For weeks after my release, I could not sleep through the night. My new job at the warehouse started early, so I was often in bed by eight. I lived with my aunt and uncle then, in their quiet house at the edge of town where the streetlights ended.
One evening, I was resting in my room with the radio playing softly. I had turned to face the wall, drifting into a shallow sleep. A sudden need to use the bathroom pulled me back. I shifted to get out of bed.
There, near the closet, a person was standing. The memory remains perfectly clear. He was motionless, his gaze fixed on the ground. His hair was light brown, and his skin was fair. He wore a dark green jacket with a zipper, his arms hanging at his sides, and faded jeans.