tagNovels and NovellasAlways Pt. 01 Ch. 01-10

Always Pt. 01 Ch. 01-10


"We are born with our father's names. We are not responsible for their failures. We are responsible for what they made us believe in. That is our only obligation. And it is even then a choice which we may sometimes be wise to ignore."

~Warren Eyster



The Origins of a Maniacal Hero

IT WAS BACK in the day . . . Freak on a Leash and Nookie topped the rock charts and TRL was the biggest thing on television—at least as far as most of the youth of that time was concerned. If you didn't have issues, then you didn't know who Korn was. If you had issues, then you were fitting right in with the current generation, a generation where having a social stigma or a psychological problem made you unique and being individualistic was all the rave. Bi-po was the new spaz—and Ritalin was the best candy.

Unlike other fourteen-year-olds, Cameron didn't strive to be unique, didn't care about the latest rave, wanted little out of life and had few friends.

He tightened his half-gloved hand around the barbell.

"One more set," Dwoane said gruffly, standing behind the weight bench, spotting. "You can do it, Big C!"

Although Dwoane was a senior, the Panthers' tight end and had the physique that could rival a Big 12 college player, Cam's build was even bigger. At fourteen years old and a height of 6'1, Cam weighed in at 304, bench pressed 310, squats 420.

Cam was big. He was strong.

He was a bona fide anomaly, whether he wanted or appreciate that fact or not.

In. Hold.

Lower. Feel the burn . . . flowing . . .

"That's smooth," Dwoane said.

Exhale. Lift. Slow. Steady.

Dwoane's name was pronounced Duh-waun but guys on the team liked to razz him. They'd call him Dwayne. And he'd lose it.

"I ain't no white-ass hick, muthafuckers! I got genuine Texan black snake right here, baby!" in which he'd always grab his crotch. Of course, only other varsity players ever got to mess with Dwoane.

Cam had personally witnessed a JV player make the same joke and Dwoane made him eat grass until he screamed for mercy. The poor guy had tears running down his face before Dwoane finally got off him.

"Nine more just like that, baby!" Dwoane said.

This was Cam's third and final set on the bench.

Two more. A third.

"This is the wall, boy! Hit it! Smash it! Show me that willpower!"

Cam's teeth clenched. The high school's weightlifting room was stifling hot, even with a half dozen fans set up inside the barn-like building. It was the best this country-hick high school could afford.

"C'mon! My granny can pump iron better than you and she's ninety-two!"

Cam had heard the Panther's coach, Coach Sammy Block, use that same zinger, so it didn't make the fire burn any hotter, not that he needed more motivation. Cam wasn't working out with aspirations of joining the football team. He wasn't trying to bulk up to get girls.

Cam had one motivation; get strong and big enough to kill Tony, his old man. He had stopped calling him 'Dad' about two years ago, the night Tony had beat Mom unconscious. And as a result, Ajay had succumbed to a severe panic attack. Both Mom and Ajay were rushed by ambulance to the hospital.

"Two more to go, baby! Push!"

The flames of pain constricted around his arms and upper chest. Good flames. Great flames! No pain, no gain. No pain, no gain. More gain, and no more pain . . .

Dwoane was one of Cam's few friends, which was fine. Cam didn't want a bunch of friends. His six-foot frame and three hundred pounds proved useful in keeping people at a distance. Not many other fourteen-year-olds measured up. He was a freak-of-nature the school bully had teased, until Cam knocked three of his teeth loose, earning him the nickname The Tooth Reaper. Ironically, the moniker wasn't given to him by a foe; it was given to him by Dwoane—who had spoken the sentiment in jest.

"Last one!"

Arms shaking.

Breath ragged. "Let's do this!"


"We gonna do this or not? Anytime now!"

Cam held the bar a half-inch above his ribcage.

"We're gonna finish this shit!"

Cam grunted. He thrust the weights upward.

"That's my man!" Dwoane did a dramatic twirl. "Alright. Alright. That's good. That's good. That's real

good. Let's call it a day."

Exhaling, Cam set the bar down.

Although he was considerably bigger than Tony, he couldn't help but fear the bastard. He was sure he could beat Tony to death, and probably do so easily, but he couldn't shake his nervousness and self-doubt.

Cam was no different than most kids, he supposed. Growing up, he saw his dad as a figure of authority, someone you respected, tried to obey best ya could and never, ever gave lip to. Cam simply couldn't wrap his head around reversing their roles.

