the others when Loftus was angry, and never meeting his eyes if they could help it. Bloody knuckles, teeth gritted against tears.
Loftus had intended to instruct them, and he had. He’d wanted children he could train to be rut hless, those whose consciences he could obliterate. His reasons were his own for the longest time. After a while they didn’t even matter.
Voices whispered in Tristan’s ear in sinister tones. We will steal life. We will destroy. We will rule the world. Tristan had always heard ominous words such as these, nightmares from some echoing space in his subconscious.
He did steal life. He’d destroyed. Taking over the world seemed like a lot of fucking work, not to mention extreme, but Loftus had always been kind of a fanatic. And a shitty father.
Maybe Tristan’s actions had never been justifiable, but they’d been fun. Exhilarating. To hold such power over life and death … He’d done what he could to make his blood run wild. His life had made him unstable, unpredictable, and … and …
Evil.
The word was a whisper in his mind, insidious and undeniable.
One night five years ago Loftus had taken them to an interconnected series of caverns in the d esert. Some random place in the middle of nowhere, a place no one ever went because there weren’t any proper roads to get there. He had to show them something inside. His life’s purpose, he’d said.
Augusta and Jared had hesitated for a moment at the entrance. Then they’d gone in, disappearing into the na rrow black opening in the rocks.
Tristan hadn’t wanted to go inside at all and so he ran off into the open desert. He didn’t know why the night had become a spinning tunnel, the stars wheeling and wavering overheard. Running without direction in the vast space beneath the sky, he didn’t feel confined. The darkness concealed his qua king shoulders and clumsy feet. He was a bloodthirsty fucking vampire, and yet he felt like a child. He felt almost human.
He’d slowed to a stumbling walk when he came upon a fissure scoring the earth before him. It was a narrow wash, a gully, choked with weeds and thorny desert bushes and ravaged with litter. Still, there was something inexplicably magnetic about the place, something almost magical. He picked his way down among the remains of a steep wooden staircase, feet slipping on loose dirt and rock.
Altar-like alcoves had been carved into the rock walls, trashed with the broken remains of statues and stained glass. A robed statue rose high on a mound in the center, headless and covered in graffiti and shot full of holes. The hand raised toward the sky was missing.
Although he’d never cared for religion, he could appreciate that someone had made something beautiful and peaceful here, far into the d esert. Or tried to. It was obvious no one had cared for the place in a long, long time. Not even God, for whom the statue reached in vain. And if no one cared for this, if even God wouldn’t save a holy place, Tristan thought maybe there wasn’t any hope for him. He was angry to think this, because he’d never hoped for anything. Fuck God and fuck anyone who’d just forget him and let him fall to ruin, like he’d never mattered.
“I allow you much freedom,” Loftus had said upon Tristan’s return to the house with dusty shoes and tears in his jeans. It was sunrise. “Do not abuse it. I raised you and I made you, but you have not yet served your purpose.”
Loftus had taken Tristan back to the caverns alone several nights after he’d run off like a frightened child. As they drove through the vast mountainous desert, Loftus had talked nonsensical shit about goetic ceremonies and drawing up the power of the earth. Tristan had tried not to listen, but he didn’t like the fanatical look in his father’s eyes.
“Go on,” Loftus said at the cavern opening. “This is an essential part of your instruction.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I am your father . I am your god . You will obey me
Loftus had intended to instruct them, and he had. He’d wanted children he could train to be rut hless, those whose consciences he could obliterate. His reasons were his own for the longest time. After a while they didn’t even matter.
Voices whispered in Tristan’s ear in sinister tones. We will steal life. We will destroy. We will rule the world. Tristan had always heard ominous words such as these, nightmares from some echoing space in his subconscious.
He did steal life. He’d destroyed. Taking over the world seemed like a lot of fucking work, not to mention extreme, but Loftus had always been kind of a fanatic. And a shitty father.
Maybe Tristan’s actions had never been justifiable, but they’d been fun. Exhilarating. To hold such power over life and death … He’d done what he could to make his blood run wild. His life had made him unstable, unpredictable, and … and …
Evil.
The word was a whisper in his mind, insidious and undeniable.
One night five years ago Loftus had taken them to an interconnected series of caverns in the d esert. Some random place in the middle of nowhere, a place no one ever went because there weren’t any proper roads to get there. He had to show them something inside. His life’s purpose, he’d said.
Augusta and Jared had hesitated for a moment at the entrance. Then they’d gone in, disappearing into the na rrow black opening in the rocks.
Tristan hadn’t wanted to go inside at all and so he ran off into the open desert. He didn’t know why the night had become a spinning tunnel, the stars wheeling and wavering overheard. Running without direction in the vast space beneath the sky, he didn’t feel confined. The darkness concealed his qua king shoulders and clumsy feet. He was a bloodthirsty fucking vampire, and yet he felt like a child. He felt almost human.
He’d slowed to a stumbling walk when he came upon a fissure scoring the earth before him. It was a narrow wash, a gully, choked with weeds and thorny desert bushes and ravaged with litter. Still, there was something inexplicably magnetic about the place, something almost magical. He picked his way down among the remains of a steep wooden staircase, feet slipping on loose dirt and rock.
Altar-like alcoves had been carved into the rock walls, trashed with the broken remains of statues and stained glass. A robed statue rose high on a mound in the center, headless and covered in graffiti and shot full of holes. The hand raised toward the sky was missing.
Although he’d never cared for religion, he could appreciate that someone had made something beautiful and peaceful here, far into the d esert. Or tried to. It was obvious no one had cared for the place in a long, long time. Not even God, for whom the statue reached in vain. And if no one cared for this, if even God wouldn’t save a holy place, Tristan thought maybe there wasn’t any hope for him. He was angry to think this, because he’d never hoped for anything. Fuck God and fuck anyone who’d just forget him and let him fall to ruin, like he’d never mattered.
“I allow you much freedom,” Loftus had said upon Tristan’s return to the house with dusty shoes and tears in his jeans. It was sunrise. “Do not abuse it. I raised you and I made you, but you have not yet served your purpose.”
Loftus had taken Tristan back to the caverns alone several nights after he’d run off like a frightened child. As they drove through the vast mountainous desert, Loftus had talked nonsensical shit about goetic ceremonies and drawing up the power of the earth. Tristan had tried not to listen, but he didn’t like the fanatical look in his father’s eyes.
“Go on,” Loftus said at the cavern opening. “This is an essential part of your instruction.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I am your father . I am your god . You will obey me
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