Interlinked Destiny

By Joel M. Andre

Holidays once were a cause for celebration. The twinkling magic of the lights of Christmas, the romance of Valentine’s Day, to the haunting ambience of Halloween. Children and families once felt safe during these magical times.

Now, a deranged lunatic is taking their passion for holidays to a darker level. As the Holiday Hellion stages his crime scenes, he creates a twisted portfolio of pain. Sinister visions pulled from the darkest elements of once beloved holidays.

Twenty years ago, Caroline Carpenter escaped the Holiday Hellion’s deadly grip. Struggling with the demons of her past, she has hit a patch of success with Interlinked Destiny, her ghoulish line of products with unconventional ingredients. Her brother Stephen guides her to the Lasting Love Legacies where she encounters Kevin Lindstrom, a middle-aged rancher who holds some deadly secrets. All of which come to a head as the Easter holiday arrives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joel M. Andre
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005070663

Joel M. Andre

Joel M. Andre (1981-Present) was born in Cottonwood, AZ.From a young age Joel knew his passion was to write tales that shocked and sent chills down the spines of readers. But it was not where he began.During his teen years he focused his attention to writing poetry in the style of Edgar Allen Poe. His work while dark often lifted the brow of friends. But the passion was there, and soon the winter wonderland that consumed Lauren Bruni was created (Death at the North Pole & Black Chronicles).Joel is currently working on a new book (Interlinked Destiny) expected to be released mid to late 2021, and will be reworking a lot of his previous books for their 13th (Cursed Edition) anniversary.

Book preview

Prologue:

Dreadful storm clouds crept across the scorching Arizona Desert skyline with their ominous, thunderous moans. Thick smoky mist bound tightly in forbidden black tufts, clustering tightly, howled, and clashed angrily, as they sparked and sent blistering bolts of lightning splintering into a terrifying pattern, across the gloomy sea of darkness, in the dreary evening sky.

The smell of the forthcoming storm blended with smoke from the fires plaguing the area. Without warning, a mysterious electrical jolt of nature could quickly bring hellfire and damnation to the dry desert landscape.

Despite the danger, a small desert jackrabbit with a blend of white, gray, and brown fur, curiously peaked its head out of a hole it had found shelter to sniff the air heavy with the sweet scent of an impending rainstorm.

Long, fuzzy ears perked up attentively and adjusted to focus on the surrounding introduction of the symphony of desert sounds. All blending with the soft time kept by the winds drawing in from the approaching violent desert storm.

Lifting its tiny head calmly towards the sky, the rabbit closed its large black eyes. It wiggled a tiny pale pink nose while it inhaled the surrounding air. A quick turn of its head, first to the left and then to the right. Slowly opening its mouth, two long, off-white teeth peeked out from behind the animal’s lips. An unsettling crack of thunder boomed as it echoed across the desert land. Fear flashed in the eyes of the rabbit, as its pupils burst in terror, before the creature shot back into the safety of the hole it was hiding in. Safe from the potential dangers of the storm, for now.  

On a distant mesquite bush, a sharp-shinned hawk perched. Her eyes transfixed on the frightened rabbit with a sinister calmness. Black and yellow talons, holding a death grip on the branch where it patiently watched and waited. Hissing wind shot across the desert floor, the hawk rustled the feathers on her brown and white speckled chest. Turning her head curiously, the hawk gently blinked a rust-colored eye, as the predator calmed and silently returned to leering at the rabbit’s hole.  

Calmly, intently, observing the area, the hawk cocked its head in the opposite direction, as if mocking the vulnerable prey as it hid in terror. Giving it a false sense of security, believing it successfully camouflaged from the raptor’s death gaze. Parting its black beak, it leered at the tiny creature’s hiding spot. A tiny pink tongue poked out.

The deadly raptor sensed the horrified hare, and it waited for the bunny to bolt in a misstep, making a deadly decision. With a piercing, rolling whistle, the hawk focus on the helpless hare, as it cowered close to the ground in its hole. Doing what the bunny rabbit could to avoid the ripping talons from slicing its flesh, and the grisly gorging beak of the hawk waiting to hungrily rip it apart. It’s pink tongue slipping again, as if licking thirsty lips. Anticipating the precise moment, it could separate the skin of the animal and with a bloody beak, sip the juices of the jackrabbit. Before shoving down her beak deeper within, breaking apart the stringy flesh, and choking chunks of flesh down.

