excerpt from prologue to mystery novel:

The intruder was in the foyer but could see the babysitter sitting on the sofa with her back to him. Most of the lights were out, save the dull one in the kitchen over the sink. Her face was glued to some movie on the tv. The child must be upstairs asleep by now. But he was prepared for anything. In his gloved left hand was a large kitchen knife he had grabbed on his way in from the laundry room. His spun the handle in his grip a few times to try to calm himself down. Getting in had been a cinch. It was a small miracle considering he didn't really have a plan for breaking in, although he had scoped the house for a few weeks. No dogs, poor street lighting and every Friday night the couple left the house with a dumpy looking babysitter, though she did have huge tits.

The latch on a side window had been unlocked, so all he had to do was pull out the screen, and pull himself through. “Easy peasy", he whispered to himself. Once inside the dark laundry room, smelling vaguely of fabric softener and cat pee, he was immediately worried that the babysitter could hear his labored breathing, and then his own heart beating, but he soon realized this fear was ridiculous. He had finally done it. He’d broken into a home with the occupants still inside. Up till now every house he’d been inside without permission had been empty. But the kick had worn off on that fairly quickly. He never stole anything, he just snooped around, enjoyed the time inside as long as he dared (longer and longer each time), and then slunk home to his parent’s house, either walking along the train tracks or on his bike if the trek was longer. This was his birthday present to himself tonight though. He had just turned seventeen. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy... here we go.

Earlier that evening Cindy Ballard arrived at the Lawrence’s to watch their daughter while they went on a date. The Lawrence’s had been married for ten years but they still ogled over each other and went on regular ‘date nights’ once a week, giggling and grabbing ass like stupid college sweethearts, playing bogus courting games. Cindy was a little embarrassed by these people but they payed well and the child, Mildred, was a quiet kid and gave her no trouble. And who was she to judge? Her parents had fought constantly, and got divorced when she was ten. Her mother was a miserable bitch and her father dead from liver disease. The Lawrence's were alright people, better than most. She could kick back on their leather sofa, drink a beer or two and watch cable tv. Listen to their vinyl collection. Sometimes she’d leave MTV on in the background and spend the whole evening chatting with her friend Sarah on the Lawrence’s fancy cordless phone. But tonight, after Mildred went to sleep, she wanted to try on some of Stephanie’s night gowns. She’d done it once before babysitting for another woman, but she hadn’t dared it again. She was both exhilarated and ashamed from doing it the first time. But several months had past, and nothing ever came of it, so the desire had crept back in. She’d decided to do it again. She was twenty-two and ‘a raving pervert’, she told her friend Sarah, the only other living soul who knew about her funny little kink. Sarah had said only, 'Well, I don’t see the harm. Just ask me though if you want to try on anything of mine.” And they both had laughed at that.

Just before leaving, Stephanie reached into her purse and snatch a fifty dollar bill and handed it to Cindy. “We’ll be a bit late tonight.. hope that’s okay. Here’s a little extra.” Cindy was stunned, but snatched the fifty like a little kid snatching a lollipop. “Not a problem, Mrs. Lawrence, and, thanks!” Stephanie patted her on the shoulder, smiled in a weird way, looked her up and down and turned toward the front door. Her husband was standing there in a faux-gallant pose, holding the door open for his lady. “After you, my dear.” Stephanie,eyes sparkling with goofy wit, looked over at Cindy and said, "Manners will get you everywhere." Cindy cringed a little inside, but remembered that lurid smile from Stephanie and felt a warmth grow in her crotch. Cindy had fantasized about being seduced by both Lawrences but nothing up to this point had ever given her reason to think anything was truly possible beyond that. Then she thought again about the woman’s lingerie collection, which she had noticed before was quite extensive. Tonight maybe she’d search a bit more and see what other secrets turned up. "

Too Far Down That Lonely Road

The mountain wind is never really coherent, especially when you want it to be, but he listened intently anyway, as if it might tell him something he didn’t already know about himself, about the way the world works. He stood just past tree line on Fenister’s pasture, the grass still low and winter brown, muddy in a few spots, some birds scrapping across the field looking for cold worms, finding none, then flying off eventually to that line of oaks shadowing the northern edge of Fenister’s land. Beyond the oak line the forest was nearly unbroken, save for a forest service road swirling invisible into the foothills, then on into the main Unaka range, way up to rime level, where the wind babbled even more violent and chaotic, wrapped now in gray towels of cloud, the peaks hidden from view.
     He walked on through the pasture toward the rust colored barn, bales of hay arcing the entrance like giant paleolithic tusks. He could hear the snorting of a couple of cows inside. The gambrel roof rose stark and uneven against the gray sky, but still the building looked as sturdy as it did when it was built by his great-grandfather in the 1930s. Maybe it was just something in his mood today, something dark in his bones. Coming home was never easy.
     Walking down the long graveled drive towards the sprawling white house, his blood went cold. He started shivering and hitched up his jacket. Perhaps it was the wind kicking up, but more likely it was the thought of seeing him after all these years. It wouldn’t be the questions asked, but the questions not asked, the blank expressions, the unwelcoming glint in his father’s eyes. And maybe all that was justified, but it made him cold and jittery all the same. Why was he even here? Just a primal instinct to return to his boyhood home, even though he only came back to Rainford’s Gully for another, far different, reason. It wasn’t like he was coming home for good. Only a short week. There was no point in seeing his father at all.

