"Oh, you'd be surprised. When you're dead you can see into all other souls. Trust me. Everyone is bad in one way or another."

Walter's head began to hurt. He reached over and retrieved a bottle of aspirin. He took two, downing them with a gla.s.s of water, and then he looked back at Christine.

"So what was the deal you made?"

"I can't tell you," she said, shaking her head.

"Why not?"

"Because it would breach our contract."

"Yours and the Devil's."

"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing. You don't go to church. You don't even believe in anything. So what do you care?"

"I don't care. I just find it funny. My dead daughter who died in the womb came back to haunt me. Then she possessed the body of an infant which grew up ten years in ten seconds. And all of it's thanks to a contract, a deal she made with the Devil. It just sounds so unbelievable. That's all. I bet no one else will ever say that sentence."

"You'd be surprised." She was quickly eating her seventh pop tart and moving on to the eighth.

"Can you tell me one thing?" he asked.

"What?"

"The deal. It wasn't for my soul, was it?"

"No, Daddy, I told you, I'm here to help you. Why would I betray my own father. It's not your fault Mommy killed herself. Women are like that. Unpredictable. Men though, you can pretty much predict what they're gonna do."

"You said I had a brother."

"Yep. Randy."

"Where is he?"

"Why?"

"I want to meet him."

"I'll take you to him. But he can't see me or know about me. No one can."

"Why?"

"Because it would breach our contract, silly." She smiled and continued to eat her pop tart, as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Chapter 19.

The little town of Rapshure was where Christine had told him Randy was currently living; he was working in some factory or something. Walter drove over there the next morning. All day long he searched the town, looking for the man called Randy. He had to wonder if he'd pa.s.sed his brother on the street one day and not even known they were related.

He was sure he would know him when he saw him. If he was his brother then surely he would have some similarities to Walter's.

Walter made sure not to drive the police cruiser nor wear his suit on his search as that would be a give away. This was unofficial business, this was personal, so he chose a pair of slacks and a polo shirt.

He didn't even know Randy, never knew his brother existed until just recently but he hated him all the same. Walter felt as if he should be the only one with the bloodline, the only one to carry on his family's legacy.

What that legacy was he didn't really know but he did know he didn't want Randy to be a part of it.

Especially if what Christine had said was true; about Randy liking little girls, staring at them, l.u.s.ting for them. He hadn't acted on his impulses yet but Christine had a.s.sured him that he would. And Walter wanted to be there, to make Randy pay for any crimes he committed. Christine had waited back home as Walter wanted to do this alone.

The only thing Walter didn't think about was how Christine could even exist. Every time he tried to rationalize what had happened, he could never get past the impossible. So he'd decided to just ignore it, pretend none of it never happened. She was here with him now and how she arrived didn't matter.

All day he searched for Randy to no avail. An entire day wasted; he had found nothing.

He knew it wouldn't be hard to look up Randy's name in the police database but that would let others know he was looking and that he couldn't allow. So he had to do this the old fashioned way, by slapping leather to the sidewalk.

So, that afternoon he had stopped in the Rapshure Bar, a two-bit dive on the outskirts of town. Sitting alone at the bar, drinking his third round of beer and watching the unruly customers around him, Walter sat distressed. The events of the past several years were haunting his thoughts. Then he heard the door open behind him. He turned and looked to see a burly man wearing blue overalls with gla.s.ses and short fringed hair walk in. Although he wasn't a spitting image of Walter, the eyes were the same. Hazel eyes. The same eyes of himself and his father. He knew right away this man was Randy, who had entered the bar by some bizarre twist of fate.

But then, thinking of Christine, he was starting to believe there was no such thing as fate, that it was all some grand design by a higher power and he was merely a p.a.w.n to be moved about a chess board on a whim.

Walter watched Randy walk silently over to a nearby table and sit down. His walk was like that of a penguin; kind of off balance. Walter had hated him before he saw him and now that he had seen him, he despised him.

Randy didn't have the same grace the rest of the family had; he was a walking disgrace. He was like some flea bitten hick that had been battered and would rape on a moment's notice because he knew of nothing better to do.