It was a mindset, Cam realized. He had to think of his dad as inferior. And think of himself as the one in control. The parent. It was the only way he could muster up the spine enough to take the fucker out. And the fucker really had to be taken out. Soon.

Because every night that went by without Cam doing the deed was another night Ajay had to take another beating.

Another part of Cam's hesitation was because he didn't know how he would kill his father and get away with it. Leave no evidence. No reason to suspect foul play. Religiously, his mother—and Tony if he wasn't passed out drunk—would watch America's Most Wanted with John Walsh and for the last several months Cam had paid special attention to all the murder cases, especially the evidence that led to the captures in the update portions of the program. Fingerprints were a big deal, and so was motive. There wasn't much he could think of to do about motive.

After today, Cam knew how he would kill Tony.

Because today, in his eighth-grade health class, he had learned the answer to a question that had haunted his waking and sleeping thoughts.

The answer to the puzzle hid within a simple statistic: More than eighty percent of alcohol-related boating accidents resulted in death by drowning.

And fingerprints didn't stick to water.

Day after tomorrow, Tony would go fishing.

He went every Saturday and Sunday, as long as the weather held out.

And sunny skies were forecasted for this weekend.

It was the same routine, every damn weekend. Tony would toss a bunch of rods and reels and a large tackle box into the back of the truck along with a case of beer. Then he'd hitch the green aluminum boat to the truck, tossing in a few extra tall boys of beer in the live well. "A real man can't ever be too careful," he'd frequently say before yelling for Cam and Ajay to get in the back.

Sometimes Ajay would try to bring a whole case of Hot Wheels with him, but Tony would say there wasn't enough room for that kiddy shit.

Dwoane tossed a wet towel at Cam as they headed for the door. The cool moisture on his burning muscles was a welcome reprieve on his sweaty flesh.

"You maxed 335 today," Dwoane said. "By tight end standards that places you only five away from the

Excellence rank, that's 90% max rank."

Cam tossed the towel back at Dwoane. "Ninety-percent? I want one-hundred-fucking-percent."

"I know. I know. You one crazy cracker. But you push yourself too damn much, too damn hard, and you gonna blow your muscles like a car blows a belt. Then it's all gonna be for zilch."

"Just meet me here tomorrow. Same time."

"Nah. Take tomorrow and the weekend off. We'll pick up on Monday."

"I can't wait that long. Tomorrow. It's my last chance."

Dwoane shook his head. "Look, I ain't gonna hook you up with anymore 'roids if you don't cool your jets for a bit. This some serious shit, Big C. Hell, your face is already starting to look like you got stung by a nest of bees. People gotta know you doin' the shit by now."

Cam felt his temper flare. Face reddened. Teeth gritted. "Nobody knows shit."

Dwoane moved to stand in front of the doorway, obstructing Cam's exit. "None of this shit better blow back on my black ass, you got that?"

With a grimace, Cam nodded.

They pushed through the double doors and strode across the high school parking lot.

Dwoane flipped him off. "See ya Monday, Big C."

Cam groaned. He shoved the key into lock on the driver's side of his mother's car, a run down Chevy Citation. That's when he saw the note that was slipped between the glass on the window and the rubber molding.

You don't have to pick me up. Had to leave work early so I got a ride home with Debbie. There was an incident. Ajay got suspended. Brought a knife to school.


Cam's right hand tightened into a fist. "Fuck!" He punched the roof of the car. The metal buckled and creased.

Tony would punish Ajay for sure. Hell, he didn't need much of a reason to whoop Ajay and did so most every night. Ajay's panic attack two years ago set something off inside Tony, a special kind of hatred for his youngest son.

That's when he started hurting Ajay.

Started with sending him to bed without supper and forcing him to take baths in iced water.

And progressed to putting out cigarettes on his head and making him sleep in the shed.

Tony was smart, never leaving evidence of his 'punishments'. He also rarely touched Cam. Only Mom— when she tried to interfere—and Ajay, but mostly Ajay.

Tonight, Tony would surely make Ajay sleep in the shed; no pillow or blanket, lying on car oil stains in the wood floor, feeling the tickle of crawling cockroaches and listening to the scurrying of rats, while Cam would be left to sleep in his bedroom on a soft mattress with pillows and blankets, all comfy like.

Cam started the car, shifted to drive. He drove toward home and what surely would be a long night, for all of them.

