It snowed the day she came back into my life. A late fall storm that blanketed red and gold leaves with white sugar icing. It had been humid and gray the day they’d buried her.
Today, as snow fell upon a sea of maple, her voice whispered against me. The heat began in my heart and shot outwards, bleeding off my fingers as memories called to me, my name on her soft, so soft, lips. Outside, the storm continued, but I couldn’t see through where my breath had fogged the window. When I turned around, she was perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to join her.
Blonde hair curled over her shoulders, blue eyes stared through me, drawing me in. When she reached for me, I fell to my knees in front of her, pulling her against me. The exquisite feel of her touch burned through me. I had forgotten how soft skin could be, how sweet the breath shared in that first kiss, how wonderful she was, how alive and beautiful and mine.
She was gone when I awoke, though her scent lingered. As it always had. That first kiss still wet my lips, the taste of her on my tongue. I dragged myself away, refusing to look behind me to see the empty bed. I couldn’t help myself, I never could. I looked.
She was perched on the edge of the bed, waiting, once again, for me to join her. There was nothing else but her, smiling at me and with each step I took towards her, that glorious smile grew. She was waiting, willing. Oh, so willing.
Blue eyes pierced me to the core as her memory called my name. Soft, sweet, beautiful, wonderful, I had never stopped missing her. Not when I buried her. Not in all the days since. There was a vast emptiness within where she had been. I missed her, still. I missed her, always.
I remembered watching her die, holding her in my arms as she drew that last precious breath before she left me. Alone. Forever alone. Now, it was snowing and, once more, I held her in my arms. She kissed away each tear that slid down my cheek, banishing the nightmare that had been her death. Promising me that I’d never be alone again. That she’d fill the void I’d lived with for so very long.
With her whisper-sweet voice, she invited me to join her, to never miss her again. To never be alone. To be with her. Forever. Always.
That she finally wanted me as much as I had always wanted her. She was there, waiting. Waiting for me. After all these years, living through the nightmare of my life without her, she’d finally forgiven me for killing her.
And all I had to do was die.
Author: Peter Adam Salomon
Publisher: Flux, 288 Pages (September 2012)
Add to: Goodreads
Synopsis: A dark, psychological thriller about a boy's search for himself
Four thousand, three hundred and seventeen stitches, his father had told him once. All the King's horses and all the King's men had put Henry Franks back together again.
One year ago, a terrible accident robbed Henry Franks of his mother and his memories. The past sixteen years have vanished. All he has now are scars and a distant father—the only one who can tell Henry who he is.
If he could trust his father.
Can his nightmares—a sweet little girl calling him Daddy, murderous urges, dead bodies—help him remember?
While a serial killer stalks their small Georgia town, Henry unearths the bitter truth behind his mother’s death—and the terrifying secrets of his own dark past.
Sometimes, the only thing worse than forgetting is remembering.
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Peter, thank you for sharing such a dark and creepy story perfect for Halloween! I know I enjoyed reading and had goosebumps the whole time.
Thank you also goes out to Flux for donation a copy of Henry Franks for this giveaway.
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