Slayers: The Making of a Mentor by C. J. Hill

Author:C. J. Hill
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Jamison awoke at three in the morning to the sound of his mother wailing in the driveway. He stumbled out of bed and went outside to see what was wrong. The lights were on and the front door was open. A black truck was parked in the driveway. A couple of men stood about, talking to his father. Mr. Daniels was stiff and pale, wounded looking.

Jamison’s mother leaned over the truck bed, weeping. Jamison hurried toward her, ignoring the gravel that cut into his bare feet. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He stopped a couple meters short of the truck. Nathan’s body lay motionless in the back. A spike of worry pierced through Jamison, holding him to the spot. His mother held Nathan’s hand, spoke words to him that never reached past her tears.

Dr. Foster, the family’s physician, stood beside her. When he saw Jamison, he said, “I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do. Nathan was dead when Mr. Overdrake found him.”

Jamison stared at Dr. Foster, refusing to process his statement. Dead?

Jamison stepped over to the truck, took in Nathan’s limp form. In the darkness, his face had a bluish tint. “What happened to him?” Jamison demanded. It seemed that it couldn’t be true and if he could disprove it, all of this would go away. Nathan would sit up. His mother would stop crying.

“Mr. Overdrake found Nathan on his property. We think it was an electrical shock because he was near an electrical fence. His heart had already been stopped for some time.”

“No,” Jamison said. This wasn’t right. Jamison had told Nathan not to go to the plantation. He took hold of his brother’s hand. It was cold. He immediately dropped it.

People always said that in a crisis, time blurred together. It didn’t for Jamison. Each moment plodded painfully by. The doctor talked with Mr. Daniels, told him that Nathan should be brought to the mortuary. Funeral arrangements needed to be made. Mr. Daniels agreed, still ashen faced, barely keeping control of his emotions. Mrs. Daniels couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t want to leave Nathan. Dr. Foster pressed a couple of pills into her hand, something to calm her and help her to sleep.

“Can we get a bottle?” Mr. Daniels asked the doctor. “She’ll need them for more than tonight.”

Dr. Foster nodded. “I’ll call the pharmacist and have him deliver a bottle to you.”

Why did everything seem to be happening in slow motion? Why did each word spoken sound like a pounding hammer?

One of Overdrake’s men drove away in the truck with Nathan’s body. Mrs. Daniels stood weeping in the driveway and nearly collapsed as she watched it go. Jamison and Mr. Daniels helped her inside the house.

Jamison felt like he should be doing something more, and yet there was nothing else to do, no way to make any of it better. This would never end, he knew. Even when the sun rose the darkness would stay wedged here in this part of the island.

Mrs. Daniels was nearly hysterical by this time, so Mr.

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