Aarrck!

Blake jerked his throbbing head to the sound that came from the garden shed entrance. Clayton had fallen asleep in the carrier. Blake rubbed his eyes at what he thought he was seeing. “What the–” Blake mumbled. A raven was perched on the infant carrier handle above Clayton. Blake dusted himself off and stood up, pushing against the wall to steady himself. “Shoo! Get out of here!”

The raven flew off as Blake picked up Clayton, careful to hold him well away from his own dusty body. He walked toward the house with the carrier in his hand and saw a shadow on the ground of the raven circling overhead.

Inside the house, Blake stumbled and sat the infant carrier on the kitchen floor. Clayton was sleeping peacefully. As Blake’s head pounded and his vision became blurred, he focused all of his concentration on unbuttoning his shirt. With great effort, he undressed and stepped into the shower where he scrubbed the powder off his body and out of his hair. Underneath the showerhead he coughed violently and spewed up blood. He couldn’t stop coughing for over a minute as he bent over and watched the blood swirl counterclockwise down the drain, looking from above like the bloody eye of a deadly hurricane.

He toweled off and pulled a jacket from a shelf high above the washing machine, draping it over a t-shirt and sweatpants. Stumbling, he made his way to the living room as he fought off the coughs, telling himself to not cough the way a spinning drunk tells himself to not throw up, to hold it in. He crashed on the sofa and pulled a blanket around his neck.

His nose and lungs felt thick. Thick with powder, thick with deceit and lies. He felt all the symptoms rising within him at once. Nausea, fever, aches. He couldn’t tell if they were physical or if they were imagined. If he was really feeling flu-like symptoms or if he was so run down from it all. More than anything he wanted Angelica and thought of calling her, but heavy fatigue gripped him. He was tired. So tired. His eyes made their way to the clock, 9:13 a.m. She’d be home in a few hours. He’d rest on the sofa.

Sleep, get some rest, that’s all you need, he told himself.

The blanket slipped to the floor as Blake’s breathing labored. He coughed loudly and his eyelids sank, sending him into a delirious journey to the darkest depths of a haunted forest. Alone he stood as the forest folded up around him. Trees inched closer; pigs squealed and stalked him with menacing tusks as coyotes circled concentrically while snapping their jaws. Jesse, Shane, Nick, Clint, and the sheriff held hands and joined the coyote’s circle as a menacing raven swooped and tormented Blake. His demons taunted, shouted and spun as they all moved closer and closer. Blake turned and turned, watching his flame flicker as the poisoned soil opened its wicked womb and prepared to swallow him. As the raven shrieked and dove straight for his face he crouched and surrendered himself into a fetal position, cradling his head while offering a final prayer for salvation.

***

Angelica walked through the kitchen door and saw Clayton sitting in the infant carrier on the floor, happily bewitched by the ceiling light. The feeling of unease she had felt earlier in the morning vanished as she smiled, bent over, and put her face just in front of his. Clayton’s eyes adjusted and focused on his mother’s face, and a toothless smile beamed as his body shifted with uncontrollable glee.

Filled with love and bliss in her heart, Angelica rose and began walking toward the living room. After three steps, she stopped abruptly. Fear seized her, sending chills up her spine and down her arms as her eyes widened at the sight of Blake curled in the fetal position on the sofa. Within an instant, her gut swirled with worry and panic, supplanting every loving emotion she had felt only seconds before.

Quivering, she stepped forward and looked down, staring in disbelief at the blood-stained blue jacket that cloaked the lifeless body of her husband, her son’s father. Slowly, her worry and panic began to fade as fury boiled within her.

She bit her lip and bored her eyes into a crucifix above the fireplace for answers, furious emotions stewing in her gut. A river of rage flowed down her cheeks as the realization set in that her dream of a simple life with Blake, an honest family life, was forever shattered. The tears turned bitter as Angelica stormed across the hardwood floor, narrowing her eyes on Blake as she feverishly paced back and forth. “Why didn’t you just return the jacket and do what was right? WHY?”

She stopped and stood there, staring at Blake for a moment longer, finding no answers to her questions. Angelica turned once more to the crucifix, fixing her eyes upon it firmly. “Well?” she asked. “Is he in a better place?” She thrust her arms overhead in exaspiration. “Does God have a plan?” Angelica held her breath and held a stern gaze upon the crucifix.

Movement from the kitchen distracted and disarmed her. She looked back to see Clayton’s arms dangle excitedly over the edge of the infant carrier as he was captivated once more by the ceiling light. Her shoulders collapsed and her tension faded. As she exhaled, tears began to swell, and her sadness, her rage, morphed into forgiveness and understanding.

She walked to the sofa and stroked Blake’s hair. Angelica thought of the day she first saw him. She thought of her junior prom date with Blake, and then thought of their wedding day. Turning her head to see the baby’s dangling arms in the kitchen, she looked back at Blake and smiled as she thought of the day, only months before, when Clayton was born. Of how happy Blake had finally become. She pictured the little Georgia Bulldogs outfit that Blake had bought for Clayton and recalled the smile on his face as he placed it on the baby. For an eternal moment, she looked at Blake’s face, caressed his cheeks, and smiled at him, one last time.

Then, Angelica leaned over Blake’s body. She reached for her walking stick that was leaning against the sofa; its razor sharp root spikes protruding like gnarly hair over the deranged face that had been carved for its head long, long ago. Angelica kissed the beads that hung from her neck as she knelt on the hardwood floor, weeping with the knowledge that justice had been served.

Baldev nodded in approval of the sacrifice.

The End

(see next page)

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About the Author

While flying high over corporate America, Tim Young received a call he couldn’t ignore. He shredded his business cards and said goodbye to the conveniences of urban life, to become a farmer and homesteader. Today, Tim is an award-winning cheese maker and author. He lives in Georgia with the most beautiful and caring woman in the world, and a little dog named Alfie that speaks to him in condescending, broken-English.