He knew what he was getting before he walked into the Doppelganger—coffee, black, no sugars, no creamers, just good coffee. Before Heather started working here the coffee always had a hint of over grinded brassiness to its taste and he avoided it whenever he and his brother, Riggs, strolled in. Riggs had told him it was an acquired taste, yet in nearly a year of being in Loral Hills, Idaho he hadn’t acquired a taste for it yet. Helping his little brother get back to the world of present living conditions had taken longer than Keadon thought it would. He still wasn’t sure Riggs was ready. He wouldn’t leave this mountain throw back to prehistoric times town until he knew his brother would survive without him. He laughed to himself. Who was he kidding? He probably wouldn’t ever leave. As stale as the town was on technology and modernization, he found a certain level of peace here. The calmness of the lake, the soft rustling of the trees, the lack of deadly serious crime and the fact that at night he could hear nature breathe instead of gunfire or military vehicles driving by was a breath of fresh air.
