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leg. The linoleum on the kitchen floor was peeling. And always those smells rising up from the store below. But it was his —the first place Jamison could ever call his own.
    There were three rooms in the apartment: the living room, the kitchen, and Jamison’s bedroom, none of them much larger than six by eight feet.
    And yet, even this he wouldn’t be able to afford much longer, now that he was out of a job. He hoped Dad would allow him to move back home.
    â€œHe will,” Jamison said to himself, as he flopped down on the couch, rubbing his temples, trying to get his head to stop spinning. “Once he hears how I did the right thing and went to the police, he’ll let me come home.”
    But he’d also learn that Jamison had lied at first. He’d also discover that Jamison had been living for the past year in a house with the devil.
    And some devilry can rub off.
    Jamison regretted the fact that he had run to a bar for consolation the moment he learned he’d been fired. Why hadn’t he run to a church and prayed? No, he’d gone right back to his old ways and made his way to a bar. He’d had two beers and craved a cigarette. He’d even had impure thoughts sitting next to Rita as she’d tried flirting with him.
    â€œBegone, Satan!” Jamison suddenly bellowed, his hands over his ears.
    In that moment, the overhead light went out and Jamison was left in darkness.
    He looked around. The little green light on his television was also out. The hum of the refrigerator had stopped.
    We’ve lost power , Jamison thought to himself, standing and looking out the window, bumping his shin against the coffee table as he did so. He let out a little cry of pain. It got so dark in this place at night.
    Jamison peered down to the street below. The convenience store underneath him was closed, but he could see the red glow of its neon sign. And through the haze, he could make out that the streetlight some yards away was still burning.
    Could it just be his apartment that lost power?
    Jamison figured a fuse had blown. He wasn’t even sure where the fuse box was. Without a flashlight, he stumbled through his living room, whacking his shin again and suppressing the urge to curse. He remembered the little metal door on the wall in the hallway near the bathroom. That must be the fuse box. He felt his way along the wall, turning at the hallway and running his fingers across the plaster until he felt the metal door. He used his phone for a little bit of light, but still he had to strain to see the fuses. He had no idea what was what.
    â€œWell,” Jamison said, “here goes.”
    He switched each one in turn back and forth. But the power didn’t come back on.
    Suddenly he felt as if he might faint. That beer was still messing with his head. A year ago, Jamison could have drunk most of his friends under the table. Now he couldn’t even handle a couple of beers!
    He needed to lie down. He’d deal with the power outage in the morning. He’d call the landlord right before he went down to the police station.
    All he wanted to do right now was sleep.
    He yanked off his pants and left them in a clump on the floor. He lay in his shirt, underwear, and socks on the bed, staring up into the darkness. He wished the room would stop spinning.
    He heard something from the other room. It sounded like a footstep in the kitchen. For some reason Jamison became frightened. He listened again. He heard nothing. It must have been the wind or the rain against the house.
    He was feeling jittery. His heart was beating fast. He needed to relax. After everything that had happened today, he needed very badly to chill out. But he was having a difficult time doing so.
    Of course, there was one way he could chill out fast.
    One way he could forget all his distress about being fired and his anxiety about going to the police and telling what he knew and his fear of his father’s disapproval.