depravity.
Best to stick to my duties, that’s the thing—to serve and to protect
.
On the Corvallis outskirts, he adjusted his weight in the driver’s seat, fished for another M&M, and waited for a bike to reemerge over the rail embankment. He’d seen a rider disappear near this spot, and he knew there was nothing over yonder but trees and ferns and poison oak.
Some hobo most likely. Or a harmless bum. He’d seen the type before.
Although riding the rails held a certain appeal for Sergeant Turney, he knew his job suggested that he’d better check this out, for the sake of all law-abidingcitizens. He radioed in his location, then lumbered from the car, tucking in his shirt and swinging at flying insects on his way through tall ryegrass.
That’s when he heard a scream.
Josee could do nothing but watch as the vapor coiled up Scooter’s arm to his neck. It brushed over his beard, fondled his locks in a licentious caress, then rushed down the other arm to his ring. Scooter’s eyes fixed upon the moonstone, and the being struck. Snakelike, the vapor thrust itself forward. Jaws unhinged and rear fangs extended toward him.
“Scooter!”
He whipped his head toward her so that the fangs missed his eyes and clamped instead onto his cheek, where they pumped midnight blue venom into tissue. Within seconds, his face became a mask of repulsive calm. Subservient and accepting of his fate? Or reveling in the experience?
Josee couldn’t tell. Strange. Maybe both.
As the fangs retracted, blood glazed over Scooter’s eyes. He showed no response, zilch, as droplets spilled from his eyelids onto his poncho.
Shame filled Josee. She’d felt the threat, seen the clues, yet she’d let the speed of the attack keep her from responding. As if she could’ve. She, too, had frozen in position while a cloak of leaden incompetence weighed upon her back.
Lead: metallic blue gray, the color of a bullet, of a sinker on a line.
The color of her helplessness.
Old snapshots flipped into focus: the time a kitten was swept down the Long Tom River; the day a stuttering classmate endured insults at the back of the school bus; the night her foster mother absorbed blows from the same drunken jerk who’d locked Josee in the basement …
Josee’s emotion now swelled into outrage. Blue gray turned red.
Can’t just sit here. I have to do something!
“Leave him alone!”
She erupted from her seat, casting off the leaden cloak. She armed herself with a branch and kicked at the leaves. “Get away!” She cranked the limb andtook a swing; bark sizzled through the wispy form. In the serpentine coils, Scooter’s body remained limp, and the complacency on his face incensed her.
Typical
, she thought.
“Fight!” she commanded him. “Do something.”
The vapor turned its gaze her direction.
“Why don’t you leave us alone?”
No more than a foot away, the being’s tongue flapped forward to read her heat fluctuations. Sizing her up. The miasmic mouth wielded fangs, and the eyes turned into flame. Searing. Dancing with aggression. She knew instinctively that she would never find a snake like this in the Portland Zoo’s reptile house.
Josee stepped back. What was she doing? This was insane.
But this creature had no right! A righteous indignation rose within her—from the soil of her childhood vows, from the withered seed of a child’s faith.
Along the coils, a twitter of muscle cocked back the serpent’s head as it prepared to strike, finalizing its coordinates. Only seconds left, milliseconds. Josee’s heart pounded against the spike of pain between her ribs and seemed to drive it deeper with each blow. Deeper.
Clanggg!
Deeper.
Why hadn’t she reacted sooner? Where had she gone wrong?
The clanging spike resurrected a vision of torture. A crucifixion. In one of her foster homes, the scene had been depicted in a wall hanging. She was sickened by it, yet comforted by the Savior’s kind gaze. There, amid that household’s
Best to stick to my duties, that’s the thing—to serve and to protect
.
On the Corvallis outskirts, he adjusted his weight in the driver’s seat, fished for another M&M, and waited for a bike to reemerge over the rail embankment. He’d seen a rider disappear near this spot, and he knew there was nothing over yonder but trees and ferns and poison oak.
Some hobo most likely. Or a harmless bum. He’d seen the type before.
Although riding the rails held a certain appeal for Sergeant Turney, he knew his job suggested that he’d better check this out, for the sake of all law-abidingcitizens. He radioed in his location, then lumbered from the car, tucking in his shirt and swinging at flying insects on his way through tall ryegrass.
That’s when he heard a scream.
Josee could do nothing but watch as the vapor coiled up Scooter’s arm to his neck. It brushed over his beard, fondled his locks in a licentious caress, then rushed down the other arm to his ring. Scooter’s eyes fixed upon the moonstone, and the being struck. Snakelike, the vapor thrust itself forward. Jaws unhinged and rear fangs extended toward him.
“Scooter!”
He whipped his head toward her so that the fangs missed his eyes and clamped instead onto his cheek, where they pumped midnight blue venom into tissue. Within seconds, his face became a mask of repulsive calm. Subservient and accepting of his fate? Or reveling in the experience?
Josee couldn’t tell. Strange. Maybe both.
As the fangs retracted, blood glazed over Scooter’s eyes. He showed no response, zilch, as droplets spilled from his eyelids onto his poncho.
Shame filled Josee. She’d felt the threat, seen the clues, yet she’d let the speed of the attack keep her from responding. As if she could’ve. She, too, had frozen in position while a cloak of leaden incompetence weighed upon her back.
Lead: metallic blue gray, the color of a bullet, of a sinker on a line.
The color of her helplessness.
Old snapshots flipped into focus: the time a kitten was swept down the Long Tom River; the day a stuttering classmate endured insults at the back of the school bus; the night her foster mother absorbed blows from the same drunken jerk who’d locked Josee in the basement …
Josee’s emotion now swelled into outrage. Blue gray turned red.
Can’t just sit here. I have to do something!
“Leave him alone!”
She erupted from her seat, casting off the leaden cloak. She armed herself with a branch and kicked at the leaves. “Get away!” She cranked the limb andtook a swing; bark sizzled through the wispy form. In the serpentine coils, Scooter’s body remained limp, and the complacency on his face incensed her.
Typical
, she thought.
“Fight!” she commanded him. “Do something.”
The vapor turned its gaze her direction.
“Why don’t you leave us alone?”
No more than a foot away, the being’s tongue flapped forward to read her heat fluctuations. Sizing her up. The miasmic mouth wielded fangs, and the eyes turned into flame. Searing. Dancing with aggression. She knew instinctively that she would never find a snake like this in the Portland Zoo’s reptile house.
Josee stepped back. What was she doing? This was insane.
But this creature had no right! A righteous indignation rose within her—from the soil of her childhood vows, from the withered seed of a child’s faith.
Along the coils, a twitter of muscle cocked back the serpent’s head as it prepared to strike, finalizing its coordinates. Only seconds left, milliseconds. Josee’s heart pounded against the spike of pain between her ribs and seemed to drive it deeper with each blow. Deeper.
Clanggg!
Deeper.
Why hadn’t she reacted sooner? Where had she gone wrong?
The clanging spike resurrected a vision of torture. A crucifixion. In one of her foster homes, the scene had been depicted in a wall hanging. She was sickened by it, yet comforted by the Savior’s kind gaze. There, amid that household’s
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