would see.
Him.
He stood outside the window, his face filled with lines, his pale blue eyes dead and cold. He looked from Logan to Mother and sneered. Then he walked on and Logan prayed and prayed that he would keep walking.
Please don't let him come inside. Please don't let him come inside. Please don't let him come inside.
But if anyone heard his prayer they also ignored it because his father stalked along the sidewalk and took the corner to the entrance, his spine stiff with anger. He shoved the door open and came toward their booth. Mother scrambled from the seat and stood in front of the table, protecting them from Karl Westin.
"Karl. Please. Please don't."
"What do you mean, Patti? I just want to see 'em. It's a father's right. Birthdays are special." His tone was belligerent and demanding, and his eyes a touch cruel as they slid over Logan. He smiled but his yellow teeth made it look more like a grimace.
"Karl, please. You promised." His mother pleaded but as usual his father ignored her.
"Get out of my way, woman. I'm here to see the kids."
Logan swallowed. Something was wrong. Father had said kids.
Mother stepped closer to him, blocking his way. And as Father drew his arm back, Logan could see what was going to happened before it happened. His hand, tense and hard, high in the air, his hand curving down in an arc, the muscles in his arm and neck tight with fury, the sound of his hand as it met Mother's cheek. Logan felt a heat grow behind his eyes. Like anger welling up inside him. He forced his mind away from the heat, and brought his attention back just in time to see Father backhand Mother so hard a streak of blood appeared on her upper lip. The impact threw her sideways and her hip smacked against the side of the table. She held onto it, shaking her head, dizzy from the blow.
Logan's fingers curled into a fist. And heat simmered in his palm. Logan hissed with fear but the sound was swallowed by a wave of voices in the diner.
People were getting to their feet, upset at his father's behavior. But Karl Westin didn't care that he had an audience. He glared coldly at his wife and said, "Stay out of my way, Patti. I did what I had to do. I needed the money and I ain't sorry."
"What have you done?" Mother hobbled to her feet and came closer to Logan's seat. She held out her hand and Logan took it grabbing on tightly. He scrambled out of the booth and stood at his mother's side. Her voice shook as she stood up to her husband. "You'd better leave this place, Karl."
"I ain't leaving without her. The deal is done."
Mother's fingers tightened around Logan's but he felt nothing. Nothing but the spasm of anger welling up through his body. What Father had said made him so very angry. He was scaring Mother. Threatening to take her? The thought made Logan sick to his stomach. Who?
But Logan couldn't think about that right now. All he could feel was the anger rising, the heat filling his body and his mind. He didn't hear the screams, didn't see the contorted faces. All he saw was his sneakers and the checkered tile floor of the diner.
All he could feel was the rise of heat in his body, the feeling that it would explode inside his head if he didn't get it out. And then he couldn't control it any longer.
He squeezed his mother's fingers shutting his eyes, gripping tight . Fear spun his mind is blazing circles. He gasped for breath and then he shut his eyes afraid of what he would see. Heat gusted around him, wind scorching the tips of his hair. When he dared to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was a patch of melted checkered-tiled floor around a pair of sneakered feet. Black scorch marks blossomed from the sneakers.
Logan struggled to breathe, sobbing as smoke singed his lungs. He lifted his head and the sight that greeted him, the carnage that surrounded him , stirred his gut and nausea rose. The image of a blackened restaurant marred his vision. His father stood before him, elbow lifted in front of his face.
Him.
He stood outside the window, his face filled with lines, his pale blue eyes dead and cold. He looked from Logan to Mother and sneered. Then he walked on and Logan prayed and prayed that he would keep walking.
Please don't let him come inside. Please don't let him come inside. Please don't let him come inside.
But if anyone heard his prayer they also ignored it because his father stalked along the sidewalk and took the corner to the entrance, his spine stiff with anger. He shoved the door open and came toward their booth. Mother scrambled from the seat and stood in front of the table, protecting them from Karl Westin.
"Karl. Please. Please don't."
"What do you mean, Patti? I just want to see 'em. It's a father's right. Birthdays are special." His tone was belligerent and demanding, and his eyes a touch cruel as they slid over Logan. He smiled but his yellow teeth made it look more like a grimace.
"Karl, please. You promised." His mother pleaded but as usual his father ignored her.
"Get out of my way, woman. I'm here to see the kids."
Logan swallowed. Something was wrong. Father had said kids.
Mother stepped closer to him, blocking his way. And as Father drew his arm back, Logan could see what was going to happened before it happened. His hand, tense and hard, high in the air, his hand curving down in an arc, the muscles in his arm and neck tight with fury, the sound of his hand as it met Mother's cheek. Logan felt a heat grow behind his eyes. Like anger welling up inside him. He forced his mind away from the heat, and brought his attention back just in time to see Father backhand Mother so hard a streak of blood appeared on her upper lip. The impact threw her sideways and her hip smacked against the side of the table. She held onto it, shaking her head, dizzy from the blow.
Logan's fingers curled into a fist. And heat simmered in his palm. Logan hissed with fear but the sound was swallowed by a wave of voices in the diner.
People were getting to their feet, upset at his father's behavior. But Karl Westin didn't care that he had an audience. He glared coldly at his wife and said, "Stay out of my way, Patti. I did what I had to do. I needed the money and I ain't sorry."
"What have you done?" Mother hobbled to her feet and came closer to Logan's seat. She held out her hand and Logan took it grabbing on tightly. He scrambled out of the booth and stood at his mother's side. Her voice shook as she stood up to her husband. "You'd better leave this place, Karl."
"I ain't leaving without her. The deal is done."
Mother's fingers tightened around Logan's but he felt nothing. Nothing but the spasm of anger welling up through his body. What Father had said made him so very angry. He was scaring Mother. Threatening to take her? The thought made Logan sick to his stomach. Who?
But Logan couldn't think about that right now. All he could feel was the anger rising, the heat filling his body and his mind. He didn't hear the screams, didn't see the contorted faces. All he saw was his sneakers and the checkered tile floor of the diner.
All he could feel was the rise of heat in his body, the feeling that it would explode inside his head if he didn't get it out. And then he couldn't control it any longer.
He squeezed his mother's fingers shutting his eyes, gripping tight . Fear spun his mind is blazing circles. He gasped for breath and then he shut his eyes afraid of what he would see. Heat gusted around him, wind scorching the tips of his hair. When he dared to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was a patch of melted checkered-tiled floor around a pair of sneakered feet. Black scorch marks blossomed from the sneakers.
Logan struggled to breathe, sobbing as smoke singed his lungs. He lifted his head and the sight that greeted him, the carnage that surrounded him , stirred his gut and nausea rose. The image of a blackened restaurant marred his vision. His father stood before him, elbow lifted in front of his face.
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