     Standing on the oblong screened porch before the front door, he wondered if Jaz was still around. Nah, he was in his sixties when he was still a teenager living here. After knocking several times, and waiting for what must have been a full five minutes, the door crept open. Door had that same ominous creak. And then a tall, gaunt and stooping old black man regarded him out of the depths of the inside dark. It was Jaz alright, wearing that same black frayed stetson, with maybe a few more holes than when he had previously seen it. The man refused to be called a 'butler’, demanded to be referred to as a 'Majordomo’. His father allowed Jaz to thrash him and his siblings if they ever spoke offhanded towards Jaz, and especially if they called him, 'butler’ which was an insult resulting in inquisition-type draconian punishments.
     “Well now, if it isn’t Master Raymond. Returned from whereabouts unknown...” A slow smirk resolved over his dark wrinkled face.
     “Majordomo. I’m happy you’re still with us.” Came across as flat and condescending, but how else could it have come across?
     “Ah yes sir. Your sister came by not 2 months ago, with little ones in tow. Have you had the pleasure? Delightful scoundrels. Reminds me a bit of you two in your prime...” Yet still blocking the way into the domicile with force of an eight year old man’s nearly preternatural presence.
     Raymond, winced, as if pierced by a sun mirage, “My father...” But that was all he could get out. A dry heave when a glut of predigested material seemed more appropriate.
     “Your pop is out back, at the stables. His old horse has been suffering from the strangles.. Whipping her ain’t going to do no good. She old. You should go see the old man. I assume you is here for that and not to set your eyes on my pearly whites again. The man has regrets, you know.”
     “Thank you Jaz. I’m glad you’re still around anyway. Maybe I’ll stop back by on my way out. You’re a good man.”
     “I am at that.” And then the door creaked closed again. Solid as any Christian man’s denial.

     He went out behind the house towards the stables. Underneath a cockeyed hickory tree his old man was beside a black quarterhorse laying on its side, a whip in hand. The black horse looked slick with sweat but otherwise didn’t move. His old man’s face was flush with anger, tears, and regret. He sat down on a tree stump and dropped with whip into the December dust. Overhead it was just another gray Tennessee December sky.
     He stood beside a small rock pond, no doubt built by his father, the burbling of cool water keeping his presence unnoticed. Or so he thought.. Not looking up from the horse, the old man spoke, “You picked a good day for this.” The words were laced with a flavor of spite he knew well. Raymond didn’t say anything, but walked a few steps closer. He watched the horse for a reaction rather than his father. The horse didn’t move, not even flinch. It wasn’t sleeping, that’s for sure.
     “This here is Sky Tripping. She’s won her fair share of barrel races. She’s only fifteen. Poor girl, too young to go.”
     Then suddenly the horse heaved and stirred up a bit of dust, remaining still once more. The horse was not quite dead yet. The heavy eyes leaked a purulent discharge so she probably couldn’t see much. But the poor thing’s ears flickered a bit, as if seeking out a promise. His father sighed and turned to reach for his rifle, which was leaning up against the stable door. “This isn’t going to be pretty. You might want to turn your head.”
     “Nothing you can do?”
     “Nothing.”

     Snow was now falling over the high terrain. You could see the light gray threads, different from rain, fanning down out of the clouds. The wind picked up. Front moving through apparently. There would be several inches lain down by morning on the highest ground, maybe a dusting down here in the narrow valleys. Won’t be the kind that clings to trees, too dry, he thought. He didn’t turn away, but kept his eyes on a pendulum between his father raising the rifle and the horse shimmering in the cold light. Declan aimed at the top of the head, beyond the nasal cavity, to make sure the bullet hit all brain. He’d put down his first horse when he was 12, and tried to get his own son to put one down around the same age, but Raymond couldn’t stomach it. Some boys were like that. But Ray had been his only boy. His daughter Judith had no issue, and put her first sick one down before she hit fourteen. Maybe that’s where their rift had started. Raymond still loved the horses, wanted to ride, be around them, groom them, but Declan made it a matter of principle to keep him away. That became Judith’s job.