Despite the Darkness #7

“What was that?” “I don’t know!” “Stu?! What was that?”
They were all talking at once, so he let them blather while he tried in vain to follow the beast in the inky darkness.

“What was that?” It was Stu, his voice cutting off the panicked chattering of his peers. Stu took ahold of his arm and forced him to look back at him. “What was that,” he asked again.

“You don’t know Stu.” The voice was a powerful baritone and it came from somewhere in the woods where the thing had retreated back to. Stu’s eyes went wide with fear. “Haven’t you known that this day would come? It’s your retribution… all of your retributions.” A man stepped out from the trees. He wore a black duster and a wide brimmed hat.

“Brady?” It was a whisper, carried from one mouth to the other.

“Some respect… Father is the appropriate title.” The man took several steps forward. Stu raised his rifle and the rest followed suit. “You think those will be able to stop me?”

“You’re no Father! You’re a murderer and awaiting your day in Walla Walla.”

“Tisk. Tisk. You had to know that wasn’t how this was going to work out. You don’t get to do what you did and not have your sins find you out… you and your brother.” The man’s smile was confident, while his eyes burned with malice.

Stu looked ready to pull the trigger, but Steve put his hand on the barrel and forced it down. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing,” he asked again.

“Justice. Now get out of my way.”

The golden light flashed again as the man passed his hand along an invisible wall. Looking at it now he could see what looked like golden blocks.

“Impressive.” He pressed against it, the wall not yielding to his full weight. “Very impressive. Although it will profit you very little. There is always a chink in the armor and this can’t last forever. I have time, Stu.” The man turned his back and started back towards the woods. “Besides, she’s already inside.”

Stu forced his rifle barrel up and took aim at the retreating figure. Everyone’s attention was drawn to a flurry of lights some distance to the left and when they looked back the man Brady was gone.

“Stu… Stu... what are we going to do?”

Stu’s jaw worked and his eyes seemed to weighing two great calculations, finally he turned to Steve. “You’re going to tell me how you knew about…” he searched for the words.

“The wall,” he offered weakly.

“The wall.”

“Because I’m the one who did it… well I’m the one who walked it.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense, friend. Grab him.” Strong hands took ahold of him and started him off towards the Dambuster.

“What did he mean by she’s already inside,” Stu asked taking his arm from the other man and shaking him a bit.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not going to cut it.” Stu followed his gaze back towards the haus where Jan and Isaiah were standing clutching each other in the door frame. “Get those two over here,” Stu barked.

“They don’t have anything to do with this.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Things weren’t going crazy until you showed up.”

Jan and Isaiah were trundled over, joining the crowd now in front of the Dambuster. The men’s nerves were frayed as gun barrels swung in the direction of every sound real or imagined. Stu grab ahold of his arm and started to drag him away from the group.

“Keep them there. We’re going to have a little chat.” Stu released his arm roughly once they were out of eaves dropping distance. “I know who you are.”

“OK.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know what you want to hear.”

“I want to hear how a baby killer shows up and the next thing the devil himself is walking in the woods. I want to hear how you knew. I want to hear what YOU are going to do about it.” Stu’s rifle was used as a pointer swinging from the woods beyond back to his chest.

“I’ve got nothing to do with this… they have nothing to do with this,” he pointed to his wife and son hidden in the middle of scared, armed men. “I don’t know who that man is, but you do.”

“Pastor Brady, he and his wife lived up here during the summers. He’d preach at all the little towns and camps around here. One day he snapped and killed a bunch’a folks. He should be at Walla Walla hanging from his neck!”

“Sounds to me like this has more to do with you than me.”

“What in the world is going on out here?!” They all turned up to look at the cook who had just stepped out of the Dambuster to eye them all with bewilderment.

“Put a pot of coffee on Heath, we’re pulling an all-nighter,” Stu ordered.

“K, K, you gonna tell me why?”

“Just put on the pot Heath!”

“Hey where’s Lola,” one of the men asked, he held a double barreled 12-guage in shaking hands. “He said she was already inside right? What if its Lola?”

“That is the dumbest thing…”

“Lola?” Heath asked with a puzzled look.

