These Unquiet Bones Read Free

again soon, and when he did there will be no time to rest.
    Unless, of course, the next Eve was The Lost One.
    Then there’d be resurrection. There’d be paradise. There’d be eternal life.
    Adam reached into the breast pocket of his black T-shirt and pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled pack of Marlboros. Lighting it, he considered the possibility of paradise and couldn’t wait for the call to hunt down the next Eve, whether she be The Lost One or just another decoy.
    I’ll be waiting for your call, Father , he prayed, taking a long drag from his cigarette. I’ll be waiting patiently.
    A tree branch snapped beneath his boot. A bird-of-prey screeched as if at the scent of freshly spilled blood. Adam released a ghostly plume of smoke and contemplated who his next temptress would be, and what he’d do once he had her in his grasp.
    It will be all up to The Father, of course. But, for the sake of Paradise, Adam would be ready. Just like before.
    He wondered for a moment if the little decoy he left behind in the woods would be missed and searched for, but quickly decided he didn’t care. Whether she was found or not, no one will find him.
    He will never be caught. For the hand of God guided the way.
     
     

Chapter 3
    A rapping of knuckles on the bedroom door woke Amy before the alarm clock sounded.
    “You up,” said a husky voice.
    “Yeah,” she answered groggily. “But don’t come in. I’m not dressed.”
    “All right,” her father said. “But hustle. Breakfast’s almost ready.”
    Amy removed the muted earphones and heard the floorboards complain beneath her father’s heavy feet as he made his way down the hall to the kitchen.
    The alarm clock shrieked, but Amy silenced it with a slap of her hand.
    The rosy hued dawn slunk through the window blinds. After putting her iPod on the nightstand, Amy burrowed beneath the covers and pulled her knees up to her chin. She was very tired and wished that the sunlight filtering into her room would go away.
    But it wouldn’t. Like her father’s heavy drinking, and her mother’s unsolved murder, morning was just another unfortunate fact of life she had no control over.
    So she slipped from the covers and climbed out of bed, ready to face the inevitable day.
    She thought about her recent night terror and the fears and frustrations it brought but fought against the urge to dwell on them.
    Push all the bad stuff from your mind.
    She stretched and rubbed her eyes.
    Don’t let it bother you. Not today. Not on your seventeenth birthday. In the eyes of Alabama state law you’re almost a woman. In May you’re going to finish high school an honor student and go off to a wonderful college, just like Mom always wanted you to do.
    You’re almost free.
    Holding on to that little motivator, she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.
    The aroma of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen struck her, and she headed toward it. The smell of coffee grew stronger as she shuffled down the hall. Her mouth watered more with each step.
    Stepping through the arched entryway, she caught sight of her father towering over a sizzling frying pan with a spatula.
    He’s going to do it. She hesitantly reached for her seat at the small kitchen table. Just like he does every year.
    Hank Snow— wearing nothing but faded blue jeans and white socks, with his long oily brown hair pulled back in a ponytail— turned at the sound of the chair scraping against the linoleum.
    “There’s my girl,” he said, remnants of last night’s cigarettes peppering his brown, burly beard. “Right on time.”
    “Morning, Dad.” Amy sat down in her chair. Her stomach clenched in vexed anticipation.
    Hank set the spatula down and advanced on her. “Oh no. You ain’t gettin’ away that easy, peanut,” he said, grabbing her by the arm. “Up you go now.”
    With no choice but to let the embarrassing birthday ritual happen, Amy allowed herself to be wrenched from her seat, swept off the floor and