Life and death were a part of existing in the desert. A simple rainstorm can bring life as it gently fell. Other times it could bring in fierce roaring winds, with hellish flash floods. Often with dire consequences for the careless caught in the storm.

Something so soft and peaceful as a warm summer breeze could become a brutal force of driving winds, with a microburst crashing down on the unprepared, flash flood waters reaching waist deep in minutes.

Many have mistaken the waters for being just tiny puddles they can wade through with ease. Only to find they’ve been yanked beneath the violent currents crashing around them. Most drowning before rescue professionals could even attempt to locate and save them.

Treacherous waters paired with flickering bolts of lightning, sparking as it sizzles and screams dashing across the darkened sky. Slamming into the surrounding desert with an angry strike. A loud and thunderous moan as it cracked against the earth below. The intensity brewing and building with as the retched winds screamed across the desolate land, like a harbinger of death watching from the shadows.

Shrieks from the shrill winds of the storm, reflecting the screeches of the Olitiau. A terrifying red-eyed, legendary reptilian bat with large brown wings and a 12-foot wingspan. Reports of these deadly creatures are found all over the world. But local legends claimed this beast has a lair somewhere in the depths of the lava tunnels located in Northern Arizona.  

Hard rain like this in the desert was rare. It was these times when the desert plants greedily sipped the last fragments of moisture, from the brittle earth. Each plant hoping it is enough to survive, until the next time some moisture breaks the heat during summer months. Aside from the occasional rainstorms, there was no water source in the surrounding area to satisfy the needs of the vegetation. Before long, becoming nothing more than buried brittle roots resembling a cardiovascular system, with the frailty of old decaying bones dug from an ancient grave.  

Robert Trujillo turned his caramel-colored eyes to the clouds that clung and angrily grasped at the gates of Heaven. He left his farm to the mercy of this god forsaken drought and the will of his Jesus. His plants and animals were dying. His bank account reflected he was broke. Fragments of his family stuck out like splinters as the financial strain continued to intensify.

Beads of sweat cooled his forehead as the surrounding humidity intensified into an uncomfortable, hellish heat. The earthy stench of petrichor drifted to his nostrils. It reminded Robert of the derechos he had endured as a teen, while spending time on the old corn farm in Iowa. With the fast, aggressive winds slamming across the land and giving off nature’s warning about the impeding storm that was brewing. His eyes fixated on the weather for another moment, and he looked at the tufts of dust as the rain struck the dry earth.  

His farm desperately needed the rain. With Arizona still in the depths of a drought, the water and irrigation bills were piling up. Robert was close to financial ruin. But he wasn’t alone, as the economic strain caused by the Coronavirus impacted his neighbors, his friends, along with his family. Times were tough on everyone.

Just a few hours ago, he had begged and pleaded with the bank for a little more time to pay his notes.

He was turned away in coldness. A smirk on the face of the banker, as the man turned Robert away. Almost celebrating the crushing blow, he delivered to the farmer. Not realizing that without farms, there is no food.

But people had changed. There was an underlying hate clinging to hearts. Individuals who once loved their neighbor, now drew battle lines. Wrath filled the hearts and fueled violent debates. Social media fueled the flames of hate, as the darkness from the minds of others littered the internet. The moratorium on human decency in place of self-righteous behavior had put the remains of civility into a critical state.  

Beyond banks and money, Robert desperately wanted it to rain. For the world to be cleansed with healing waters, and for a shower of peace and tranquility to crawl over this cursed land. The first drop of rain fell from the sky and tenderly caressed his warm, weathered skin. His skin was leathery, rough, coming from the years he spent working in the harsh desert sun.

From the pecans picked on his abuela’s farm as a child, to the lettuce and cotton crops he depended on these days to pay his bills. While other countries explored moratoriums on financial situations, his bank had told him acts of God didn’t protect his farm. So, if he wanted to keep living there, he had to keep working the earth and pray that the crippling economy didn’t hit rock bottom and deal him a catastrophic hand. He’d been through the stock market crashing as people continued to lose hope before, and somehow this time felt worse.  