“Yeah where is she?”

“She’s washing dishes in back,” Heath offered.

“Get her out here!”

“K, K…” Heath started back.

There was the creaking of wood and then a loud crash. At the same time all the lights in the Dambuster flashed, sparked, and then went out. “Hey?!”

Heath seemed to fall through the door way, his feet dangling outside on the porch. “Heath?”

Heath started to scream and thrash.

“HEATH!”

The man with the double barreled shotgun fired both barrels into the doorway and was quickly followed by his compatriots. Rounds ate away at the door frame; the sound of further damage inside only spurred the shooters on further. Heath had stopped moving.

“Stop shooting! Stop Shooting!” Stu ran amongst the men and swatted their guns down. “Stop shooting you idiots!”

“Its Lola!”

Or is it? DUN! DUN! DUN!

Despite the Darkness #6

They completed the circuit around the town, he realized later that they had walked right up to the start of Isaiah’s trail creating an unbroken loop; of course he didn’t realize at the time because Jan was barreling towards them.

“Isaiah!” A part of him shrunk when he noticed she didn’t bother to say his name.

“I caught up with him on the backside of the buildings there.”

“What were you thinking? Its freezing and its dark,” she smothered her son in a tight embrace and then started him towards the haus. “This is not alright.”

He fell back a step and let the two of them go ahead. He was now coldest he’d ever felt, far worse than the time the “igloo” he and his brother had built had collapsed. He’d been trapped in snow while his brother ran for help. Now, the chill came from the inside not the outside. He looked off into the dark treeline. How easy…

There was a howl, close… very close. Another answered but in the opposite direction. The townspeople were starting to file out of the Dambuster, slapping each other’s backs and staggering in a few different directions. One brushed off the windshield of a Dodge Dart.

“Hey! Next time Pete just record the good parts!” Stu barked from the steps.

“There’d have to be good parts to record!” The assembled throng laughed loudly and without reservation.

“They ain’t never gonna be any good.”

“Ain’t winning a Super Bowl, that’s for sure.” Another bout of laughter.

Pete jumped in his car, started it up, and threw it in reverse.

“Bye, Pete,” they all said in unison.

The Dart started down the road, blazing its own trail through the fresh snow. Everyone had turned to go their separate ways. A loud snap caught their attention and they quickly looked back. A tree fell across the roadway right in front of Pete’s car, both blocking the road and crushing the front of the Dart. The horn wailed in the quiet night.

“Pete!” Even Jan was looking back to see what the commotion was. He was already running towards the crash, cutting across a field, while the others stood dumb struck. The horn stopped and a bloodied Pete forced his way out of the car. There was a noise, a mix between a growl and a laugh, so close that it raised every hair on his body and it seemed Pete had a similar reaction because he was looking around wildly for the source.

He was about thirty yards from the wreck when he saw a dark shape leap out from the trees, bound into the roadway, grab ahold of Pete, and then drag him screaming into the woods. He slid to a stop. The act had happened so quickly it was impossible for his mind to make sense of any of it. Pete’s scream were loud and insistent – then there was a snap and the screams stopped. A howl erupted from the woods and the scream started in his own mind; the scream was now a mix of the first and now Pete’s.

“Oh… my…" The man crossed himself.

The half dozen men finally awoke from their stupor; Stu grabbed the collar of the man closest to him and barked something about “guns”. The man ran off to a building past the Dambuster.

“Steve!” Jan’s voice broke, but the commanding tone was still clear. The men were arming themselves now, a mixture of shotguns and scoped rifles landing in ready hands. He looked from them to Jan and then back into the woods. Everything was moving slowly now; a part of his mind nagging him that he was missing something. He looked down and his breath caught.

Stu was leading the pack, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the point in the woods where they all thought Pete surely was – he didn’t even notice the man standing stone still until his arm came up to block his path.

“What?!” Stu’s breath was pregnant with the smell of alcohol.

“You can’t go out there.”

“Who are you to stop me?!”

“You have to trust me. You can’t cross the trail there.”

