Sins of the Fathers

by John Richmond

CALVIN WOKE IN mid morning sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t remember opening his eyes and moving, just found himself that way. He rubbed his eyes and felt something wet. Calvin pulled his hand away and saw a cut on the index finger of his right hand. He didn’t think as he stumbled into the bathroom and clicked the light switch.

  Jeremy was written across the bathroom floor tiles in blood.

  Calvin stood and stared. An eighteen-wheeler dopplered by the motel, its horn blaring, the ground shaking. A drop of his own blood pooled at the end of his fingertip and fell. It hit the floor with a sound like a soft pat against a cheek. Over the drying Jeremy he opened his mouth.

  “This has to be the last one.”