Robert’s tired, caramel-colored eyes scanned the clouds that strummed along the heavens above. If it rained hard enough, he could fall back on irrigation water, to help keep up with the watering needs this week. Robert knew his crops were in dire need of a heavy soaking. There would be no farm, no home, if he lost the crop this year.

This year he was gambling on a bumper crop rather than a meager harvest. If it had not been for the moratorium placed on mortgages, he would have lost more than he already had. The weather was far different from what he experienced in Marion, Iowa, as a teen. In place of the freezing temperatures of winter were the harsh and deadly heatwaves of the summer.  

But it was also considerably different from the old Wild West pictures that Hollywood crafted for decades. There weren’t Indians clinging to cliffs, waiting to strike an unsuspecting traveler. Tumbleweeds didn’t casually drift down, long dirt roads, through the middle of nowhere. Instead, the people were compassionate, and the finest people Robert ever had the privilege of knowing. Despite his old-world views on things, he wasn’t the devout racist that his political party has become associated with.

Civil unrest had made the predators of the desert seem less diabolical. Dreaded diamondbacks and scorpions didn’t create much chaos under a full desert moon. Coyotes clung to the hills, as they sang their symphonies at night from a distance recognizing the danger unfolding in man.

For the dark and scary, there was still some parts of Arizona Robert loved. An example was he didn’t have to deal with the big Texas ranchers. The pretentious diamond studded Texas ranchers not realizing the heavy stench of shit clinging to the air wasn’t just the manure from the cattle farms.

Robert also liked he didn’t have to worry about the lavish California parties either. With people who felt that the marketing money invested in them, somehow made them better or more important than the others who flocked to the cities in the desperate attempt to find fame and fortune. Fragments of brittle souls flaking away further. Nor was he surrounded by religious fanatics who passed judgment, or stoners trying to make peace in a world, where love was more common than war. While executives carelessly spent millions snorting their profits up their nose. Women paraded in pixilated pictures of perfection.

Then there was New Mexico.

Not everything needs a smothering of smoky red chili sauce. Robert growled and spat.  

Around him, the entire world had changed. There was a social revolution that forced him to reevaluate how he viewed things and how he felt, despite some apprehension.  

There was a time when going against what his preacher called, sin and unholy ways, was enough. The community perceived these actions as good and godly.

Now, the world didn’t like his views on hating the sin and loving the sinner. He had spent his entire life believing certain approaches to situations were firm but fair. Now those actions were being called into question and being presented as hateful.

Robert didn’t hate. But knew what the Bible said. He knew the text. Starting from the first time, his mother’s angelic voice recited the Psalms to him as a child, to the intense and passionate preaching of his pastor. Growing louder each time he would slam the pulpit and spray the crowd with spittle. Shouting in anger about the less than desirable groups of people who still had a voice, rather than being silenced. Because people focused on feelings and not facts.  

His daughter Rebecca has claimed he was a hateful, bigoted man. All because he agreed on some policies presented by President Mrziti. A single term into his presidency, the fearless leader wasn’t the typical political figure. He wouldn’t shamelessly parade around with a puppet face, as his putrid puppet masters, in the political system, guided him gleefully with their ghoulish plans. As a leader, he promised something different from what people were used to at the time. Sure, President Mrziti was a bit of a liar. Everyone lied to a degree in their life.

Robert liked that the President stood his ground, even when he had to twist the truth a little. While others catered to vocal minorities, the President couldn’t be bothered to listen to their irrelevant pleas. This was a man who knew what it took to go morally against grieving Americans, allowing hundreds of thousands of people to needlessly die.

His focus was on keeping the economy open, and allowing the poor and desperate, to become the saviors of the country, while he sat dumbly behind a desk. The lives that mattered were those of billionaires, who couldn’t care less about employees the second they walked outside of warehouses. Already bored with the world around them, they set to explore the wonders of space.

As bad as the economy was, there was a force far worse for the good people in his country. It was the queers demanding equal rights about everything. They constantly were pissing and moaning about things not going their way.