Stu and the rest gave him a mixture of incredulous and bewildered looks. “The fu…”

Three senses were flooded simultaneously. First there was a bright golden light that blinded everyone huddled around the two men. There was also the sense that a great force had just crashed into a granite mountain face. Finally, there was a powerful growl that died out suddenly in a whelp. Three men fell back into the snow from the shock and everyone else jumped.

Struggling to look through the bright spots still blurring his vision, he tried to spy what it was that had caused all the commotion. There was a bright golden light that dimmed and then flashed back to life, again and again. It started low and then went upwards, then to the left, and then low to the right, just a few feet from where they all stood. Eyes adjusted to the explosions of light and they all started to catch glimpses of what was causing the ferocious thrashing. It was still too dark, even with the flashes of light, to see anything with definition, but it appeared to be as large as a man and covered in course hair. He thought he spied claws during one swipe.

The attacks stopped just as suddenly as they had begun and the shape disappeared back into the darkness of the woods.

So I had a hard time with this part for kind of an interesting reason - swearing. You see before I posted this I had a little more colorful terminology for the guys to say, but that was really bothering me. Anyone that knows me, knows I don't swear (mostly), so its not really something I'm comfortable with or want to encourage. Course big tough guy Stu would have no such problem. So how do you reconcile that? I sought out the advice of another writer (Marcus Brotherton) and he gave me a few things to think about. One take away was that swearing can be an easy out, lazy even. I'm still thinking about it, but that one take away has got me writing differently later in the story, so when posting this I changed this section to hopefully reflect my current thinking. And if you are wondering about, "The fu..." that just from the Sound of Music... you know Doh, Ray, Me, Fu, So, La, Te, Doh... isn't that how it goes?

Despite the Darkness #5

Continues immediately after his dream...

He shot up in bed. Jan had long ago learned to cope with the suddenness of her partner waking in bed and simply turned over with a groggy curse exiting her lips. The feeling of warmth and comfort was suddenly stolen from him by a breeze of frozen air. He searched the room for an open door or window… none were. He got up and went into the front of the haus. Immediately he saw the front door wide open. Then a quick look to Isaiah’s bed chilled him more than any breeze could – it was empty, the covers thrown off. A vice was spun tight around his heart and his lungs longed for a breath that refused to come. The door frame opened up to a halogen lit blanket of snow that was pristine in nearly every direction. He gripped the door jam and leaned out, spying a series of footsteps that went down the stairs and then turned left.

He held back the urge to shout his name, it’d wake Jan and this would be his fault somehow. Instead he slipped back into the bedroom and from years of practice working early mornings he dressed in the dark. Jan shifted once when he stubbed his toe looking for his shoe. She rose up a bit and gave a low growl.

“Isaiah’s outside,” he said hastily. He was out the door and outside before he could hear her ask groggily for him to repeat himself.

The moon was at its zenith and the clouds seemed to content to part and let it shine down on the world below. The tracks led away from the cabin and then turned at the tree line that started at the end of the play field. Beyond in the darkness a creek bubbled cheerfully. The footsteps came to a large depression of snow. It looked like Isaiah had knelt down and then his trail continued. He started to follow but a second set of prints caught his eyes and he stopped so suddenly he slipped. In a fall worthy of the Keystone Coppers, he fell backwards into the snow.

“Isaiah,” he yelled, mixing call and curse.  He then got up and took a moment to brush himself and then find undisturbed tracks, he wondered what it was that was now walking beside Isaiah. The prints were small and at the base of them was a hoof. A goat? Pig? Sheep? A touch of warmth surprised him at that final thought and a soft bleat further ahead flushed him with adrenaline. His training kicked in and instead of freezing, he bottled the flush of energy up, pushed any conscious thought off to the side and instead focused on the trail. He started slowly but was soon haphazardly sprinting alongside the trail. The tracks curved with the woods which now turned back towards the buildings and then across a wide treeless gap that must have been the service road up to the dam. He heard a soft bleat across the way, this time in the trees as they grew closer in on this side of town.

He spied Isaiah trudging through the snow, blazing a trail beside a white lamb that effortlessly traveled over the snow. “Isaiah,” he called and the boy turned around. He was smiling broadly until he saw his father’s stern face. He took a hold of Isaiah’s shoulders, partly to make sure he was real and partly to hold him in place. “What in the world are you doing out here?”

