Chapter 11 - The Bitter Medicine
Mark shoved Jax away, sending the older biker stumbling against the wooden cellar posts. ""Liar! I loved her! I took care of her!""
""Then why is she so cold?"" Jax spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ""Why hasn't she eaten in three days? Why did the boy have to tell you to be quiet?""
Mark's mind spun in agonizing circles. The fragments of two different realities tore at his consciousness. Was he the bearded young dad in the gray t-shirt, watching Sunday football while his toddler played on the rug? Or was he the runaway biker who returned twenty years too late, finding nothing but an empty house and a forgotten tragedy?
Above them, the ceiling creaked. Slow, deliberate footsteps paced across the living room floorboards.
Step. Drag. Step. Drag.
""She's awake,"" Jax said, his tough demeanor suddenly cracking, replaced by genuine fear. ""And she knows what you did.""
The cellar stairs began to buckle under an enormous weight. A dark, viscous liquid seeped through the cracks in the overhead floor, dripping into the excavated trench like black rain.
May you like
Mark turned his gaze toward the bottom of the staircase. Small, pale bare feet appeared on the top step. Toby was descending, clutching the black TV remote in both hands. But his face was no longer that of an innocent toddler. His hazel eyes had turned solid white, devoid of pupils, and his mouth was curved into a sorrowful, unnatural smile.
""Daddy,"" Toby's voice echoed through the stone walls, deep and multiplied, sounding like an entire choir of lost children. ""Mommy wants her blanket back.""
