looked at a picture of us on the home screen. As always, seeing his beautiful face did something fierce to my heart. He had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes which always seemed to smile, and he was fit from being on the high school football team. I felt boring in contrast, with my black hair and brown eyes (which I had inherited from my Chinese mom), although Chris was forever telling me how beautiful I was.
We had no way of knowing what was going to happen to us.
Chris was one of the most popular kids at school. I suppose he would be considered a jock because of the sports thing, except he was one of the good guys. He was nice to everyone and came from a really cool family. His dad was a film composer and his mom, a production designer — which just meant she created the physical sets for movies. At least, that’s how she explained it to me.
Chris had spent his childhood hanging out on film sets and regularly enthralled with stories of them. It was part of the reason for his popularity at school — seemed everyone wanted a bit of that glamor.
I missed him so much I felt my heart would break.
That last day, as we finished loading up my family’s minivan, we had sworn the distance wouldn’t be an issue. We promised that we would still see each other all the time, but that was before I got here and realized the public transport stank big time and unfortunately, a car, as well as many other things I used to take for granted, would be way out of my budget for the foreseeable future.
The text from Chris caused some of my thunderous mood to lift. “Missing you too. This place sucks without you xoxoxo,” I messaged back.
I heard a door slam outside. Curiosity got the better of me and I found myself crossing back to the window where I lowered my gaze to the neighbor’s yard. Overgrown, it couldn’t have seen a weedwhacker in at least a year, but there were signs it wasn’t always this way. Rosebushes were bent low from the many flowers that used to hang from its branches. A meticulously set stone path curved towards the back fence. Paint peeled from a wooden bench that someone small scurried towards now.
He was skinny, probably around the same age as my brother, Mark, who was turning six in a few days time. Fall had come early this year, bringing with it a chill that already had me wearing sweaters so I was surprised to see him out there in just a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He shivered but sat there, looking sad.
I had seen him before, in the back yard, but there was something strange about him. He was so different from Mark, so… quiet. And I’ve never seen him playing. My parent’s had popped round to introduce themselves when we first moved in, but no one had answered, despite Mom swearing that she had heard the television inside. They had left it at that, expecting the neighbor’s to visit of their own accord at a suitable time, but we’ve never heard from them.
Something about the hunch of his frail shoulders and his downcast expression plucked at my heart. I was still staring at him when an impatient shout came from downstairs, interrupting my thoughts.
“Kim! Lunch is ready!”
It was Mom, who came home from her job at the local grocery store to make lunch for us every day. I kept telling her it wasn’t necessary — I was seventeen after all —but she wouldn’t listen.
“Coming,” I yelled back. Grabbing my phone, I went downstairs.
The boy wiped clean from my mind.
2
Lunch
Mom was dishing up noodles when I arrived in the kitchen. Grabbing some plates, I set three settings (Dad hadn’t joined us for lunch since we’d been here as he was always off, searching for a new job or doing interviews). I sat and stared down at my food with disinterest. It’s not like we never had anything else, but the woman really loved to cook Asian. I regularly found myself just wishing for a sandwich or salad or Please God, a burger. I didn’t say anything however, knowing it would make me sound ungrateful.
My kid brother had no problem with the food though and was already digging in with a fork. I guess this might surprise some, that we were using forks to eat noodles but, contrary to what many people think, only Mom uses chopsticks — I find them totally awkward and bizarre. Mark shoved a large forkful into his mouth, slurping loudly like a pig, talking with his mouth open.
“And there’ll be Cheetos, right? At my party?” he asked.
Mom sighed, nodding. “Yes.”
“What about cheese strings? I want cheese strings?” he demanded.
“What is it with foods beginning with “C” and you?” I asked.
He just shrugged in answer, mind already thinking about other snacks.
Mom glanced over the wok at me. “Have you heard from Dad?” she asked.
I shook my head. “He hasn’t called in yet. Who’s he seeing today?”