“I had a dream dad.”

I had a dream dad, the words echoed and seemed to call back to a distant memory. He brushed snow out of his son’s hair and tried to soften his countenance, trying to find the right mix between disappointment and love.

“Your mother is going to kill us, let’s go.”

“We have to follow him dad,” he motioned towards the waiting lamb who eyed both of us politely. “The wall, dad.”

“The wall?” His dream nagged at him.

“We have to keep going.” He turned to move closer to the lamb but a hand stopped his progress.

“What did you see in your dream Isaiah?”

“There was a man standing in front of a door, he was painting it with blood. Then there was a man walking around a city.”

“Then a man in a boat,” he offered, but Isaiah looked confused. “You didn’t see that?”

“No.”

He held still. There were two thoughts fighting for supremacy; one took the form of his wife you glared back at him, cutting him with her gaze; the other was the lamb who simply looked back at him.

“Listen Isaiah, when I was your age I had strange dreams too, o.k.? I thought they were real, but I had to grow up.” The wind swept between them and he noticed the thin layers he was wearing were not enough to keep out the wind. “Your mom is going to be worried sick about you, ok? We need to go back, let’s go.”

Isaiah now seemed to struggle with his own thoughts. His eyes were downcast and his breaths came slowly. “The man painting his doorway with blood was great grandpa…”

“Isaiah…” He took a step away from his son, time slowed and a well of emotions suddenly strained against their restraints, “…how would you know that?”

“He was making his home safe. The man walking the wall is you; you’re making this place safe.” Isaiah spoke in a far-off voice that was sure and absolute.

I had a dream dad. The two thoughts were wrestling for control of not just his mind but his heart as well now. The first was large and powerful, hidden in shadow, but he could see well enough that it was his father. The other was a smaller man whose eyes were bright and looking back intently even as he dodged and paired the attacks of the other. There was a howl somewhere off in the woods. It lingered in the cold, crisp air but his mind grasped onto it and it changed into the scream. He closed his eyes and the world became pitch black and bitterly cold.

He jumped suddenly, a wet nose nuzzling his hand. Through the trees he could see the backside of the buildings, they were on the other side of town and going forward was the same as going backwards.

“Come on… we need to get back.” He then started forward.

I don't know Isaiah's "The man walking the wall is you; you’re making this place safe." feels heavy handed or forced - but he's also kind a weird kid. Thanks for reading Russian Bot Net and the rest of you.

Despite the Darkness #4 - The Dreamer has awakened...

The story continues and we begin to get a glimpse of something...

He found himself alone in the bathroom again, the image of a guilty man staring back at him. Even when he dropped his own gaze, the accusatory eyes bore down on him and the scream started to build in intensity. A wolf howled off in the distance, matching pitch with the terrible scream.

Then he felt something tough his hand. The touch was soft but it sent a jolt through his body. Jolted, he searched the whole room with his eyes, seeing no one, he then stepped out of the bathroom but both Jan and Isaiah were lying in their beds. He was suddenly very uneasy and was about to go back into the bathroom when Isaiah called to him, “Dad?”

“Yeah Izai?”

“Did you hear the wolf?”

“I did, you scared?”

“A little.”

“It’ll be o.k., we’re inside and the sooner we get to sleep the sooner it’ll be morning. You’re safe.”

“You are dad, you’re safe.” The boy said it with enough certainty that it caught his breath.

“Uh… thanks Izai.” He searched for something else to say, but instead settled on giving his son a kiss on the head and patting his shoulder. “Sleep.”

He slid under the covers and brushed his wife’s leg. She moved it away.

“Night,” he said lamely and waited for a response. None came.

He turned the light out and they were now separated by darkness too.

At first there was a doorway. It was roughhewn timber set into mud daubed walls. A sheep waited patiently at his side. He stooped to its level, gave it a gentle pet, and looked at it with admiration.

The blood applied poorly to course surface. The brush had to be applied several times to fully cover. The dark red dripped from the lintel and pooled on the ground.

