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panses of grass between the stones? This wasn't it. This was a place of indescribable loneliness. He shuddered. There was the reminiscent chill, and he momentarily reestablished contact with his fear-filled past. He had refused to kiss his grandfather and had been relegated to the dank, foul-smelling confines of the basement for three whole days. |
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Charlie shook his head as though the gesture might help him clear the memory from his troubled mind. Unconsciously, his fingers curled around the door handle, and he had a sudden, overwhelming feel that he would suffocate if he didn't get out of the car. He stepped into the chill of the dying twilight and looked around him. |
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"Funny," he muttered, not caring whether his brother understood or not, "I've known that this day would happen. I've pictured it, played it out in my mind, and now that it's happening, it isn't anything like I thought it would be." |
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The shadows of the long autumn night had started to creep across the landscape. He searched for something familiar, something that would tie him to his past and yet free him from it. A raw wind stirred the nearly naked branches of the twisted oaks, whipping the dried leaves into a swirling pile at his feet. When he moved, he could hear them fragment into countless tortured pieces. |
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