Free Eye of Vengeance by Jonathon King

the light.
    “Dad? I’m ready,” his daughter called from her room.
    “Can you make me some coffee, please, Elsa?” Nick said as he walked through the kitchen.
    “You are going out again?”
    “After she’s asleep,” he said. “I’ll lock up before I go.” Nick did not turn to see Elsa’s reaction. He knew she would disapprove. He’d promised to give up the late-night forays into the streets for the sake of a story, both to his wife before and to Elsa afterward. Now he was again going back on that promise.
    In his daughter’s room, he knelt down in front of the bookcase, searching for a title. Carly was already in bed and had slid over against the wall to give him room to stretch out in his usual position. Nick had taken the second twin bed out of the room after two months. He’d replaced it with a desk and an additional case of the girls’ favorite books, some that had been packed away in the garage.
    “I’ve got the Harry Potter over here, Dad,” Carly said.
    “I’m looking for something else, C. One of my favorites.”
    Carly didn’t complain, just pulled a stuffed tiger closer to her and waited for him to find a thin, worn volume from one of the lower shelves. He finally lay down on the outside edge of the bed and turned away from the nightstand, where he knew a family photo of the four of them looked out upon his back.
    “ We Were Tired of Living in a House, by Leisel Moak Skorpen,” he announced and then peeked over from the side of the opened book to see his daughter’s reaction. She rolled her eyes but still smiled.
    “Alright, go ahead,” she said, giving him permission.
    Nick read the book aloud, pausing to give both of them a long look at the accompanying artwork on each double page. It was actually a long, lovely and mischievous poem about two brothers and two sisters who get scolded for misdoings at home and their adventures finding another place to live—a tree, a pond, a cave and the seashore—before finally returning home to their parents to live in a house.
    When he finished, Nick closed the book and turned off the bedside lamp and waited in the silence. He could tell by her breathing that she was still awake. Before, he’d always read to the girls from a rocking chair set in between the beds and when he was done he’d continue to rock, the low creak of the runners sounding in a rhythm that would eventually put them to sleep. He found he could no longer stand the sound and had thrown the chair out.
    “Was someone killed today?” his daughter’s voice finally, quietly broke the silence.
    Nick just closed his eyes. Unfortunately, it was not an unusual question from Carly. She was a bright girl.
    “Yes, honey,” he said.
    “Did you write about it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Will I read about it in the newspaper?”
    “I’m not sure you should be reading the paper, honey, with all your schoolwork and stuff. You should really concentrate on that reading.”
    He had never encouraged his daughters to read his work, but Carly had taken more to it since the accident, and the counselors had suggested he let it go instead of trying to ban her from the practice.
    “Did it make you sad, the killing?”
    “No, Carly. Not really. I was just trying to find out how it happened. That’s my job, to report what happened. You know?”
    The girl stayed quiet for several moments.
    “Why do you ask?” Nick finally said.
    “’Cause you always read that book when you’re sad, Daddy.”
    Jesus, Nick thought. He tried to look into his daughter’s eyes but couldn’t make them out in the dark room. The kids are too smart for you. You can’t overestimate their perception. And you can’t hide.
    “I know, baby,” he whispered. “It just makes me feel better.”
    He touched her hair and she whispered back, “Me too.”
    When her breathing went soft and rhythmic and she was finally asleep, Nick carefully rolled off the bed and left, closing the door gently behind him.

Chapter 8
    N ick didn’t