A sprig of writing to keep you warm... Despite the Darkness #1

In keeping with my extremely flaky posting schedule I'm sharing the beginning of the story I'm working on. Despite the Darkness is my attempt at a Horror/Thriller which I've never done before. Its another story I have bits and pieces of in my head and thankfully my wife is kicking me out of the house once a week to help spur on my writing. I probably won't serialize it, but if you like it let me know and I might post more... maybe. 

Despite the Darkness

   The razor blade hovered just over skin, the blood just beginning to well up, the arm frozen for a moment, eyes locked on the dark red slowly running down his cheek.

  “We’re ready to go.”

  He didn’t move and the blood dripped onto his undershirt. She sighed and groaned in equal measure.

  “You’ll have to change. We’re going to be late.”

  “I’ll be just a minute.”

  She left, mumbling about taking care of things the night before. He staunched the bleeding with a piece of toilet paper and closed his eyes to avoid looking at the blood-shot eyes that looked back too closely. In his mind he saw a flash and heard the scream. He gripped the counter as it grew in intensity, his breathing becoming labored.

  “Dad?”

  Light crept in from the edges and breath slowly came more normally.

  “Yes, Isaiah,” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “I love you.”

  Eyes opened and those accusing eyes looked back despite the brightness of the vanity lights.

  “I’ll see you in the car.”

  “See you in the car, son.”

  He finished shaving, cutting himself twice more, but somehow persevering to the end. He’d missed several spots, his skin was raw, and the clean shave only accentuated the other disheveled aspects of his appearance. He rolled on his deodorant, brushed his teeth, and then went into the bedroom. His bag sat empty on the bed, a pile of clothes beside it. He tossed in underwear, tee-shirts, jeans, socks, a fleece, jacket, and his a dog eared book he’d been nursing for a good three months. Stopping just before he zipped up the bag his hand shook. The case on the top shelf in the closet beckoned to him… like it had the whole night and the long nights before.

  Jan hated that it was in the house and now its contents were in his hand before he realized he’d moved to pull it down and open it. The black metal was cool and the weight was calming in his hand. It wasn’t loaded but a handful of practiced movements could fix that. So they did.

  I love you. His hands passed the firearm from hand-to-hand, each feeling the heft and smoothness of the piece. It finally rested in his strong hand, his right hand… his shooting hand. I love you. The gun began to feel more and more foreign in his hand, its familiarity slipping like a veil. Treating it now less like an old friend and more like a dead rat, the gun went back into the case, and the lock was refastened. He zipped up the bag, changed his shirt, and then left the house. The case sat on the bed. I love you.