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Frustrated, wired, and jittery like I drank a pot of coffee, I sit up. Obviously, sleep isn’t happening.
I’m being so pathetic right now. I have no reason to be this worked up over a dude I just met, and I need to do something else to get my mind off him. I need to focus on something positive. Like how much money we made tonight.
Grabbing my cellphone from the nightstand, I briefly consider calling my dad. Then I realize he’s most likely in the process of counting the donations, and maybe he’d like to have some help.
Dreading the thought of wheeling myself all the way to my parents’ house, I clutch my cane with one hand and the railing with the other as I slowly descend my front steps.
The wheelchair is still where I left it, but I stop in my tracks when I see the golf cart just a few feet away in the circle drive.
My dad must’ve brought it back for me.
A relieved breath whooshes from my lungs, and I smile a little.
At least I have one man in my life I can always count on.
ELLISTER
The crowd is thinning out. Many of those who showed up for the dinner portion have already left, and I’m glad.
I’m anxious to talk with Bobby, and it’s best if we don’t have an audience.
Humans don’t react well to supernatural occurrences. They tend to get loud, with their screams and hysterics.
I used to enjoy these confrontations. I liked bringing the bad news. I gleefully absorbed the devastation, the denial, the shock, the eventual acceptance, then the sobbing.
Zeroing in on Bobby, I observe him chatting with the band as he unplugs some black ropes from the electronic voice amplifier.
As I patiently wait, I try not to let Hannah invade my thoughts. I don’t want to acknowledge the way her absence gnaws at me as if it has actual teeth. Or the disturbing memory of getting blasted with her emotional distress when she saw me talking to her frenemy.
I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but I did. I felt her heart break, and now I have the incessant need to… apologize.
I don’t apologize. The mere thought of it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Cyclones don’t say sorry for the destruction they cause. They are what they are.
Just as I am what I am.
Finally, Bobby goes outside, carrying a heavy drum in one hand and a cash box in the other as he trails behind the singer.
I decide to follow him. Outside is better. It’s darker. I can corral him in the shadows without too many onlookers.
Really, I should be having this talk with Hannah, not her father.
Now that I know she’s my intended target, it would be easier to keep her family out of it. She’s an adult who can comprehend what’s going on, but her cluelessness about her illness tells me she doesn’t know about the bargain. And why would she? So many generations have passed since I made the deal, any story about me would be more like a spooky myth.
However, Bobby knows. At least, he suspects what’s happening to Hannah isn’t a natural occurrence. When he looks at his daughter, there’s more than a normal amount of concern behind his eyes.
There’s guilt and fear.
He’s about to find out his paranoia isn’t unwarranted.
However, just a few strides from the doorway, I’m intercepted by a gangly blond teenager who puts himself in my way.
I try to step around the boy, but he moves with me, blocking my path.
“You’re not from around here,” he states flatly.
“No, I’m not,” I confirm.