The walls were only a few foot high in this section, but just up ahead they were raised much higher. He ran his fingers across freshly cut stone, expertly crafted to offer no handhold or seam. The sun cast golden rays across the white stone.

Seven times he walked around it, as darkness fell, his hand on the wall, leaving only at the gates.

The boat rocked in the gentle waves of the sea. The coastline was wilderness except for a small beach where a campfire burned. Before the boat could ground against the sand he fell into the water and stumbled towards land. Fish cooked over the hungry flames.

A white lamb rested beside the fire; it locked eyes with him.

I don't remember of I mentioned that this story is a horror story with a strong supernatural bent to it, but its a horror story with a strong supernatural bent to it. Dreams are a pretty powerful way for the supernatural to connect to the natural, so they factor quite a bit in this story. I was striving to write a dream sequence that can easily be forgettable but have that lingering foreboding a good prophetic dream seems to have. I tried to emulate Biblical dreams like those Joseph and Daniel interpreted; seemingly innocuous with simple iconography but troubling to the dreamer because of its deeper meaning. I wonder who has similar dreams in this story? Hmmm.... Let me know what you think of my dream and of course please share.

I'm in a coffee house and I just spilled my words... Despite the Darkness #3

...I should probably get a rag. The story continues, unless you just started reading - in which case the story started elsewhere and you need to catch up.

They traveled back down the pass, more slowly now that the road was thoroughly covered with snow. The sign for Canyon Creek was miraculously not hidden by snow as he feared it would be, so they were able to turn up the narrow road leading off into the hillside. 

The single lane track that meandered its way alongside Canyon Creek the creek to Canyon Creek the town was covered by a layer of snow that looked to have been freshly plowed yet tree boughs hung low and dropped their snowy payloads as the van brushed against them. Jan’s teeth were on edge anytime they scrapped past another branch that’s wooden finger scratched the length of their silver van.

“You’re scratching the car,” she offered after a multi-fingered attack had no doubt peeled all the paint from the left side.

He was about to retort when the lights of Canyon Creek (the town) came into view. It was a mixture of single story buildings of either cinderblocks or logs lining the left-hand side; while the right-hand side was two or three chalet style homes built around an open field with baseball backstop. The lights were on in most of the buildings, but they shone the brightest in what the signed heralded as The Dambuster. He parked and the three got out, stretching sore legs. He led them inside and they were instantly greeted with a loud “CLOSE THE DOOR!” from the entirety of the room’s occupants who were intently transfixed on the screen against the far wall. Dave Kreig was taking a snap from the center in what looked like the first quarter of the game. They were already trailing.

“Lola! Guest,” barked a voice from the back, only a white hat, dark eyes, and moustache visible through the window to the kitchen. Lola, a skinny young girl in her twenties got up from the table where the occupants were clearly saddened to lose her company.

“Welcome to The Dambuster, sit wherever you like.”

“Where’s the restroom,” Jan asked and was directed to a dark hallway past the kitchen.

“I’m guessing you tried going over the pass.”

“You’d guess right.” He smiled and took the offered menu. “The officer at the roadblock said we might be able to find a place to stay the night here.”

“I’ll have Stu come over and give you the rates. You might not want to stay after hearing how much it’ll cost you.” She laughed and it filled that little corner of the room with some much needed light.

“I’m sure.” He looked at the game and cocked his brow. “Didn't they already play this game?”

“Oh sure, but we don’t get reception up here so Pete has to record it and then drive it up. You’re not going to spoil the score are you,” she said with a mischievous smile and twinkle in her eye.

“No ma’am.” He raised his hands in false surrender.

“You let me know when you’re ready to order, o.k.?”

The girl turned and walked slowly back to the gathered throng. He watched her go, appreciating her “uniform” and the way it accentuated her figure, and then turned back; his son’s eyes were watching him closely. He cleared his throat and looked down at his menu.

Jan returned and the three ordered their dinner, which they then ate in silence. Lola’s reception was much more tepid now so she didn’t come by often. Instead the man named Stu came over during the second quarter and offered them one of the vacation Hauser he owned and operated. He took them across the street to the second haus from the main street, mentioning it would be quieter for them to be away from The Dambuster – Jan agreed as she eyed the faux Bavarian façade in the dim moonlight. The three settled in, prepared their sleeping areas, and went through their nightly routines.

