chapter 1

It is a most joyous occasion when a child is born, but a most solemn one when a child dies. Jonathan was seven-years-old, lying in a hospital bed breathless, the last signs of his life slowly seeping away.

     People wept for Jonathan even though they wouldn’t miss him. They said he was born evil—that he’d killed his own mother even before he was born. Those who knew the whole truth knew there were no abusive parents to shed light upon in a hypnotic trance, nor was there a religious pedophiliac or ill-fated uncle to blame for torturing his mind and body. He was simply born with devious thoughts and devilish ways.

     His mother’s name was Clair. She was medium height and shapely with dark brown eyes shaped like teardrops turned sideways. She always wore her hair pulled back in a French braid to keep it from falling down in her face; she hated that. Even though Clair held a degree in psychology, she opted to stay home and live a simple life with her supporting and loving husband and try to start a family.

     Clair was hovering at the kitchen counter seasoning steaks for her husband’s dinner when Dr. Rudison’s office called her with news that she was pregnant with Jonathan. When she heard the words “you’re pregnant,” she began fluttering her hand like a winglet bird trying to take off and fly. “Thank you Jesus! Oh dear God, thank you!” she said, clutching the phone to her chest like she’d just won an Oscar. She couldn’t wait to call her husband Harold at work.

(free preview cont.)