High school senior Decker Savage, burdened by his baby brother’s death and dreading his parents’ impending divorce, sees his mother with a scruffy stranger and follows him to a dark house. He hears shouts upstairs, a man hits the floor, and the culprit escapes. Decker follows the victim’s ambulance. Through their mutual love of baseball, they become friends; but the elderly man can’t remember who attacked him, and Decker fears the assailant will return. His grades crater, his relationships go south, his baseball skills are erratic, and by entering the man’s house, he broke the law.

He suffers anonymous attacks and receives threatening notes. If he doesn’t forget the man and the house, he, his family, and his friend, will be the next victims. Will Decker be able to uncover the culprit’s identity, solve the mystery, and stop the attacks?

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Available: April 15, 2025
Teen

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Decker Savage entered the dimly-lit Broadway Café and made his way to the back. His family was disintegrating. Maybe he was disintegrating, too.

He settled in a worn booth, unable to tell where the depressive gray bubble around him ended and the dreary diner began. Christmas lights hung from the muddy-orange ceiling even though it was mid-January. His last high-school semester had begun. A 1950s Schwinn bicycle hung among the lights, adding rusty chrome to the dinge. Nice touch.

A waiter sauntered up. “Get you something?

Breathe life into my baby brother? Make Dad move back home? Ease Mom’s stress?

“A coke, I guess. Thanks.” Decker pointed at the ceiling. “Celebrating?”

“Manager left them up for the 2012 Super Bowl on February 5th.”

Just before his nineteenth birthday. Whoopee. Frigid wind whistled outside through leftover holiday decorations. They’d probably stay up through February, too.

Lyrics from Katy Perry’s “Fireworks” blasted through corner speakers, “...like a plastic bag drifting through the wind...” He was inside that bag, drifting, with no energy to punch his way out. “...one blow from caving in...”

Empty tables squatted around, but anonymous men drank in somber booths planted at the side of the room under dim bulbs strung from the ceiling. A couple guys from school slouched in one booth. He had no desire to socialize and didn’t know them anyway. With their hoodies up, cell phones highlighting their shrouded faces, they looked like thirteenth-century monks.

Nobody came here but kids and losers. He wasn’t sure why he came.

The front door creaked open periodically, the weak inside light inside barely enough to reorient patrons who came in from the suburban business corridor and melted into the dark, seeking relief from whatever plagued them in the light of day.

A man in the front booth nearest the door crouched in the corner of his booth, stringy hair lapping over his collar, his small-brimmed hat pulled low. Was his hat what they called a Fedora?

A couple empty beer bottles stood on the table. Each time the door opened, he cringed lower, pulled the hat over one eye, and stared warily at the door. Who was he afraid of?

The drug lord  he owed money? A cop?

A woman entered, her shadow backlit from outside. The man in the booth straightened. Decker squinted. Who was she? When a sliver of light crossed her face, his breath caught. It was his mother.

Chest tight, Decker slid lower to hide and followed her with his gaze as she made her way to the stranger’s booth. He told her he had baseball practice, then would go home to study for tomorrow’s English test. The last part was true.

Wide-eyed, he watched her lower herself into the seat across from the guy who didn’t bother to get up. When her mouth curved into a hesitant smile, Decker’s jaw dropped. Why would she meet this disheveled man?

The waiter came by. His mother shook her head, refusing drinks. She must not intend to stay long. The server swept up the empties and acknowledged the man's nod for another beer.

The man curved toward his mom and began talking intently, his bulk blocking her face from Decker’s view. With Adele belting out “Someone Like You,” he couldn’t hear a word they said. Heads down, they concentrated on each other. He couldn’t stretch to catch more of her expression, or she’d notice him.

He thought she smiled once. She hadn’t done that in a long time. Why was she meeting a strange man in this murky place? Did he have something to do with their crumbling family? He sat frozen, unable to decide what to do.

He should go up to them and ask the man who he was. Storm up like he was her silly-ass protector and ask the guy point blank who he was and what he was doing with his mother. Ask Mom why she wasn’t home. Right. He lied to her. Now he’d embarrass her. He hated confrontation. He always had. He despised his habit of hanging back.

Dad got pissed off when he didn’t act. This guy might rear up and clock him. He’d never been good at hand-to-hand combat. They’d probably get thrown out of the diner. That would make the Prospect Heights News.

Decker breathed fast, jaw tense from confusion and anger. He knew he was a factor in his parents’ probable divorce. If this character was involved, it would be worse. Could his mother be so fickle? So disloyal to his father to take up with this lowlife? His stomach knotted.

He compared the man’s head and shoulders to Dad’s. The guy was solid, but not that great a specimen. He squinted daggers at the back of his stupid hat. She’s not your girlfriend, creepo. She’s Dad’s wife.

What could she possibly have in common with this man? Maybe she thought Dad was having an affair. This guy was some PI she hired to track Dad, and they were strategizing. His head started to ache. The scumbag shifted his weight in the booth like he was about to stand. Decker tensed. Was the snake about to leave?

Before Decker could make a move, two girls bounced into the diner laughing—buddies of Ashley, the girl he liked. What were they doing here? This wasn't a place to “see and be seen." They’d recognize him and tell her he was here. It'd be hard to explain why he was sitting alone in this dingy diner spying on his mother.

He had to get out of the booth before anybody recognized him. He slouched farther down, raised his arm to cover his face, and squirmed toward the edge of the seat. From the corner of his eye, he saw the stranger with his mom spring up and shoulder his way toward the front door. He caught surprise on Mom’s face. Looking perplexed, she slammed back against the cushion. Her lips thinned and quivered. Then her eyes filled, and she banged her fist on the table. She slipped from the booth, stood straight, took a deep breath, and followed the man outside.

Decker slid his feet outside the booth. As soon as his body cleared the table, he doubled over and headed for the back of the diner.

The waiter hollered at him. “You all right?”

Thank God he didn’t know Decker’s name. He pointed to his stomach and gestured with a circular hand motion.

“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “Nothing worse. Bathroom is back there. Hope you make it.”

Decker crossed the room stretching across the back of the diner past the U-shaped booth and plastic-covered table. Covers of albums he used to like shone through laminate. He swiveled between the booth and nearby pool table and headed for the bathroom, trying not to draw attention.

He spotted a third door on the back wall near the restrooms. If it was an exit and he squeezed through, he could ease around the side of the building and catch the man before he took off in his car. What if his mom caught up to the guy? What if he grabbed her?

The thought roiled his stomach. It wouldn’t take much for him to throw up. He slipped into the bathroom, made a retching sound, and struggled to quell his nausea. He flushed the toilet and ran water, the force clanging rusty pipes. He made enough racket but waited a few seconds before opening the door in case one of the girls decided to use the adjacent bathroom.

Hearing no footsteps, he cracked the door. Ashley’s friends were perched in a booth toward the front of the diner, engrossed in conversation. He slipped out and inched toward the back door hoping it was an exit, leaned against it, and squeezed through.

Moist frigid air attacked his lungs. He pulled up his hoodie and shivered. The temp must have plummeted. The man had trekked around the side of the diner and was plodding steadily uphill. He saw no sign of his mother. If he raced across the vacant lot behind the diner toward the dense wall of trees marking the property line, moonlight shining off the diner roof would highlight him.

He slipped off the back steps, crouched to the right and held his breath, hoping the overhang hid him in darkness. He picked a moment he thought was safe, sprinted across the lot, and hid in a thicket of bushes near the street. Heart pounding, Decker eyeballed the man tromping up the steep hill in freezing weather. He had to follow.

 

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