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“I guess I gotta go,” Pete said, looking longingly at the house in which Claire had said she expected a minor kind of Hell was awaiting her in the form of Kara’s histrionics. Although he didn’t say it, Pete would have considered such a greeting a fine one if it meant there was a house and people in it who loved him enough to care what became of him. Back in Elkwood, there was nothing but questions and the memory of violence he wasn’t sure he’d been given the right to commit, if a right indeed even existed for such terrible acts. On the surface he’d done what he’d had to do to protect Claire, just as he had blinded a stranger to protect Louise, but when it came time for judgment, whether by man or by God, would those reasons be enough to save him?
“You don’t have to,” Claire said. Since leaving Elkwood, she had not let go of his hand, and he cherished the contact, the feel of her skin warm against his own. He knew he would wed her right then and there if he thought for one second she’d agree to it, but it was a preposterous idea. He could hope until the stars burned out and it wouldn’t change the fact that they were two people from completely different worlds. For a time they’d walked the same road, but ultimately they were bound for different poles. It saddened him to think of leaving her, but staying would only mean more hurt.
“I do,” he told her, meeting her watery gaze. “I don’t belong here and I reckon over the next few weeks you’re gonna have your hands full all over again.” He sighed heavily. “Me too, I expect.”
Around the truck the sky was vermilion, the clouds bruised violet. Morning birds awoke and began the opening strains of their day’s symphony. The world was waking. To Pete, it signaled the end of their shared nightmare, but also the end of their association. He knew they would promise to stay in touch, but wouldn’t as time forced them to grow back into their own routines.
“You did nothing wrong,” Claire said, the sentence dropping in pitch as she glanced toward the house. Pete followed her gaze and noticed that a light had come on. “You were there for me.”
“We’re friends,” Pete said with a shrug, wishing he had the courage to say more. We’re friends and that’s all we’ll ever be, but I love you, Claire. And right now, you’re all I got in the world.
“That sounds so simple,” Claire replied. “And wrong.”
With another wary glance at the house, she leaned over, cupped a hand behind his head and drew him close. During the drive here, he had rationalized the kiss at the Merrill House as one of relief or gratitude, particularly considering the iciness she had shown him prior to that moment, but there was no mistaking the motive behind the kiss she gave him now. It was soft and wet, and prolonged. As soon as she broke contact, she quickly initiated it again, her tongue briefly touching his own until he felt like he’d been electrocuted.
Finally she drew away. “We will see each other again,” she said, and smiled. Then her face darkened. “Shit,” and she opened the door and got out. He started to say something but instead watched as she hurried into the street. Her sister, Kara, was doing the same, coming from the opposite direction, dressed in a robe, her hair tousled, face grim, eyes dark with anger. Pete’s hand moved to the keys, waiting for the moment when he would know without question that it was time for him to get moving.
The women met in the street and immediately began to argue, Kara’s eyes roving over her sister, registering every cut and bruise as she gesticulated madly. Claire had her hands in her hair and was shaking her head with a pained expression. Then they stopped, and Kara looked directly at Pete.
He glanced away. The look had been his cue, and yet he couldn’t turn the keys. His fingers gripped them tightly, his eyes on the road, his heart pounding, but he couldn’t start the engine. He didn’t want to, aware that as soon as he did, he would not just be leaving a quiet street in the rearview.
A tap on the glass made him jump. He looked and was surprised, and more than a little dismayed to see Claire’s sister looking in at him. He cleared his throat, watched as she made a circular motion with her index finger.
He rolled down the window, the word Sorry already on his tongue.
“You got a call,” she said, and that made him swallow the word. It had been the last thing he’d expected to hear.
“A call?”
Kara ran a hand through her hair. She looked tired. Dark bags hung under eyes made shallow with worry. “Yeah. A cop in Detroit.”
Pete swallowed, felt himself stiffen with panic. “What…?” he started to say, then shook his head.
“They said they want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About a woman up there. Louise something.”
