I moved into the kitchen, opened up a cold can of beans, sat down to eat and attempted to finish the book I was reading. I don’t know why I kept torturing myself; even if the author was still alive, there was no way I was going to get the last book of the series.
After an hour passed, I leaned back to ask Sam why it was taking him so long to tune the saxophone.
He merely scowled, saying, “It is tuned.”
Later on, I crept into bed, blowing out the lantern on my night stand. The night had settled around me. I could hear the crickets chirping outside and a group of lodgers chatting far in the distance. The night was icy, but the years had acclimatized me to sleeping in the cold. It didn’t take long for sleep to embrace me, but I was awakened by Sam knocking at my door; three slow and steady knocks.
“Travis,” he was breathing heavily, and painfully forcing his words out.
“Sam?” I asked, jumping out of bed and stepping through the room.
“Let me in,” he mumbled.
“What do you want?” I asked, sliding the latch along the door.
My heart jumped into my throat. “There’s food in the kitchen,” I called through the door.
“I’m so hungry, Travis,” he slurred. “Let me in. I’m starving.”
I slid the latch back into place and backed away from the door.
“Sam, you’d better not be joking,” I said, backing towards my bedside table, and reaching inside for my knife.
“Give me food. Please.”