door.
Hank leaned against the doorjamb and appraised his little, sleeping peanut. He was sure Ellen would be proud of the bright young woman Amy had become despite what she has been through.
He just had to make sure he continued protecting her, that he kept those shields he erected around her fragile world from tumbling down and crushing everything she knew about life. About family. About the true nature of man. About his curse, a curse that could also be hers.
Amy groaned in her sleep. Her breathing accelerated at an alarming pace. Her face scrunched painfully. She groaned louder.
Hank was afraid she was about to have another one of her screaming fits. He stepped into the room, intent on waking her, but her features smoothed, her breathing softened.
Bemused, Hank towered over her and contemplated why she was having these night terrors again. It’s been years since the last batch. What was the problem now?
She’d never tell him, at least not truthfully.
But then again, Hank was never truthful with her. He was never truthful with anyone which in hindsight was the cause for all the ghosts that plagued his life.
Staring at his sleeping daughter, Hank sipped his coffee and thought about long buried secrets that continued to haunt him. About those unquiet bones refusing to rest.
He thought about an uncollected debt, a failed sacrifice, and a curse borne by a chosen few.
“You’ll never escape us,” said the snickering voice of his father. “We are you . Y ou are us. ”
And that was Hank’s greatest fear.
Chapter 28
Layne woke with a headache threatening to split his skull open with its merciless pounding. His mouth was bone dry; his naked body splattered in blood.
“Holy shit!” He stared down at himself in horror. His mind screamed: what happened?
The answer, however, was obvious— he released it: the thing that should not be.
Zero.
That was the name he had given to his darker half, the half of him void of anything civilized, the half that relished depraved acts of ultra-violence.
Zero.
After court-appointed therapy and medication, he thought he had conquered the problem. He thought he was cured.
He was wrong. The blood on his hands proved it.
“No.” From a bed of pine needles and rotten leaves, Layne scrambled to his feet.
“NO!”
He spun around scanning the woods for a sign of what he had done, but saw no clues. Panicking, he closed his eyes and searched his memory of last night for the answer. He drew a blank. “FUCK!”
Head pounding, heart racing, Layne ran.
Chapter 29
Alone, as he had been ever since the cancer took the life of his beautiful Jane, Richard Barrett did what he always did after Sunday morning mass at Saint Michael’s Catholic church. He visited his daughter in the adjoining cemetery.
The sky was full of fluffy white clouds floating past the sun like chariots from heaven as a gentle breeze whispered its secrets to the massive oaks providing shade to the buried dead.
With hands tucked in the pockets of his black trench coat, Richard cast his elongated shadow upon the ornate tombstone of Ellen Barrett Snow, beloved wife, mother and daughter.
His frown tightened. His heart ached from continued grief for all he had lost.
First Ellen.
Then Jane.
Now Amy.
Damn you, Hank Snow.
Richard’s grief grew cold and bitter.
You’ve torn my family apart one precious piece at a time. And now you’re keeping my granddaughter from me.
You’re the son of Satan himself!
Which was true.
From what he recently learned, Richard was certain Hank was part of a legion of redneck devils infesting the entire county.
Your whole family tree is poisoned, right down to the bastard root, and my poor daughter ate of its fatal fruit.
Hank turned her into every hillbilly, white trash cliché in the South, and snuffed her out when she dared to leave him.
If I could kill you, Hank, I would. For what you did to Ellen, I wouldn’t hesitate.
After reading a classified police
Hank leaned against the doorjamb and appraised his little, sleeping peanut. He was sure Ellen would be proud of the bright young woman Amy had become despite what she has been through.
He just had to make sure he continued protecting her, that he kept those shields he erected around her fragile world from tumbling down and crushing everything she knew about life. About family. About the true nature of man. About his curse, a curse that could also be hers.
Amy groaned in her sleep. Her breathing accelerated at an alarming pace. Her face scrunched painfully. She groaned louder.
Hank was afraid she was about to have another one of her screaming fits. He stepped into the room, intent on waking her, but her features smoothed, her breathing softened.
Bemused, Hank towered over her and contemplated why she was having these night terrors again. It’s been years since the last batch. What was the problem now?
She’d never tell him, at least not truthfully.
But then again, Hank was never truthful with her. He was never truthful with anyone which in hindsight was the cause for all the ghosts that plagued his life.
Staring at his sleeping daughter, Hank sipped his coffee and thought about long buried secrets that continued to haunt him. About those unquiet bones refusing to rest.
He thought about an uncollected debt, a failed sacrifice, and a curse borne by a chosen few.
“You’ll never escape us,” said the snickering voice of his father. “We are you . Y ou are us. ”
And that was Hank’s greatest fear.
Chapter 28
Layne woke with a headache threatening to split his skull open with its merciless pounding. His mouth was bone dry; his naked body splattered in blood.
“Holy shit!” He stared down at himself in horror. His mind screamed: what happened?
The answer, however, was obvious— he released it: the thing that should not be.
Zero.
That was the name he had given to his darker half, the half of him void of anything civilized, the half that relished depraved acts of ultra-violence.
Zero.
After court-appointed therapy and medication, he thought he had conquered the problem. He thought he was cured.
He was wrong. The blood on his hands proved it.
“No.” From a bed of pine needles and rotten leaves, Layne scrambled to his feet.
“NO!”
He spun around scanning the woods for a sign of what he had done, but saw no clues. Panicking, he closed his eyes and searched his memory of last night for the answer. He drew a blank. “FUCK!”
Head pounding, heart racing, Layne ran.
Chapter 29
Alone, as he had been ever since the cancer took the life of his beautiful Jane, Richard Barrett did what he always did after Sunday morning mass at Saint Michael’s Catholic church. He visited his daughter in the adjoining cemetery.
The sky was full of fluffy white clouds floating past the sun like chariots from heaven as a gentle breeze whispered its secrets to the massive oaks providing shade to the buried dead.
With hands tucked in the pockets of his black trench coat, Richard cast his elongated shadow upon the ornate tombstone of Ellen Barrett Snow, beloved wife, mother and daughter.
His frown tightened. His heart ached from continued grief for all he had lost.
First Ellen.
Then Jane.
Now Amy.
Damn you, Hank Snow.
Richard’s grief grew cold and bitter.
You’ve torn my family apart one precious piece at a time. And now you’re keeping my granddaughter from me.
You’re the son of Satan himself!
Which was true.
From what he recently learned, Richard was certain Hank was part of a legion of redneck devils infesting the entire county.
Your whole family tree is poisoned, right down to the bastard root, and my poor daughter ate of its fatal fruit.
Hank turned her into every hillbilly, white trash cliché in the South, and snuffed her out when she dared to leave him.
If I could kill you, Hank, I would. For what you did to Ellen, I wouldn’t hesitate.
After reading a classified police
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