The hurt she felt was like a knife in her heart. Realizing by now that she’d lost him, she slowly pulled a gun from beneath her apron and yelled, “Stop, Sky.”

* * * *

Sky begrudgingly turned at the sound of his name—and saw the gun. All at once his eyes widened. He dropped the bag he was carrying and put his hands up.

“Does this look like a rolling pin, Sky?” Edith’s words were soft and threatening, her eyes, glittering with dementia. “I begged you to stay, you bastard. I swallowed my pride, ate dirt, and suffered every humiliation you heaped upon me, but this is too much. How could you bring that slut to my house? How could you wave that bottle-red hair in front of my eyes? My god, I would have given you anything, but now it’s too late, and the only place you and your little slut are goin’ tonight is hell.”

“Edith,” he said, his voice soft, careful. “What in hell do you think you’re doin’? Give me that thing before it goes off.”

“I finally got your attention, didn’t I, Sky? I guess it’s hard to ignore a woman with a gun, huh? Well, I figure it this way. You want to go. Go. I’ve done all I can to make you happy. Now it’s up to this little beauty in my hand.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, and I don’t think you do either. Now, I told you once, and I ain’t gonna tell you again, give me that thing before it blows us all to Kingdom Come.”

With her head bowed slightly, and with a look of madness in her eyes, she glared at him. “Still think you’re the boss, huh, Sky? Do this, Edith, do that, Edith. Well, I’m tired of it. Tired of your constant put-downs. If it ain’t my hair, it’s my clothes. I never could look as good to you as those naked bitches in the magazines, could I, Sky? Well, now I don’t have to worry about it. I’ve had all I can take, you bastard, and I don’t intend to take anymore.”

Sky watched as she advanced toward him, the gun still pointed. On her face was a calculating look he had never seen before, and it made him nervous. He didn’t know her anymore. She’d changed from the easy-going Edith that he could slap around, insult and belittle to the monster that was looking at him with death in her eyes. Just then, Sky turned his eyes upward, and did a double take when he saw a small face wedged between the bars of a balcony.

“Edith,” he whispered. “In back of you, there. It’s Griff. He’s watchin’. God, Edith, for his sake, don’t do this.”

Edith gave a derisive chuckle. “You’ll do anything, won’t you, Sky? Griff’s asleep. I put him to bed an hour ago.”

“Edith, for god’s sake, turn around and look,” he urged, his gaze darting from Edith to the balcony. “All right. You want me to admit it? He’s my son, Edith. He’s my son. I knew it all along. Please, don’t make him watch this. It’ll do something to him. To his mind.”

* * * *

Thinking he wanted to get her off balance so he could grab the gun, Edith ignored his pleading words. Hell, no, she thought. She wouldn’t be distracted. Not being this close. It was the moment she’d been waiting for. They were close together now, him and his little bitch, and her trigger finger was getting mighty itchy. Slowly her other hand came up, and with both, she squeezed the handle of the gun as she placed the gun sight right between the redhead’s breasts. Edith’s head was filled with the sound of a thumping heartbeat—the redhead’s heartbeat. She wanted nothing more than to stop that constant thumping—the thrashing of her blood—the god-awful sound that gave her life.

“Goodbye, slut,” she muttered in the dark silent night—just before five explosions sounded, one after the other.

In one split second, the universe had changed, but the wind still soughed, and the cicadas still serenaded close by. She only blinked at the sprayed blood and torn flesh of the two dead bodies that lay sprawled before her. Now, with slow, precise movements, she turned the gun inward and pushed the barrel against her temple. With just a little pressure, the last bullet blasted into Edith Nyle’s head, leaving the world behind.

The world—and her son, Griff.

* * * *

Griff jumped up and began screaming—a scream that gurgled and gasped as it tried to work itself through his tiny throat to find release.

“Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!” he finally yelled out, over and over again until he felt a pair of strong hands on him. A man in jeans and a dark jacket gently picked Griff up and carried him out to his unmarked car, placing him in the back seat with a woman who had gentle hands. Once in the car, Griff scrambled to the window and continued to rake his gaze over the scene that was making an everlasting, indelible impression upon his young mind. His wide, tear-filled eyes found the redhead whose hair still glowed in the moonlight. The sight tore at something deep inside him. It was her fault his parents were lying on the ground dead—it was her fault. Just then, a pair of strong but gentle hands pulled him away from the awful sight, but he struggled until the car left the drive, and then he swung around to look out the back, where he got one last look at the long, flowing—red hair.

“I hate you,” he sobbed out while his tearful eyes glared at her. “I hate your red hair and painted lips. You think you’re beautiful, but you’re ugly. As ugly as a swamp full of alligators.” He fought the hands that tried to pull him away from the window, continuing to cry out at the woman that lay limp and bloody across the back seat of the car. “I’ll hate you forever. I’ll hate you every day that I live. I’ll hate you even more than I hate spiders and snakes and—and—spinach.”

The hateful, sobbing mantra continued as the car sped down the highway, and even into the early hours of the morning as he lay upon a strange bed. “I’ll hate you forever and ever,” he snuffled venomously, his voice tired and scratchy with tears. “Even if I grow up to be famous like Batman, or Superman, or Spider-Man, I’ll still hate you. And I’ll keep on hating you even if I become—president of the United States.”