Chapter 19-1. small mercy

CALEB Kahn's house looked like Marley's, if her father wasn't in jail, if he was promoted at the factory, and he gambled less money on poker nights. It had low ceilings and boxy rooms, with dark hardwood and white linoleum that led into a tiny kitchen with 90s yellowed appliances. The dark brown fabric couch, armchair and a nicked, wooden coffee table surrounded a small tv by the window overlooking the front porch and lawn. It was propped on a black stand with magnetic glass cabinets closed around stacks of VHS movies and tapes. The square dining room table had nearly disappeared under boxes, stacks of mail, papers, and tools. There was a small layer of dust on the floor, and the dishes had been piling up in the kitchen. Laying on his side against the screen door to the backyard, a brown Labrador slept peacefully on a black mat. The only sounds in the house were the drip of the leaking kitchen facet, and the television on low volume, playing reruns of a crime drama. Most o