And maybe the rest of the world. As his eyelids fluttered in defeat, something suddenly shimmered in the corner of his eye. A face. Drawn, empty, expressionless, just like every single young face that first appeared hours ago outside of his farmhouse window, banging on the doors, shattering glass with their unfeeling fists.
Ten years of regret, remorse, and soul killing loneliness. Tyler garbled through the flesh and bone gag over his lips. Turning his head as much as he could, he saw the young man again. Hollow cheeks, sunken milky green eyes, a blank, vacuous stare. But there was more. A slight hook shaped scar just above his upper lip where the setting hen clipped him when he was eight and curious enough to stick his head in the coop.
And the ears, almost feminine shell like commas on the side of his nearly oblong head. The same ears Harley saw every time he passed a mirror. Working his jaw up and down, he bit whatever finger he could get in his mouth. The taste of blood filled his mouth as his teeth broke skin. No yelling, no shrieking, just finally the release of the hand from over his face, as if it was simply the right reaction to a negative action, not someone about to bite her finger off. Harley shouted, tears rimming his aged eyes. Your Father! As the desperate plea fell from his lips, Harley Tyler knew it would go unanswered.
They were little more than fleshy puppets now, somehow Tyler sensed that. Marionette soldiers being yanked around by someone. And tied around their arms, legs, their very minds like a string nothing could break was that incessant melody. It was still there, more of an irritating buzzing than the droning of doom it had been.
But another sound replaced it, a more welcome one.
The only beacon Harley Tyler had left to follow. Not a death knell like the funeral toll sounded for his beloved Rebecca three weeks after Ben was taken.
But lighter, almost a tinkle more than a peal. Like jingle bells. Turning his head to the right, Harley determined Ben was not one of the young people who had hold of him.
As he looked, he saw others he thought he recognized, but also something else. Regardless of sex, size, or any other factor, each of his captors had two things in common. When I looked earlier in the week, Ruby was at K, and then later at K, then 1. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account.
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