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...ng brown hair intact. The cold sweat congealed around my shoulder blades into thick ice. I threw the book at the door and jumped forward, groping in the dark for the switch to turn on my bedside lamp and extinguish the darkness.

Then came the scream. Loud and blood-curdling, yet child-like and innocent. Luke, he had Luke.  I couldn't take it any longer. Making a superhuman effort, i reached for the switch and flicked it, just as the door opened to add another o to this hullabaloo.

It was Papa. His entry was greeted by a flood of light from the lamp near my bed. He walked briskly to Luke's bed and put on his light as well. Luke was crying. "What's wrong, son?" he asked. Pushing back the tears, my little brother looked up and said, "Something hit me Dad." I blocked out the rest of the conversation and focused on Luke's bed where the book he was reading lay, the tell tale creases of the pages showing ever so prominently in the yellow light of the lamps.

Retribution

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