Mom set down the empty wok into the sink, filling it with water and leaving it to soak before taking her seat at the table. “Walmart. He’s hoping they’ll consider him for a managerial role but I told him I didn’t want him to take it even if they do offer it.”
“Why?” After all that had happened to us, I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“Because he can do so much better! But he won’t listen, keeps saying no one wants to hire a guy with his problems.”
I had a feeling Dad might be right, but I wasn’t going to disagree with my Mom… I knew better than to incur her wrath.
“He can do better, that’s all.” She finally said, her shoulders slumping.
“But if he’s happy to do it…” I began tentatively. “I know we need the money.”
She looked at me silently. I could see her giving herself an internal pep talk. Either it worked or she was very good at hiding what she really felt as she sat down and focused her attention on Mark — specifically how there seemed to be more food out of his bowl now, than in it.
“Ai yah! Look at this mess!” she exclaimed, reaching for a dishcloth. She busied herself cleaning up the table as I ate, chewing the food without really tasting it.
My mind wandered, as it so often did, to Chris. I liked to picture what he was doing throughout the day. It somehow made him feel not so far away. Right now, he would be on his lunch break too, probably woofing down a Subway. Even though his parents had money, Chris had gotten himself a job at local sports store, All The Bases. He said he wanted to earn for himself, not only rely on them. It was just one of the many reasons why I loved him.
I thought about sending him a text but Mom hated people using their phones at the table. Probably bad Feng Shui or something. A lot of Chinese people were superstitious, but my mom took it to a whole new level. I remember when I was only four or five and we were searching for a house at The Bluff. We must’ve seen some twenty or so houses, but she had found something wrong with all of them. One had bad vibes, one faced the wrong direction, another had the number “four” in it (apparently the unluckiest number in the world) which even my Mom’s numerous wards to fend off bad fortune and spirits wouldn’t be able to combat. It had driven my Dad insane, which is why I was surprised when she agreed to this place so quickly, especially as I had felt unhappy as soon as I had stepped foot into this house. The one time I brought it up however, she just answered that anywhere without Chris wouldn’t be good enough for me. And she was right.
We ate quickly, knowing Mom was on the clock. When we were done, I stashed the dirty bowls into the dishwasher as Mom pulled on her jacket.
“What’re you two up to for the rest of the day?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Probably take him to the park. It’s not like there’s much else to do around here.”
I hated how whiney I sounded, but sometimes I couldn’t stop the misery from pouring out of my mouth. Being a big sister at my age wasn’t something I had expected, not when everyone else I knew was moving on with their lives.
My folks had been trying for years to have another kid, but when none had come along, I was pretty happy with the idea of being the only one. Shortly after I turned eleven h
owever, I was informed of their happy news. Seems the moment they had stopped trying, Mark had come along! So here I was now, stuck as a perpetual babysitter. Not wanting to be late for work, Mom wouldn’t take the bait.
“Some fresh air will be good for you. See you later.”
And with that, she was gone. I looked down at Mark. He looked up at me.
“Come on,” I said, sighing.
3
Park Life
Thirty minutes later we were at the park. We moved quickly along a cracked concrete path, following signs to the playground. I’d taken Mark here a few times already so we knew to keep our expectations in check.
There was a wooden climbing structure, some swings, a merry-go-round and a slide. A few odd cartoony type character structures with holes where faces should be were dotted about in haphazard fashion. I guess they were for kids to put their heads into though they looked like metal death traps to me. I’d already warned Mark about getting eaten by them. He didn’t believe me, but I noticed he also gave them a wide berth.
“I’m going on the swings first,” Mark announced, skipping ahead in front of me. “Will you push me?”
“Yeah,” I replied. I marvelled at how nothing seemed to bother Mark, ever. Life was so simple for a kid, I really envied him that.
We rounded the corner and the playground came into view, but we weren’t alone. A group of girls around my age, were camped out by the merry-go-round. They were passing around a paper bag, sharing the drink inside. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was.