The mention of her name made him ache inside. In all that had happened, his mind had not been able to entertain more than one sorrow at a time, but he realized now, in the days ahead, he would have nothing but time to ponder them.
“She’s dead,” he said. “She got hurt.”
Kara frowned at him. “She’s not dead.”
He gaped at her, sure he hadn’t heard her correctly. “What?”
“She’s in the hospital, but she’s not dead. She asked for you. Told the cop you were her only living kin, so they want you to come up. Wanted you to know she got hurt, but apparently that’s not news to you.”
Stunned, he smiled at her and shook his head.
Kara did not look like she shared his joy. “Seems like trouble just draws you to it, doesn’t it?”
“Thank you,” he told her with genuine warmth. She could stick her arms in and throttle him, or curse him to high Heaven and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference now because Louise was alive. He was almost afraid to believe it. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said again and glanced at Claire, who’d been listening. She was smiling at him, a light in her eyes anyone else might have said was simply a reflection of the sun as it crept over the horizon, but he knew better.
# # #
About the Author
Born and raised in Dungarvan, Ireland, Kealan Patrick Burke is a Bram Stoker Award-winning author described as “a newcomer worth watching” (Publishers Weekly) and “one of the most original authors in contemporary horror” (Booklist).
Some of his works include the novels MASTER OF THE MOORS, CURRENCY OF SOULS and THE HIDES, the novellas THE TURTLE BOY (Bram Stoker Award Winner, 2004), VESSELS, MIDLISTERS, and JACK & JILL, and the collections RAVENOUS GHOSTS, THEATER MACABRE, THE NUMBER 121 TO PENNSYLVANIA & OTHERS (Bram Stoker Award-Nominee, 2009), DEAD OF WINTER, DEAD LEAVES, and THEATER MACABRE.
Visit Kealan on the web at http://www.kealanpatrickburke.com.
Sign up for Kealan’s newsletter for all the latest news, ebook giveaways, competitions and more, here.
More Books from this Author
Praise for KIN
“If you’re a fan of Jack Ketchum, Richard Laymon, or movies like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Deliverance, don’t miss Kin. Burke’s novel not only re-imagines the classic slasher tropes, but it invents new ones. Kin is sure to garner Burke a wider readership, awards, and to inspire a slew of new slasher novels and films. This is a modern classic, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.”
—FEARNET
“It’s odd that an Irish transplant to the Northern US has written one of the best Southern Gothic novels in recent memory. I’ll look forward to Burke’s next work just as much as I hated to see this one end. I would highly recommend Kin to lovers of old fashioned horror fiction with a twist.”
—DARK DISCOVERIES
“…with this novel, Burke has fully arrived as a novelist…his talent running full throttle… Kin ends a long period of silence from Burke, and has me quite excited to see what’s coming next. It gets my highest possible recommendation.”
—OCTOBER COUNTRY
“THIS is serious horror fiction that has set a high standard for future stories in this subgenre. Don’t miss it.”
—THE CROW’S CAW
“The blurb will tell you that this is in
the vein of the ‘Texas Chain Saw Massacre’ and ‘Deliverance’ and, while I can see what they mean, it doesn’t do the book justice. This is not a ‘slasher’ book or a book that reads like a movie. This is far more. This is a novel that begins where the other stories ended and explores the impact such horror has on the survivors, their family and, though we may not like them, the perpetrators of the horror.”
—THE BIG THRILL
“Kin is not only the best novel I’ve read all year, it is one of the most horrifying ones I’ve ever read.”
—HORROR WORLD
“If you took the moral quandaries about revenge, justice and violence against evil from Dennis Lehane’s Patrick Kenzie novels, spread it over the sprawling cast of a Stephen King thriller, and mixed it with the Southern Gothic grotesques of Eudora Welty, you might end up with something like Kealan Patrick Burke’s new novel, Kin.”
—LITSTACK
Copyright
Copyright 2011 by Kealan Patrick Burke
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Visit the author at www.kealanpatrickburke.com
Kin copyright © 2011 by Kealan Patrick Burke
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