“I’ll take care of it,” he held his phone up close to his mouth and whispered angrily.

It was a sunny day in Hudson, Ohio. The window in front of the church near Main reflected waves of rainbows. Red, yellow, orange, green, blue, purp – no, indigo.

He paced from the top of the stairs to the bottom, fidgeting his left hand while occasionally pushing his glasses up with his index finger.

After a solid minute of walking up and down, talking, sighing, grunting, holding his already-busy left hand into a fist and squeezing it like crushing an apple, he hung up the phone.

He walked fast to his Jeep Wrangler parked in the back of the church and rushed to his small, threadbare house in the middle of northeast Ohio.

“Michael! Quick, help me out!” a woman yelled at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

“Coming,” he muttered to himself.

Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and the second door. He threw his keys and his blazer onto the couch and walked into the bedroom where the woman’s voice was coming from.

“Hey,” he said in a deep, lowered voice.

The woman turned around, “you?”

“Who are y—-”