Page 200 of A Curse On Black Lake
Killian huffs. “He won’t talk to me.”
“That’s weird, seeing as he was determined to question you, and harass you for the past three months.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Maybe I can convince him while you’re gone,” he says.
“I’ll tell him you want to talk, and I’ll be back.”
“See you soon,” he says, and I feel his eyes on my back as I leave the lockup and stop at Wyatt’s office.
“Stop being a dick and talk to your cousin. I don’t know what crawled up your butt and died, but he deserves to speak to you since you’re the one that put him here.”
I don’t wait for his response and head out of the station.
A few people are out on the sidewalk pointing up in the sky. A light tinge of smoke fills my nose, and I frown. Did a crop catch on fire? It is dry out, and it wouldn’t be the first time.
Child, prepare yourself. We were not told. We were not told.The Spirits say.
“What are you talking about?” I mutter to them, attempting to ignore the few weird looks I get on my way back to Killian’s truck.
Everything is about to change. You must brace yourself for the consequences of other’s actions.
“What in the sam hell does that mean?” I ask them.
They don’t answer.
“You know, it would be super helpful if y’all told me who was after me. It would help get Killian out. I know it won’t change the inevitable, but at the very least we could put that part to bed.”
We cannot tell the future. We can tell you only what we’ve been given.
“So it would be super cool if you maybe put in a good word for me with you know…Godand let Him know that a little hints or maybe the right direction would be a huge help.”
You do not need us for that.
“Yeah, I know, but many hands and all that.”
The work you are referring to is not work that we can do.
“Y’all have no sense of humor.”
But you were not joking.
I sigh and puff out a breath as I turn onto my road. “You’re right. I wasn’t. I had hoped that because Killian and I grew intomore than I could’ve ever hoped for, maybe it was finally my turn.”
We are sorry, child.
We are so sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
They keep repeating themselves, and I frown. It’s strange. But then it makes complete sense as I pull up to my house, currently engulfed in flames.
I push out of the truck, and the firefighters are already pointing their hoses at my house, attempting to put it out.
