Chapter 4

Janice and I padded out of the bedroom barefoot.

Moonlight spilled through the window, and our eyes, already used to the dark, could see it all clearly now.

The fridge door hung open in the kitchen, its light throwing Grandpa's shape into the room.

He was crouched in front of it, dripping sweat, both hands wrapped around that sausage, wolfing it down.

My hand found the switch on the wall.

Janice pressed my wrist and mouthed, "Wait."

Then she pulled out her phone and sent a message.

Not long after, a scramble of footsteps sounded outside the door.

She crept toward the entrance and gave me a little jerk of her chin.

Every light in the kitchen and the living room snapped on at once.

Grandpa shuddered all over, meat smeared at the corner of his mouth, frozen there in front of the open fridge.

He turned his head slowly and found not just the two of us standing at the door, but five or six people pouring in behind us.

"Sorry to bother you so late. Emergency fire-exit inspection."

Leading them was Director Lawrence from the neighborhood association, a heavyset woman in her fifties with a voice that could carry through walls.

A few neighbors trailed behind her, two of them already holding up their phones, filming.

Janice stepped up to meet them in a few quick strides, her face full of grief, her voice edged with worry.

"Director Lawrence, I'm so sorry you had to see this. My grandfather insists on running the house like the old master of some grand old family."

"And here he is, middle of the night, hunched over the fridge sneaking cold sausage."

"We younger ones tried to stop him, we really did. What if the cold food makes him sick?"

Director Lawrence bit back a laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching.

The neighbor lady beside her wasn't nearly so polite.

"Old man Bishop, don't you always go on about your rules being higher than the sky, making your daughter-in-law kneel to serve you tea?"

"And you can't even heat the meat up before you gnaw on it? Is that how the master of your grand old house does things?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Real high-and-mighty airs, all right."

Another woman leaned in close with her phone.

"I got it all on video. I'll post it in the residents' group in a bit so everyone can learn some proper manners."

My father came bolting out of the bedroom in his long johns, saw the room full of people, and nearly fainted from fright.

"Director Lawrence, it's the middle of the night, what's all this? Ladies, please, stop filming for a second."

Grandpa's lips trembled like he wanted to argue his way out of it, but that ring of grease around his mouth made a liar of him.

His eyes rolled back, and with a heavy thud he dropped straight to the floor.

"My heart, I'm done for."

The color drained from my father's face. He threw himself down, feeling for Grandpa's breath, shouting with shaking hands.

"Dad, what's wrong? Don't just stand there, call 911, quick!"

Just as everyone scrambled, ready to dial.

Janice cut in sharply: "Nobody move."

That one shout froze them all in place.

She strode over to Grandpa, crouched down, checked his eyelids, then said in a cold voice.

"By the rules of a grand old house, you don't call an ambulance for a fit of temper. That would shame the family."

"You do it the way the ancestors handed down. Prick the spot under the nose with a needle, draw a little blood, and he'll come right around."

As she spoke, Janice took a two-inch steel needle from her pocket, flicked a lighter, and ran the tip through the flame a few times.

Then, without a flicker of expression, she brought the point toward the spot under Grandpa's nose.

"Hold still. One prick and you'll be fine."