It had been a long night, just as Cam had suspected it would be. On Friday, he took Dwoane's advice and rested up. No lifting weights. He spent the day picturing Tony's face; eyes wide open, eerily staring upward from beneath murky water.

Finally, the moment was here.

"A real man can't ever be too cautious," Tony said, chuckling at his own joke as he tossed the extra beers into the live-well. "You two dipshits get in the back. Let's go!"

CAM STOOD ON THE EDGE OF Lake Raven, a remote pond nestled deep in the forest of Huntsville State Park. A hundred yards off shore empty cans bobbed around Tony's green boat. He was striking matches, cussing the wind for blowing them out, while a cigarette wobbled between his thin lips.

From a Styrofoam cooler Cam grabbed a can of beer, cracked it open and guzzled.

Ajay sat crouched on the sandy bank and stared up at him incredulously. "Daddy gonna whoop you

for drinkin' his beer."

"Hush," Cam said.

Ajay returned to his measly two Hot Wheels that he'd stowed away in his denim shorts. A red convertible and a pick-up truck with tiny plastic cargo lights molded on the top, both filthy from the wet sand.

Blood raced through Cam's veins. Bullets of sweat bubbled on his forehead. A flash of heat swept over his body. With balled fists, he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, slow and controlled.

Dwoane had taught him this technique after Cam had complained about the side effects of the damn steroids. The drug drove his temper to borderline uncontrollable levels. Despite the side effects, the desperation to increase his bulk and do it quickly, kept Cam the tight end's most loyal customer and workout buddy.

Ajay lay on his stomach by Cam's feet. He pushed the toy car and truck through some dried pine needles further from the bank, carving a road through the packed needles. "It's getting dark." He glanced up at Cam. "You think we might go home soon? I'm bored. I wish I'd brought my tractor, but I couldn't fit it in my pocket."

Dried blood covered the crack on Ajay's bottom lip. The purple on the apple of his cheek had darkened but, at least the swelling had gone down. Last night's 'punishment' had left obvious marks. Tony was getting careless.

"Goddamn wind!" Tony bellowed. "That sonuvabitch on the Weather Channel don't know shit!" Tony chucked the entire box of matches into the pond.

Cam watched the box sink like a casket, sinking to its watery grave. He crouched beside Ajay. "What were you thinking, bringing a knife to school?"

Absently, Ajay shrugged.

Cam lifted Ajay's shirt. Between his shoulder blades where Tony had burned him with a cigarette, a blister oozed puss. "If you stop screwing up, maybe Tony would get after me one of these nights instead of you."

Ajay glided the car over a rock while making vrroom-vrroom sounds. "I wish I had a real car. I wish we could drive somewhere. Anywhere but here."

"Shithead," Tony bellowed from the middle of the lake. "Beer!"

"Want me to go this time?" Ajay asked. "I can swim real good now."

Cam rubbed the black hair on top of Ajay's head. "You take enough shit from him already. I got this."

"Now!" Tony's gruff voice echoed off the dense pines of the secluded campground.

Cam pulled Ajay's shirt down. Gently, he gripped his brother under the arms and turned him until his back was toward the lake. "See that big stump way over there?" He thumbed, gesturing with a tilt of his head.

"Yeah. I see it."

"Go make a racetrack around it, okay?"

"Sure. That sounds kinda fun." Ajay jumped to his feet and headed for the stump several yards away.

Cam pulled his sweat-drenched shirt over his head, folded it neatly and set it on a log. He looked down at his muscle-bound torso and the bulges in his biceps. Would it all pay off?

Ajay glanced over his shoulder. "What you gonna do?"

Cam felt one corner of his mouth lift into a cruel grin. "Bring Tony his last beer."

19 years later


THE SOLITUDE OF the Texas campground hadn't dimmed Maggie's anxiety like she'd hoped, but the five beers sure as hell did. She might even be drunk enough to pee in one of the nasty outhouses.

She chugged her beer and set the can between the ribs running along the bottom of the canoe. Grabbing another from the cooler, she shifted her weight, rocking the boat. Empty cans rolled and clattered. Water splashed over the gunnel.

Tilly sat across from Maggie reading a paperback. She set her book down and tilted her oversized sun hat until it cast a shadow over her pale legs. "I think you've had enough."

Maggie cracked the can open and took a sip. "I'm just getting started." She glanced over her shoulder at the bow of the canoe where she'd stowed her gun. The .38 snub-nosed revolver made for a lightweight and easily concealable weapon, or at least that was what her older brother had said the day he taught her how to use it.

