21

 

The Knight stared at his yellow memo pad. A crease marred the top paper. He ripped it off and tossed it atop the pile of wadded papers he’d thrown earlier in the evening. He stared at the bottle of pills on the desk. Magical modern marvels that helped him cope long enough to get through his nine-to-five. The creases in the papers continued to irritate him. Maybe he should take his meds. No, home was his domain. No need to kowtow to society’s notions of normal while inside his own castle. It was bad enough he’d had to force himself to take pills for work and the few times he attended a support group—something that turned out to be a complete waste of time.

He tossed the notepad in the trash. Beth no longer hung out with Mark. No sense in writing her more notes. Sure the Knight still cared about her, but his reason for writing the notes had ceased to exist. Yet he’d continue to watch over her, to protect her from any threats.

The Knight stared at the photo of his dear friend. Poor Juanita. She should have learned her lesson like Beth.

But what if Beth went back to Mark? That would be a grave mistake.

Speaking of which, perhaps it was time to visit Juanita over in Plot Fifty. If he left now, he could be at Riversdale Cemetery in ten minutes.

But he’d never have to take things that far with someone as smart as Beth.

She’d stay far away from Mark Graham if she knew what was good for her. Otherwise, the Knight would be forced to take drastic measures. Good thing she had someone like him to look out for her.

Not everyone was so fortunate.