He believed in Heaven and Hell and felt confident that his aunt was making her famous pancakes for the divine creator of the heavens and Earth at that very moment.
He just wasn’t sure whether he would get to see her wonderful new home. He suspected that his destination would be different.
He dug into the dry ground and pulled up a handful of loose soil. He let it slip from his grasp and be scattered by the wind. As the handful of earth was taken by the breeze, he could almost feel the fragility of his own life and of all life that existed on the planet. He knew that this was the way of the world: to be held by the hands of creation, live for only a second in the eyes of Father Time, be scattered to the wind, and then be returned to the ground.
~~*~~
The man in the dark shirt watched Marcus from a distance. He lowered his binoculars. Earlier, the observation of his quarry had almost elevated into interaction when he was sure that Marcus had sensed his presence.
A disturbing look had passed over the younger man’s face. He was sure that he had made little sound, if any, but somehow Marcus had known he was there. He had ceased his movements and remained still and invisible.
As he watched, he saw the same look in the young man’s eyes that he saw when he looked in the mirror at his own gaze.
He saw the soul of a predator and the instincts of a killer.
He consulted his watch. It was time to go. He had a feeling that the games would begin soon. And he would need to be ready.
CHAPTER 5
Marcus glanced at his watch, and the hour shocked him. He had spent the biggest part of the day in quiet contemplation, yet it had felt like only a few minutes. In all his life, he had never stopped to smell the roses, never taken the time to relax. He had the time to do so now, and the sensation was liberating.
He stood, dusted off his jeans, and continued his exploration. He crossed a large meadow filled with tall, brown grass and topped another hill. From the hill’s apex, he could see a farmhouse in the distance and felt relieved to learn that his neighbor was a lot closer than he had previously imagined. He had learned from Maggie that his only neighbor was a kind woman whose husband had died.
He tried to think of her name. Marsha…Marjorie…Maureen. Maureen Hill…that’s it .
The distance to the house blurred its details in his vision. It was white and two stories, but he could see little else. He checked his watch again. With prior engagements, he didn’t have time for a visit.
Oh well, I’m supposed to bring a fruitcake or something. Or is she supposed to bring me a fruitcake? What the hell is a fruitcake anyway? And who makes these rules? I’ll just bring her a basket full of Twinkies tomorrow.
He retraced his steps back home, cleaned himself up, and drove into his new hometown of Asherton.
~~*~~
The deputy knocked on the ornate oak door to the Sheriff’s office. “Come in,” a voice said from the other side.
The elegance of the Sheriff’s department shocked Marcus. The intricate woodwork, plush leather chairs, and soothing natural tones of the walls and decor seemed to be stolen from a New York law firm. It was not the kind of ambience he had expected to find at a local sheriff’s office. Then again, he’d never been in a local sheriff’s office, and television was his only frame of reference. He knew better than to believe everything he saw on TV.
He stepped into the office, and the deputy closed the door behind him. The Sheriff sat behind a beautiful mahogany desk, watching a film of some kind on a computer screen. The Sheriff didn’t turn to greet him. The older man seemed hypnotized. His interest piqued, he moved around the desk enough to see the screen.
As he rounded its corner, he scanned the top of the desk. The papers and files formed neat, tidy stacks. He noticed a file under one of the stacks with his name on it.
Great. Second day in town and they’ve already put together a file on me.
His
He just wasn’t sure whether he would get to see her wonderful new home. He suspected that his destination would be different.
He dug into the dry ground and pulled up a handful of loose soil. He let it slip from his grasp and be scattered by the wind. As the handful of earth was taken by the breeze, he could almost feel the fragility of his own life and of all life that existed on the planet. He knew that this was the way of the world: to be held by the hands of creation, live for only a second in the eyes of Father Time, be scattered to the wind, and then be returned to the ground.
~~*~~
The man in the dark shirt watched Marcus from a distance. He lowered his binoculars. Earlier, the observation of his quarry had almost elevated into interaction when he was sure that Marcus had sensed his presence.
A disturbing look had passed over the younger man’s face. He was sure that he had made little sound, if any, but somehow Marcus had known he was there. He had ceased his movements and remained still and invisible.
As he watched, he saw the same look in the young man’s eyes that he saw when he looked in the mirror at his own gaze.
He saw the soul of a predator and the instincts of a killer.
He consulted his watch. It was time to go. He had a feeling that the games would begin soon. And he would need to be ready.
CHAPTER 5
Marcus glanced at his watch, and the hour shocked him. He had spent the biggest part of the day in quiet contemplation, yet it had felt like only a few minutes. In all his life, he had never stopped to smell the roses, never taken the time to relax. He had the time to do so now, and the sensation was liberating.
He stood, dusted off his jeans, and continued his exploration. He crossed a large meadow filled with tall, brown grass and topped another hill. From the hill’s apex, he could see a farmhouse in the distance and felt relieved to learn that his neighbor was a lot closer than he had previously imagined. He had learned from Maggie that his only neighbor was a kind woman whose husband had died.
He tried to think of her name. Marsha…Marjorie…Maureen. Maureen Hill…that’s it .
The distance to the house blurred its details in his vision. It was white and two stories, but he could see little else. He checked his watch again. With prior engagements, he didn’t have time for a visit.
Oh well, I’m supposed to bring a fruitcake or something. Or is she supposed to bring me a fruitcake? What the hell is a fruitcake anyway? And who makes these rules? I’ll just bring her a basket full of Twinkies tomorrow.
He retraced his steps back home, cleaned himself up, and drove into his new hometown of Asherton.
~~*~~
The deputy knocked on the ornate oak door to the Sheriff’s office. “Come in,” a voice said from the other side.
The elegance of the Sheriff’s department shocked Marcus. The intricate woodwork, plush leather chairs, and soothing natural tones of the walls and decor seemed to be stolen from a New York law firm. It was not the kind of ambience he had expected to find at a local sheriff’s office. Then again, he’d never been in a local sheriff’s office, and television was his only frame of reference. He knew better than to believe everything he saw on TV.
He stepped into the office, and the deputy closed the door behind him. The Sheriff sat behind a beautiful mahogany desk, watching a film of some kind on a computer screen. The Sheriff didn’t turn to greet him. The older man seemed hypnotized. His interest piqued, he moved around the desk enough to see the screen.
As he rounded its corner, he scanned the top of the desk. The papers and files formed neat, tidy stacks. He noticed a file under one of the stacks with his name on it.
Great. Second day in town and they’ve already put together a file on me.
His
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