Mr. Hands
Contents ( 25)
- Prologue:
- Part One:
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Interlude: The Hangman
- Part Two:
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Interlude: The Hangman
- Part Three:
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Epilogue: The Hangman
- And Now, a bonus story:

Mr. Hands
Book III
Cedar Hill Series
by
Gary A. Braunbeck
JournalStone

Original Version Copyright © 2007—Gary A. Braunbeck
Author’s Preferred version Copyright © 2016 by Gary A. Braunbeck
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-945373-24-4 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-945373-26-8 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-945373-25-1 (hc)
Printed in the United States of America
2nd Edition
JournalStone rev. date: August 19, 2016
Cover Design: M. Wayne Miller
Edited by: Aaron J. French
Mr. Hands
“…when the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.”
—Oscar Wilde
Prologue:
Intersections
1
—Shall there be mercy, then?
—Not for monsters like them, no.
—Under no circumstances?
—Anyone who would do such a thing doesn’t deserve it.
—So, then…under no circumstances?
—Goddamn right, under no circumstances.
—So be it.
2
The next cliff on the mountain was not as steep as he had first thought, but there was no doubt in his mind that it would probably get steeper before he reached the top. He came to the bulge, went over, placed his foot firmly on the edge, and found a solid hold with his left hand on what felt like a root. Pulling upward, kneeing and toeing into the gold-colored stone, kicking steps into the shale-like rock wherever he could, he positioned both hands and one foot before moving into a new, higher position.
He thought of his family—all of them now gone back to earth, dirt, rock, soil and dust, the forgotten rot of molding ages—and had to steady himself against tears.
It wasn’t my fault, really, it wasn’t, I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, ohGod, please, please, can all of you forgive me…?
The mountain was starting to shudder in his face and against his chest. His own breath was whistling and humming crazily against the stone. The rocks were steepening and he labored backbreakingly for every inch. His shoulders were tiring and his calves ached and the muscles in his arms felt like iron. Panic was courting him, and it was only the thought of what he might find somewhere above that kept him going.
Proof-positive that what had happened years ago had, indeed, been real.
That he had not imagined it as the doctors insisted.