Over the course of years she was in college and the fact we lived near the campus I got to know all the girls at some level and a few of them very very well. As they graduated and returned home or to their new jobs etc. it was almost like loosing one of my own c***dren. Which I know all too well as both of my girls live out of state now. The girls had a get together every year and when it was my daughter’s turn to host she had still lived at home and asked permission to have it here at home with us. That was an easy answer as I missed the girls very much myself. I was thrilled to aid my daughter in getting things just right, understanding that these girls as mostly pushing thirty now and now their mad house early twenties. That said and as I intended when they did show up I did my best to stay away and let the girls enjoy themselves as they will. Don’t get me wrong I felt very welcome and the separation I speak of was mostly later in the days after I feed them and cleaned up. But. I could remember the train job I’d pulled with Don last week. And a few scattered flashes of memory interspersed. A monk – or maybe a priestess? There was flames and fire. A derailment? We hadn’t planned on derailing anything. Then there were stranger images I could not place. An eye set within a pentagram. Knives in the dark. Shambling, rotting corpses, looming from the surrounding earth.My name in print.But it wasn’t my name.Lightning cut through the sky in my memory, and sleeting rain. I recalled, clearly, a burly human with an immense beard – the color lost in the haze of my pounding headache. I heard him, bellowing for all hands and idlers to lash too, it was going to be quite a blow. Then the blow. The physical impact of something. Hard enough to pitch me forward. A single voice, screaming my name – but not my name.I was so lost in these recollections that I was barely aware of two gruff voices.“Well, well, well,” one said. “Anuver halfie.”A boot kicked into my shoulder,.
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