For the next hour and a half, Walter drank his beers and watched his disgraceful brother sitting alone.

But then he realized Randy was looking at someone in the bar.

Who was he staring at?

Walter followed his gaze to a woman sitting alone at a corner table, and when he saw her, he realized she was looking back at Randy.

Then Randy was standing up and crossing the bar to the woman. He stood over her with a goofy grin plastered across his face. They were talking about something stupid.

Walter couldn't watch another second of it so with a gla.s.s of beer in hand, he stood up and walked over to Randy.

He stood behind him, too close actually, and his plan worked out almost immediately. Randy backed up quite accidentally into Walter, who dropped his gla.s.s which then shattered on the floor. Randy began to turn around, but before he did, Walter placed a hand on Randy's shoulder and with his other hand brought it down on his arm.

He yanked Randy easily away from the gasping woman and towards the front door of the bar. Once outside, Walter began to punch Randy, first in the face and then in the stomach. Randy went down hard to the ground as Walter continued the a.s.sault. Behind him were the bar's customers, all staring with open mouths as Walter brought his fist down onto Randy's face again and again. Then Walter started kicking Randy in the stomach, back, and sides. Walter felt ribs break and flesh tear from the hits he was causing and he loved every second of it. Walter was laughing like a mad man. He'd never had so much fun before in his life. He walked away from the bleeding Randy and picked up a metal sign with the words RAPSHURE BAR written on it.

With one sharp, downward swoop, he brought the sign onto Randy's back. Then, his temper fading, Walter turned, and while still laughing and carrying the sign in his hand, he went to his car. He dropped the sign in his trunk and drove away, leaving his broken brother behind him with his laugh still echoing around the area.

He drove and drove until he came upon a little section of the city he hadn't been to before. He knew he was still in Rapshure and he knew the area existed, but it was a part he'd never had a reason to go to before. The buildings were bigger and the streets wider, almost as if the little village behind him had been some prologue to a much bigger city. Walter noticed all the crime around him. Hookers walked along the sidewalks and pimps followed closely behind. b.u.ms and drug-ridden crack heads lined the buildings with bottles of booze in hand while a fight was breaking out nearby; two black men punching each other. Then one pulled a gun and shot the other.

Walter slammed on the brakes and reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his own gun. He exited the vehicle and pointed the gun at the man who had just shot the other. The man dropped his gun right off upon seeing Walter aiming his pistol at him.

"You're under arrest motherf.u.c.ker," Walter said. "Get in the back of the car, now."

The man, frightened, did as instructed. "Here, put these on," Walter instructed as he tossed the man a pair of handcuffs. The man did as he was told.

Walter took a quick look around and smiled. He climbed into his car and drove away.

He'd been driving for nearly an hour, while behind him in the backseat; the man was losing his fear and becoming violent.

"Look, you honky a.s.s motherf.u.c.ker. I don't know what your deal is, but either you let me out or I will f.u.c.king kill your a.s.s." Walter stopped the car and turned around to stare at his prisoner. Before the man knew what was happening, Walter pistol whipped him. Then he pointed the gun into his face.

"You killed a man over beating your a.s.s in a fistfight? You G.o.dd.a.m.n coward. Get out of my f.u.c.king car," Walter snapped.

The guy got out; his nose was broken and bleeding and he started to walk away from the car. He didn't even care he was handcuffed, he just wanted to leave.

Walter let the man get twenty feet from his vehicle and then he put it in reverse and slammed on the gas. The man turned but never got the chance to yell out as the car struck him and he was pulled under the wheels. The car b.u.mped up and down as it broke the body apart.

Walter laughed to himself but then he abruptly stopped.

What the f.u.c.k am I doing? he thought to himself.

He got out of his car and looked at the corpse on the road. I've never been like this. I... He stopped thinking as another thought entered his head. Christine.

Somehow, he knew his daughter was responsible for his newfound tyranny. He got in the car and drove home quickly. He had to know what deal she had made.

Christine was waiting for him outside of Walter's house. She stood at the front door with a grin across her face. Walter turned the car off and got out and angrily stalked over to his daughter; the daughter that shouldn't exist.

