Page 1 of Sinner: Before Rain
Chapter
One
ELIJAH - AGE FIVE
BOZEMAN, MONTANA
“What’s the best way to kill someone?”
The commotion around me stops.
The table full of my father’s high-society business friends goes completely silent. As I look up to see everyone has stopped talking, I notice that all eyes are on me. The five year old at the end of the table eating his lamb, asking a simple and logical question.
Shrugging my shoulders, I slide my fork into my mouth and continue eating my meal.
“Why do you ask?” My dad asks with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“I’ve always wondered. If you slice an important vein, they will die quickly, but the mess might not be worth it. Which made me think…” Pausing my thoughts as I take another bite of lamb. “Is poison the way to go?”
A few of the older men chuckle, but I’m unsure why. I didn’t tell a joke, did I?
I slide back on my chair, and my back arches slightly due to my wooden bat resting behind me. I never go anywhere without it. When I asked my dad to get me one last year, he did, no questions asked. Perhaps he should have asked one,what is it for?
Since my earliest memory, I have always recalled looking at a person and picturing beating them to death and how I would do it, should they annoy me. How with a simple stupid question or statement, bashing their heads in would bring me the greatest satisfaction. Hit after hit, blood splattering on my face, the crack of the skull and bones in their face, and seeing life leave their eyes.
Thinking of it now brings the biggest smile to my face; my breathing has gotten heavier, and my eyes are wider. What I would give to be able to do that right now, with my bat, to those who just laughed at a joke I know I did not tell.
My dad interrupts my daydream, “Elijah, what’s going on?”
A piece of my black hair falls over my forehead. I use the back of my hand to wipe it away. “I was just picturing what it would be like to use my bat on someone.”
Dad stands up instantly after my statement. “Alright men, if you will excuse my son and I.”
Grumbles of understanding are reciprocated as my dad walks over to me. “Elijah, my office. Let’s go.”
“Take it easy on the kid. We can use someone like him.” One of the guys says to my dad. My eyes drift towards the man.What is he talking about?
My dad’s response is a simple nod of acknowledgment.
Confused, I place the napkin which was on my lap over my plate. I hop off the chair, which is massive for my five-year-old self, and grip my bat, taking it with me as I follow my dad out of the dining room.
Following him down the hall, my bat drags behind me on the fancy throw rugs, turning into his office. He closes the door behind us.
“Take a seat, talk to me. What’s going on in that bright little head of yours?”
Jumping on his brown leather couch, he sits next to me, watching me and waiting for my response.
My bat is between my legs, which hang over the edge of the seat. Twisting it in my hands, I think, how should I answer this?
Honestly or deny any thoughts or dreams I’ve had about the subject.
With a heavy sigh, I begin, “Remember that nanny you hired for me when I was three? That really old lady who would shake her finger in my facewhile telling me what a naughty boy I was for playing in the woods after dark?”
My dad nods as I continue, “The entire time her finger was in my face, all I could think about was biting it off. And once it was bitten off, I wanted to shove it down her throat for her to choke on and die, while holding her down.”
As I tell him my thoughts, I keep my focus on him. Dad’s body language doesn’t change, his facial expressions remain neutral.
I’m telling him my deepest, darkest thoughts, and he isn’t reacting. I don’t understand.
