Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Suddenly, a shot rang out… The prey had been shot. Roman covered his ears as tears streamed down his face. It wasn’t the death of a man that Grandpa had problems with or tore him to pieces. It wasn’t the way Grandpa physically fought with his father in that big, scary forest. It was the look of sheer terror in Daddy’s young eyes. The look of distress if he let his father down. The look of wanting to make his dead mama proud. That was the moment that he knew his father, Reeves Wilde, would never be the same. Damaged goods. A fractured soul trying to get out of its contract with God. His father, right then, right there, became an alcoholic. He became an addict. He became a womanizer. He became anything and everything to dull the non-stop, pulsing pain. He became the dark side of his own moon, and his son-light faded away for good.
Grandpa patted young Reeves on the shoulder.
“Dat uh boy!” He chuckled loud and proud, then walked towards the man who lay on the forest floor of leaves and branches, clutching his chest. And then, the man stopped moving, his vacant gaze fixed on the sky. The awning of twigs that tickled the toes of Heaven offered an ominous cover, the twisted tree roots grounded to the gnarled fingers of demons in hell.
“Right in the heart, son! You got him good!” Grandpa was practically giddy.
Young Reeve’s body deflated like a balloon. He placed his gun down; let it slip from his hand as his father stood over the body. Moments later, Grandpa walked towards the camera, a huge grin on his face, and shut the video recorder off…
Roman got up and walked to his kitchen. He poured himself a large glass of beer and went back into the guestroom. By the time he sat down, the beer was half gone. He took a deep breath, then tore open the envelope, removing the tri-folded handwritten letter from his father.
My name is Reeves Justin Wilde. I’m almost 14 years old. Today I killed a man. I know I’m going to hell. Mama told me murder is a sin. My father recorded me killing this man on tape. I don’t know the man’s name. My father took me out to the woods to go hunting. I thought it was for elk. It wasn’t. I’m in my room listening to music while Daddy’s chef makes a big family dinner. He said I could have anything I wanted to eat, but I’m not hungry. I want to run away, but where to? People are scared of my Daddy. No one would take me in. I hate it here. He says I’m ungrateful, but he made me kill someone to prove that I love him, and that he can trust me. I felt like I had to do it! I’ve been crying all night in my room. I just want to be left alone. I want to disappear. I want to just die. He told me he needs to see if I’m loyal. I do love my daddy, but I hate him, too. I don’t know where that man is now, or what happened after I shot him. I just know that he’s dead. I don’t know where Daddy put the tape, or why he recorded that. I asked him, but he didn’t answer. I’m going to find that tape and hide it.
Daddy and I got in the truck and drove away. Daddy said that all boys go through this. It’s called an initiation. He said he had to do it when he was a child, too. He said it’s in the Bible, and that I’m to obey my parents. He quoted a scripture to prove it, but it doesn’t feel right. A lot of things don’t feel right. I miss my mama. I want my mama back.
Roman’s teeth clenched as he balled up the letter, his fist stiff, his head reeling. Then he quickly smoothed it out on his lap, his angry tears wetting the paper. He wanted to load one of his guns, drive out to Grandpa’s estate and shoot him dead. For all he’d done to their family, and for all the heinous crimes against others—past, present and future.
“He’s a freak of nature! He needs to be destroyed!”
And then, he remembered something his mother said a long time ago…
Roman, sometimes you have to become who you hate, just for a short while, to get in their head and predict their next move. That way, you can survive them when they decide that they hate you the most.
“I’ve got to stay logical, think clearly.”
He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, the VHS tape now showing nothing but black and white lines with static playing lightly in the background. His thoughts became a jumbled mess—heartbreaking confessions, making love to Genesis for the first and last time, falling asleep on his mother’s lap as a child when he had a horrible cold, playing fetch with Toby, watching a friend of his self-harm… blood trickling down his arm as he screamed, then manically laughed. Memories of killing a man and feeling nothing at all, one after another… the curse of death. Wilde blood was demise. Wilde blood was cursed with the kiss of Satan. He recalled sleeping in his cold car, and all of the plans he’d made for a way out. A betting man’s payday.