With a frown on his face, he grabbed her up and carried her inside. Once inside, he slammed the front door with his foot and pushed her against the wall.

"What was that deal you made?" he demanded.

She smiled back at him. "I can't tell you," she giggled at him.

Walter violently shook her. "Tell me, d.a.m.n it!" he yelled.

She just laughed at him and repeated, "I can't tell you."

He raised a fist to her face, "Tell me now, G.o.dd.a.m.n you!"

But she only laughed even harder. He drew back to punch her and then she stopped laughing.

"Wait, don't hit me. I can tell you that the deal wasn't for you. Why, what did you do?"

Walter dropped her and backed away. "Yes. I've never acted like I just did. I killed a man, ran him over with my car. I just felt like doing it so I did. Whyawhy was I so...violent?" He dropped to his knees and placed his face in his hands. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

"It's in your blood, Daddy. Your father and his father before him. Your entire family is bathed in violence."

Walter looked up at his daughter. "I don't understand."

"You will," she said, her smile returning.

Walter stood up. "I need to talk to my father. Can you do something for me?"

"What?" she asked.

"Watch my brother and tell me where he goes and what he does."

"I'm ten, how can I do that?"

Walter frowned. "You may look ten, but we both know that's far from the truth."

"What are you gonna do in the meantime?" she asked.

"It's up to me, isn't it? Up to me to take my family down or this will just continue to the next generation."

"Yes, it is," she said, nodding.

"Then that's what I'll do. You can watch Randy without being seen, right?"

"No, I can be seen now. But...I can watch him through his eyes. That's the benefit of being dead. I can go into people's heads. I'll stay here and go into his head."

Walter looked at his daughter with curiosity. "Have you ever gone into my head?"

"No, Daddy, there's no reason to. You're my father. I already know you."

Walter nodded, understanding. While what she said was fantastic, it was no more impossible then everything else he'd already witnessed. He was quickly learning to accept the unacceptable as reality.

"I'll return shortly. Tell me what you see when I get back," he told her.

"I will, Daddy."

Walter bent down, hugged his daughter and kissed her on the check. Then he turned and left the house. Christine sat down on the couch and cupped her hands on her lap. Closing her eyes, she immediately found Randy. He was stumbling through his house. She could see Randy's blood all around the small house. Christine smiled her haunting smile and giggled. Randy stopped moving for a second and she knew that he heard her.

So she laughed a bit louder.

Randy continued to look around himself, hearing the laughter in his head. He believed he was going crazy.

Walter drove right over to where his father lived, intent on learning the truth.

Just what was his family? Why was his blood wanting such violence? So many questions and no answers fueled his hatred. He sat in his unmarked police cruiser for a minute, watching his father's house, the place where he'd lived when he was younger. It didn't look much different than it had when he'd left for college. Walter got out of his car quietly and closed the driver's door.

It was night time and the darkness of night covered the small homes around Walter in an ebony shroud. He glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch as he strode up the cement walkway to the front door. It was a little after midnight. His father would more than likely be fast asleep. He reached the door and reached into his pants pocket. He grasped his keys and searched through them until he found the key to his father's house.

When he'd left for good, he'd never returned his key and his father had never asked for it back. He stuck the key in the lock and unlocked the door; the door opening easily. Walter stepped in and closed the door behind him quietly. The lights in the house were off and he reached over to the switch next to the front door and flicked it upwards. All the lights in the living room turned on and Walter was surprised to see it was empty. No furniture, no TV, no nothing except for a few pieces of broken furniture left behind by some callous mover. Walter ran to where his father's bedroom was and opened the door. Nothing, not even a bed. He ran around the house searching for something, anything. Nothing, his father was gone. Walter stopped in the living room and sighed, a heavy weight on his heart. He had so hoped he would learn the truth.

With nothing for him at the deserted house, he left it behind him and went back home. On his way, he could feel his anger rising. His hatred was burning as if a fire had been stoked in his chest. He wanted the truth.

However, more then anything else, he wanted revenge.

He wanted the death of his family.