The Darkness of Bones

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Authors: Sam Millar
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against his skull, her fingers probing. “Doubt can destroy us. It is our enemy banging on the door. Are you going to let our enemy in?”
    “No …” Jeremiah winced with pain. Her fingers were hot needles.
    “Doubt is still there. I can smell it,
taste
it in my mouth.” Her voice became harsh, and her fingers probed deeper. Jeremiah felt them worm their way into his brain. The pain was unbearable and lovely.
    “No, there is no doubt,” he finally managed to say.
    Facing him, she eased his chin up, staring directly into his eyes. “I have a plan, and for that plan to succeed, you must be strong—not weak. Are you strong, Jeremiah?”
    The harshness in her voice wasn’t untypical, but this time it possessed a kernel of gentleness.
    “What kind of a plan? What is it you want me to do? You know I’m not as strong as you—no one is.”
    “Do you love me?” Gently, Judith kissed him. He felt his lips burn when she pulled away.
    “You know I love you. More than anything on this earth.” He reached and touched her hand. “But what is the plan? What can I possibly do?”
    For the next minute, Jeremiah’s voice rose in halting queries, while Judith’s voice, calm but urgent, flowed insistently over and around his sharp questions, wearing down his objections.Finally, he succumbed.
    “Okay,” he sighed. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”
    “Whatever?”
    Jeremiah nodded. “Yes. Whatever.”
    “Good,” she whispered. “Now, listen carefully …”

Chapter Sixteen
    “There are no whole truths; all truths are half-truths.

It is trying to treat them as whole truths that plays the devil.”
    Alfred North Whitehead,
Dialogues
    H E UNDERSTOOD NOW that not only had it been wrong not to tell his father about the bone, it had also been dangerously wrong. He should have told of his suspicions, no matter how ridiculous they may have seemed at the time.
    It was the photo in the library the previous morning that had finally brought him to his senses: the photo of the doll.
    Still, despite the resolve to tell his father, anger in his stomach still persisted. After seeing him with that horrible woman, a couple of days ago, Adrian had wanted to do something terrible to her. Did she think she could take the place of his mother? If she did, she was as stupid as she was ugly.
    “Adrian?” Jack’s voice called from the living room. “Is that you?”
    “I’m getting a bite to eat,” replied Adrian, making a beeline for the strawberry jam and bread on the kitchen table. He already had his case prepared. Once his father heard—and
saw
—the facts, well, then he would have little choice other than to investigate. His father would solve this, just like he hadnumerous other cases. The police force would want him back again. Better: they would
beg
him to come back, and his father would get rid of that woman. They would be a family again.
    “I need to talk to you, son,” said Jack, appearing at the kitchen door.
    Almost dropping the jam jar, Adrian quickly regained his composure. The picture in the library had spooked him, a little, but it was the sound of his father’s voice that unnerved him the most. It was extremely solemn.
    The bone. He’s found the bone. He’s pissed off at me. I should have told him when I had the chance. Now he’ll not want to listen. He’ll never trust me again.
    “Look, Dad, I was going to tell you. It was just that—”
    “We need to talk, in the living room.” Jack turned and left.
    Shit! He is so pissed at me.
    Wearily, Adrian followed Jack into the living room, prepared for a good telling off.
    “Dad, if you just let me explain. It’s not as bad as you think. I was only—”
    “Let me talk. Please. I need to say this.”
    Obediently, Adrian sat down opposite Jack on the sofa.
    “I’m sorry, for the other night, what you saw,” said Jack, his voice slightly edgy.
    “The red light
wasn’t
on,” insisted Adrian. “I would have knocked.”
    “I know. I shouldn’t have shouted

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