Abel watched the procession from behind the apple tree. The socket around the right eye had turned an angry red and the eye itself, bigger and rounder than before, looked as if it was about to pop out of his face. In the distance, he heard the deep rumbling of thunder.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he swung around with a gasp.
“Sorry, I, ah, forgot your name,” Ms. O’Hara said. She offered a smile instead of her hand. He didn’t know where to hide his dirty face.
“Um, Abel. Abel Allen.” He put his hand out and immediately withdrew it realizing that not even Mother Theresa would shake it.
“I just wanted to thank you for preparing such a beautiful spot,” she said, looking out over the town. “My father would’ve loved it.”
Abel shrugged. “Well, I just dug the h—um, well, my pleasure, ma’am.”
She nodded. “I wanted to say thank you, anyway.”
Even though her eyes were tired, they were still radiant blue, and Abel willingly drowned in them.
“Lucy,” a tall man from among the crowd called. “We need to go.”
Ms. O’Hara opened her mouth as if she was about to say something more but then smiled instead.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. O’Hara,” Abel said. She turned around.
“Can you feel it, Abel?”
Abel frowned. “Can I feel what, ma’am?”
She stared at him, fixing him with sudden intensity.
“Evil, Abel. Evil.”
Abel swallowed but kept his mouth shut.
“Be careful, Abel. Be very careful. I’m not sure why yet. But something is wrong.”
She walked off, leaving him floating in the sweet scent of her perfume and the mysterious gravity of her words.
5.
Ink Stains, Volume I Page 7
