Free Asylum Lake by R. A. Evans Page B

second floor.
    The muffled sound of whispers greeted him as he began his climb. At least they’re talking, he thought and smiled. His mood instantly brightened as the steps creaked beneath him with the weight of each step. The stairway opened into the hall. He turned left to Lionel’s room, peering into the empty space through the open door. Retracing his steps, he returned down the hall and past the stairs. The master bedroom door was closed. The whispers were louder here, although still unintelligible.
    “Honey,” James called, grasping the handle and pushing the door open. For a moment his mind could not process what lay before him. The bible fell from his hands and landed at his feet with a thud as his mind raced to grasp the image that greeted him.
    The large antique light fixture was ripped from the ceiling, its twisted metal and exposed wires dangling precariously over the bed he shared with his wife. Looped around the base of the fixture was a belt; the opposite end of which was cinched tightly around Melody’s neck. Her body swayed slowly back and forth, the tips of her toes bloodied as they traced lines through the shards of broken glass that covered the rumpled bed sheets. Lifeless eyes bulged from their sockets as a silent scream split her lips. Her swollen tongue lay blue and unmoving from the corner of her mouth.
    Lionel sat on the floor under the window slowly rocking back and forth. His incoherent muttering was lost as James’ cries for help shattered the silence; echoing through the open windows and into the blue skied morning beyond.
    Less than six short months later, Reverend James Collins stood before his parishioners and tried, once again, to give reason to something beyond reason. His gaze shifted from Lionel and moved to the caskets before him; a lone tear spilling down his cheek. It landed on the dog-eared pages of his great-grandfather’s worn Bible spread on the pulpit before him, falling across Ecclesiastes III with a silent splash. When he spoke it was in a voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried throughout the small church with a soothing strength and powerful purpose. “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal…”

    During the Reed’s funeral Lionel could feel the eyes boring into the back of his head as he fiddled absentmindedly with the plastic band that encircled his wrist. The voice in his head did its best to reassure him that everything was alright, but Lionel knew from his interviews with Deputy Griggs that the man just wasn’t convinced by what he was hearing or not hearing for that matter.
    He did his best to stay focused on his father, but instead found himself stealing glances behind him in hopes of catching sight of the deputy. Rather than the deputy however, he caught the gaze of an odd man seated near the back of the church. A poorly fitting shirt hung loosely around the man’s thin neck and the black suit he wore had definitely seen better days. He wasn’t a member of the church, nor could Lionel recall seeing him before, but the man smiled and nodded at him with familiarity. It made the boy’s skin crawl.
    Fortunately, Lionel’s father was nearing the end of the eulogy. The homily was a familiar one and it brought a smile to the young man’s face as he closed his eyes and envisioned red wings spreading out under the lifeless bodies of Joshua and Jacob Reed. He listened to the words his father spoke and imagined soaring among the clouds on blood-red butterfly wings.

    In the tall grasses of a wide valley a lone caterpillar crawled slowly about the base of a large tree. Like countless caterpillars before, this caterpillar’s entire life had been spent traveling from the small pond on the eastern end of the valley to this very tree on the slopes of the western hills. The caterpillar often