saying and suddenly turned his stomach was the pitch black aura around the man. It writhed around him as though the darkness was fighting with itself to stay contained. There was no other color to temper the blackness. This was the source of the smell, the stench of corruption. His aura brushed headstones as he passed, leaving behind withered moss and dead flowers rotting in their stand. He was a walking abomination, an affront to the reality around him and Christopher could almost imagine the world screaming in pain at each step he took.
Christopher slumped, suddenly weak, and Hamlin caught his arm to help him stay up.
"Whoa, you okay Christopher? You look like you ate some bad fish."
The man had stopped some distance away and stood watching. Christopher suddenly had the feeling he wasn't there for the funeral. His eyes were on Christopher.
"Yeah, I think I'm fine."
He straightened up and pulled his arm away from Hamlin.
"Think?" Hamlin asked.
"Yeah. Hey do you see that guy over there? The tall guy with the hat?" Christopher asked.
Hamlin looked to where he nodded.
"Yeah, tall son of a bitch, ain't he? Do you recognize him? A friend of your father's perhaps?"
"No."
Christopher felt like he was going to throw up. People around him were looking at him curiously. Most nodded sympathetically, thinking it was the grief affecting him. A few hands fell on his shoulder for comfort. He wanted to walk away, get away from the ominous presence of the thing watching over them. But he stood there and listened to the priest drone on and on.
He noticed that he was feeling better. Strength, subtle at first, was seeping into him from that seed of hatred, that gift from hell that dwelt deep inside him. He welcomed the comfort and warmth it brought. As though his acknowledgement gave it strength, the seed of anger flared to life and burned any nausea out of him.
He no longer wanted to leave. He wanted to charge up that hill and tear apart the flesh of the man on the hill and drag him down to hell. He had no idea why, but he needed to destroy this one. His hand itched to hold the weapon, but he had left that at home. He had even taken a step towards the thing when Hamlin's arm on his shoulder brought him back to himself. He pushed the feeling back down. It was his father's funeral, he could do nothing at the moment.
"I think that man had something to do with my father's murder," Christopher said through clenched teeth.
"How do you know? Did you see him last night?"
"No, but I’m positive it’s connected."
"It?" Hamlin asked, but Christopher ignored him.
The ceremony was soon over and the caskets were lowered into the ground at the same time. The crowd began to disperse. Christopher stood at the edge of the grave site as the mourners slowly made their way back to the cars. Many stopped to give him their condolences one last time. Christopher shook their hands and said all the words they expected him to say. But his attention never left the lone figure on the hill. It never left, it waited for him.
He waited for everyone to leave, expressing his need to be near his family one last time alone.
"I'll stay here with you," Hamlin said. "Maybe I should go introduce myself to that man up there."
"I don't think that’s such a good idea,” Christopher said. "I think he’s waiting for me."
"I know. That's why I should go have a chat."
Christopher new instinctively that if Hamlin went up that hill, there was a good chance he wouldn't come back.
"No, detective, I'm the one he wants to talk to."
"Maybe, but if you think he is involved with all this, there is no way I'm letting you go over there alone."
"Hamlin," Christopher said and focused all his attention on the detective, "If you go up there you will die."
"Look Christopher, I don't know what you are thinking but..."
He must have seen something in Christopher's eyes, maybe a little bit of the hell fury seeping through, because he stopped. Christopher could see the shock and
Christopher slumped, suddenly weak, and Hamlin caught his arm to help him stay up.
"Whoa, you okay Christopher? You look like you ate some bad fish."
The man had stopped some distance away and stood watching. Christopher suddenly had the feeling he wasn't there for the funeral. His eyes were on Christopher.
"Yeah, I think I'm fine."
He straightened up and pulled his arm away from Hamlin.
"Think?" Hamlin asked.
"Yeah. Hey do you see that guy over there? The tall guy with the hat?" Christopher asked.
Hamlin looked to where he nodded.
"Yeah, tall son of a bitch, ain't he? Do you recognize him? A friend of your father's perhaps?"
"No."
Christopher felt like he was going to throw up. People around him were looking at him curiously. Most nodded sympathetically, thinking it was the grief affecting him. A few hands fell on his shoulder for comfort. He wanted to walk away, get away from the ominous presence of the thing watching over them. But he stood there and listened to the priest drone on and on.
He noticed that he was feeling better. Strength, subtle at first, was seeping into him from that seed of hatred, that gift from hell that dwelt deep inside him. He welcomed the comfort and warmth it brought. As though his acknowledgement gave it strength, the seed of anger flared to life and burned any nausea out of him.
He no longer wanted to leave. He wanted to charge up that hill and tear apart the flesh of the man on the hill and drag him down to hell. He had no idea why, but he needed to destroy this one. His hand itched to hold the weapon, but he had left that at home. He had even taken a step towards the thing when Hamlin's arm on his shoulder brought him back to himself. He pushed the feeling back down. It was his father's funeral, he could do nothing at the moment.
"I think that man had something to do with my father's murder," Christopher said through clenched teeth.
"How do you know? Did you see him last night?"
"No, but I’m positive it’s connected."
"It?" Hamlin asked, but Christopher ignored him.
The ceremony was soon over and the caskets were lowered into the ground at the same time. The crowd began to disperse. Christopher stood at the edge of the grave site as the mourners slowly made their way back to the cars. Many stopped to give him their condolences one last time. Christopher shook their hands and said all the words they expected him to say. But his attention never left the lone figure on the hill. It never left, it waited for him.
He waited for everyone to leave, expressing his need to be near his family one last time alone.
"I'll stay here with you," Hamlin said. "Maybe I should go introduce myself to that man up there."
"I don't think that’s such a good idea,” Christopher said. "I think he’s waiting for me."
"I know. That's why I should go have a chat."
Christopher new instinctively that if Hamlin went up that hill, there was a good chance he wouldn't come back.
"No, detective, I'm the one he wants to talk to."
"Maybe, but if you think he is involved with all this, there is no way I'm letting you go over there alone."
"Hamlin," Christopher said and focused all his attention on the detective, "If you go up there you will die."
"Look Christopher, I don't know what you are thinking but..."
He must have seen something in Christopher's eyes, maybe a little bit of the hell fury seeping through, because he stopped. Christopher could see the shock and
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