I'd like to dedicate the Seahawks reference to my mother. whose long suffering was finally rewarded last year. As always I'd love feedback and if you would share with your friends - they might like a story about some people going to a bar.

Tis the season of giving, I brought you some words... Despite the Darkness #2

I'm feeling generous I guess. Here is the next bit of the story I'm working on. Please comment and share. I dedicate this section to the WB7EPL, WB7DSA, WB7BAC, and family vacations; without which I would probably not feel such childish wonder along Highway 20 as I do every time I pass over it.

Despite the Darkness

The drive was done in the relative silence of a car traveling at high speeds on the highway with Oldies playing over the stereo and the people inside not talking to each other. The snow was growing thicker on the ground as they moved further into the hills. The landscape changed suddenly when they turned a corner; what were once gently sloped hills turned into a steep sloped ravine blanketed in deep white. The road was clear of traffic in both directions, so they were the only ones traveling up into the mountains in the slush.

“We should have taken Highway 2.”

“This is a straight shot to Mom’s.”

“It’s going to be closed.”

“There aren’t any signs and I checked the DOT hotline before we left.”

“Uh huh.”

He sulked in the driver’s seat while Jan sulked in the passenger’s. The Beach Boy’s Good Vibrations came to a climax and the DJ cut to the local news.

“A string of disappearances in the North Cascades have authorities baffled; Skagit Sherriff’s Deputy Malcom Mead and a Forestry Ranger Amanda Muir didn’t come home two nights ago from their patrols along Highway 20, leaving no clues as to their whereabouts. Listeners are encouraged to call the Skagit County Sherriff’s Office with any information on their disappearance. Meanwhile, the Seattle Police Dep…”

He turned the radio off with a stab of his finger, ignoring the look from his wife. Snowflakes began to fall in earnest; big, wet ones that started to cover the whole road and the windshield.

“We’ll make it,” he said as much to himself as to his wife. The wipers were turned from intermediate to full shortly after. The sun was now set and visibility was cut down by the heavy snowfall.

They had passed the Ross Lake Dam and were almost to Washington Pass when even Isaiah way in the back could see the amber lights flashing ahead. He gripped the steering wheel, girding himself for the inevitable “I told you so.”

“Huh.” There it was.

He slowed down as the scene became clearer - a huge excavator was desperately fighting a shifting, sliding section of hillside that had come down onto the road. Boulders and huge evergreen trees were mixed with mud and snow to cover the whole road. A police car’s lights, parked back from the accident, came on as further reminder that the van should stop.

The Sherriff’s Deputy reluctantly got out of his warm vehicle to personally stop the van’s forward progress.

“Did you miss the road closed sign?”

“Didn’t see one and I checked before we left.”

The deputy sighed. “They said they had it up and would announce it on the radio…“ He shook his head like a man shakes out cobwebs, “Not your problem. This slide’s going to close the pass at least until morning; you folks will need to turn around.”

“We need to eat Steve.” It was less a comment and more a command.

“You passed a little town a few miles back, it’s a company town, but they have a bar and some cabins you can rent if you’d rather stay the night.”

“Canyon Creek?”

“Yeah, they don’t get many visitors.” The deputy smiled crookedly.

“Thank you, we’ll head there.”

“Drive safe.”

The window went back up and the van turned around.

“We should go home and go Highway 2 in the morning.”

“You wanted to eat.”

“Not at some bar!”

“Where are we supposed to go Jan? You’re the one who’s hungry.”

“Dad, I think we should go to Canyon Creek.” Isaiah’s small voice from the back stopped his mother’s retort.

“Honey, we can make it down to a nicer place in just a little bit, o.k.?” She projected back to her son in that pleasant compromising voice, that really meant no compromise.

“No… we won’t.” Isaiah’s voice drifted off and he looked out into the dark woods that were passing by.

“I need to at least stretch my legs and go to the bathroom.”

“Fine.”

Questions? Comments? Bribes?

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.