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Back When Darkness Loves Us Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  5. Foreword by Theodore Sturgeon
  6. Acknowledgments
  7. WHEN DARKNESS LOVES US
  8. Part One
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. Part Two
  16. 1
  17. 2
  18. 3
  19. 4
  20. 5
  21. 6
  22. 7
  23. 8
  24. Part Three
  25. 1
  26. 2
  27. 3
  28. 4
  29. BEAUTY IS ...
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. 18
  48. 19
  49. 20
  50. 21
  51. 22
  52. 23
  53. 24
  54. 25
  55. About the Author
  56. About the Cover

Fern began to speak slowly and carefully to Martha about God, and about special gifts. She explained to the slack face how it felt when she did her healing work, how she was out of control, and something else took over. She talked to her about how nice it was to have something else come inside her and work through her, and that she must encourage that feeling if it ever came to that. Not to fight it, but to go with it. Fern told her over and over that she was special, God’s chosen child, and she must work to break out of her shell and shine her light upon the world. None of it did any good. The girl didn’t seem to hear any of it, but she listened quietly.

17

CHAPTER 17

Leslie was on the prowl. He ground the gears in low and cruised through Morgan slowly, eyes everywhere. Looking for some action. Something. Didn’t really matter what, as long as it would take his mind off that fuckin’ jail. Jee-sus, what a hole. At a stop sign, he hefted the quart of Bud to his mouth and took several long swallows, eyes searching up and down the cross street. Nothing. Gotta get out of this place, it’s nowhere. Yeah, he thought, but go where? He had to make his court date or Ma could lose her bail money. That meant she wouldn’t get her diamond back. She hocked it every time. He swigged again, revved the engine, and laid a nice solid strip of rubber across the street. Felt fine. Sounded good. Smelled sweet. The truck jerked as he eased off the gas and continued his cruise, slowly, shifting to second and leaving it there.

He kept going, aimlessly, until he ran out of beer and road about the same time. He pulled off to the side and cut the headlights. He could just turn onto the freeway here and make for Chicago. Or Joliet. Leave this pissant farm town forever. He caught the final drops of beer on his tongue and tossed the bottle into the weeds. He found his pack of Camels on the dashboard and lit one, inhaling deeply. What the fuck.

He jumped out and unzipped his jeans, whizzing into the weeds, looking at the stars, watching the road for traffic. He shook it clean, stuffed it back in his pants and zipped up, doing a little hop on one foot as he adjusted. He kicked the back end of the pickup as he passed. Piece of junk. Back in the driver’s seat, he started it up, then made a U-turn. Mike’s. Maybe I’ll get lucky.