She braced her palms and leaned backward, stretching her body, hoping her emerald bikini hid little from the last of the day's sunshine.

Tilly lifted her chin, gesturing toward the embankment. "I've seen him somewhere but I can't place him."

A tall man stood on shore. He wore black hiking boots and faded jeans. A navy-blue T-shirt stretched smooth over a well-muscled chest.

Maggie turned to get a better view. The bow dipped. Water seeped into the canoe. "You know him?"

Tilly shrugged. "Maybe I've seen him at Chase Industries."

Maggie snickered. "He doesn't strike me as the computer-geek type."

When Maggie planned this getaway, staying drunk was the only task on the itinerary. Not getting laid. The five beers she had drank must've warped her already demented mind. She needed a distraction and she needed to feel good. And he looked like he could make her feel great.

Tilly covered her mouth and gasped. "That's no rifle he's holding."

Maggie's head spun. She gripped the seat, trying to steady herself but lost her balance. Her body swayed. The trees surrounding the lake blurred in a drunken haze.

The canoe tilted and Maggie's grip slipped. Head first, she toppled into the lake.

Darkness surrounded her. She flailed and kicked but where was the surface? Had she swam up or down?

Her lungs tightened, begging for air. The pounding of her heart rang in her ears. She was going to die.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled.

WARM LIPS PRESSED against Maggie's mouth. She opened her eyes to find a very large man kneeling beside her. Water dripped from his short black hair and bare chest. His jeans were soaked. A gold ring dangled from a thick chain circling his neck.

He grunted. "Thought you needed CPR. But all you need is a strong cup of coffee."

A pungent flavor of spoiled fish lingered on her tongue. Bile rose in her throat. Gagging and coughing, she twisted and vomited. A string of saliva trailed from her bottom lip. With the back of her hand, she wiped her mouth.

Tilly stood behind him, her drenched blouse plastered to her petite frame. "Is she gonna be okay?"

The man glowered down at Maggie. "Anybody ever tell you that boating and drinking is a good way to get yourself killed?"

Maggie propped herself on her forearms and glanced across the water. The canoe floated upside down, surrounded by cans and floatation cushions. Fog clouded her vision and her head spun. She palmed her forehead. "One beer too many." She hesitated, glancing across the water again. Panicked, she rolled to the side and patted the ground, scouring the pine needles and dried leaves. "Where's my gun?"

The man scooped her into his arms, one arm under her legs and the other under back. A strong scent of bourbon wafted from his olive skin.

"Probably at the bottom of the lake," he said.

An enormous stranger had her cradled in his arms like they were longtime lovers. She should be freaking out or at the least, mildly alarmed. But when his lips curled into a crooked smile, a smile any sane girl would find terrifying, she found him only mildly disturbing, and at the same time, sexy as hell. But then again, dangerous men had always been her weakness.

With Maggie still in his arms, he turned from the water's edge and traipsed along a worn path through the woods.

"We appreciate your help." Tilly followed closely. "But I can take it from here."

The man didn't acknowledge Tilly. He just kept walking. After a few hundred feet or so they came to an empty campsite.

He set Maggie down at a picnic table and glanced at Tilly. "Take her to the hospital. Just to be sure." He turned back to Maggie and opened his mouth as if to say something.

But hesitated.

Black, empty, doll-like eyes drilled into her. A smirk formed on his unshaven face. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, before turning and disappearing the way they'd come.

Sighing, Tilly knelt before Maggie and brushed a damp strand from Maggie's cheek. "You scared the crap out of me. Are you sure you're okay?"

Squinting, Maggie watched the large man disappear into the woods. "Is he coming back?"

"About that. Let's put some distance between us and him and if you're up to it, we'll head back to the cabin."

"You go," Maggie said. "I'll catch up to you." She stood and staggered toward the greenery where the mysterious stranger had disappeared.

Tilly gently grasped both Maggie's arms and forced her to sit back down. "No way. I'm not gonna let you do it."


"Are you insane? Tell me you're not thinking of bedding that man."

Maggie laughed. "No. I plan on fucking him." Again, she stood but Tilly pushed her back down.

"You've done some stupid stuff but this is over-the-top . . . even for you."

Maggie scowled. "What's your problem?"

"My problem? I'll tell you what my problem is." Tilly's voice pitched and Maggie resisted rolling her eyes. Tilly continued. "That man is not to be trusted. How about a little common sense? He looked as if he was ready to kill somebody."

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