The Devil's Dream: Book One

by David Beers

  Was that the worst part? Not Brand necessarily, but that Brand had been right. That his theory was possible the entire time and on the day he succeeded, Jeffrey took it all from him. That Jeffrey took his son's life just as he was born. Everyone in the warehouse had heard it, every cop he interviewed said the same words came from that glass box. Dad? What's going on? And then whatever spark was inside there, whatever mind had formed, ended. Years and years of work for that voice, and Jeffrey allowed it all to explode.

  He was sinking away from humanity, away from anyone but Angeline.

  Jeffrey stood from his chair and looked down at her. She didn't move, must have been sleeping. He would wake her up if he thought she was going to burn, but for now her dark skin could handle it.

  He took his drink with him, walking barefoot into his house. The conditioned air met him immediately, hardening his nipples from the chill of the room. He grabbed a towel that he'd thrown on the couch before heading out and wrapped it around him.

  He walked through the kitchen, heading towards his office, ready to find a shrink's number somewhere in Southern California, tired of fighting these feelings. He had to tell someone. Just like the alcohol—this was for himself and Angeline, because if he sank deeper she wouldn't be able to handle it. She loved him even though she kept the word to herself too, not wanting to say it until he decided it was time, but how long could she handle living like a hermit? No. He had to tell someone. He had to get this out and see if he could fix whatever was broke inside him.

  Four feet from the foyer, Jeffrey stopped. His heart notched up about a thousand beats per minute and the skin across his body tightened, causing his hair to stand. His mouth dropped a bit but he didn't turn around. The kitchen was silent but he'd seen something. It had been in the corner of his eye, almost missing it because he was concentrating on the shrink, but if he turned around now it would still be there. If he went forward, acting like he saw nothing, it would still be there. If he walked out the front door, got in his car and drove away, it would still be there. His eyes hadn't lied to him.

  Jeffrey closed his mouth and wiped his hands on his shorts.

  Maybe this was the psychiatry he needed.

  He turned around and sitting at the kitchen table, sun shining in from the window, were the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

  David Beers lives in Florida with a beautiful woman and a stubborn dog.

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