The Sound that Haunts You
Post Dead End
It was the loneliest sound in the world, a sound from his childhood. The vibration that rattled the dishes in the kitchen cabinets. The shine of light as it sped across walls in the dark and outlined the limbs of the trees around the farmhouse.
Some nights it created goblins and witches on the bare, faded-paint plaster. Some nights there were teachers reaching to strike at him for a perceived or real insolence. It could be his father’s face when he came home four hours after the factory closed, his breath reeking of cheap whiskey. His eyes narrow, his lips thin, his hands quick to pull the belt out of his jeans and use it … use it.
The sound never woke his brothers or sisters as they slept beside him and Lindsey marveled at that, because it always did, for him. It crawled through his dreams, into his mind and would bring him out of the deepest sleep and the best dreams.
Escape. Escape. Escape.
Even now. When he had.
Even now. When he returned.
Back in flannel. Back in boots. Back the bed of his truck and asleep, parked on the side of the road, his jacket for a pillow, the stars shining above him. The sound of the train made him gasp for air, made him sit up. Made him open his eyes. Made him see the dark outline of the man that was beside him. The vampire watching over him.
“Why do you follow me?” Lindsey would ask, over and over.
His hands would reach for Angel, pull him closer just to feel the weight of that body over his. To feel the solid presence of his keeper, his lover, his enemy, his friend.
“I want to hear the sound of those things that haunt you.”