Robert didn’t know why they desperately wanted to play some twisted version of a romantic housekeeping fantasy with people of the same sex. Not that he even had an issue with their sexuality.

There had been some severe cases of blue balls on the farm and when you need to nut, sometimes a hole is a hole. You head on down to Betty’s Brewery and if the barmaids were too expensive for you, there was a lot-lizard willing to get on their knees and do the job.

Getting your rocks off was one thing. But Robert didn’t think two people of the same gender should get hitched and pretend to be a family.

Women were wives. Fuck buddies were someone who passed the boring times. No man can replace a woman. Sure, Jesus didn’t explicitly state it in the Bible. But he’d rather trust Pastor Franklin, at Immanuel Baptist Ministry, than to get damned to Hell for embracing someone’s sin.  

That was a topic of debate between him and his daughter Rebecca. She was always telling him how his views were insensitive and hateful. He legitimately didn’t have an issue with another person in this world. But it seemed disrespectful to him and his religion to deal with the views of other people and to be forced to accept them. Hell, if his God didn’t agree with them, why should Robert have to agree with them by force? 

Like this new transgender nonsense. Hell, Robert knew things like hermaphrodites were real. He knew since they occurred in nature. But to tell his grandson Paul he could chop off his dick and balls and become a pretty girl that could bear some man children was ludicrous. Even if it wasn’t a spiteful sin against God in his opinion, there was no way his little Paul was going to drop something other than a butt baby after nine months of getting corn holed.

Robert wanted this desperately to have the situation just be a good ole boy issue, where he could say, Boys will be boys. Then shrug his shoulders, crack open a chilled brew, and watch as the sun set.

But as if facing the loss of his farm and heritage wasn’t enough, he now had to endure a grandson who wanted him to call him his granddaughter. The child he had called Paul his entire life now expected his grandfather to call him, Pauline. Regardless, it offended Robert, and he felt it spited God. If he had to put down his foot in force to save the soul of his grandchild, he would do it.  

This transgender equality jargon in the world was propaganda of the homosexual agenda. One that began to run rampant as soon as prayer was pulled from schools.

President Mrziti had taken a harsh stance on the transexual community and forbid insurance companies from allowing any gender reassignment surgeries, while prohibiting the medical community to provide hormone replacement to people.

The fearless leader had taken the time to add critical law that prevented future claims of the LGBTQIA+ community. All under the guise of a religious amendment that he and his party had passed with flying colors. The President had given the world a new regime in America and the darkness that was creeping over the land beckoned a new level of hate that was deemed acceptable.  

To Robert, it didn’t matter if Paul heard any of his thoughts. The child was so lost deep in his fantasy world of make believe, he never thought of the damage and pain he was causing to the traditional views the rest of his family held.

Those around him didn’t seem to bother him as he toked up with the devil’s lettuce and twerked at the clubs. His reckless and godless lifestyle is precisely why Robert feared for the future of his beloved country.

The world was a place where hard work was something people rewarded. Not nonsense about how much paint you can toss on your face and make yourself look ridiculous. Where everyone goes home with a consolation prize and a participation trophy. This was why old junk yards were littered with gold painted plastic and why entitlement had hit new highs. The truth, in his opinion, is far from being so simple.  

Not everyone was the best. Not everyone would become the greatest person in the world. Fame and notoriety were fleeting desires when a simple leaked video or controversial statement could produce headlines and an online video scandal would keep the weakest of the sheep hitting the refresh button on their favorite social media network. All hoping to have the knowledge before anyone else. The world had fallen from grace, and it sickened him. The golden statues of men that spread hate and lies mocked God. He knew that. The apathy people had for the sinister surge of sin across the land.  

Vices like alcohol, cigarettes, and even designer drugs were available in bathroom vending machines. Marijuana was bursting in popularity, and that meant more people were under the intoxicating effects of the substance.

He saw what almost transpired by the movements of the 1970s. It fueled itself with drugs and anti-American protestors, pleading with people to save the rainforest and stop America’s continued dominance across the globe. Now, the weak were giving their rights away for a quick stimulus check deposited into their account.

Last time he had checked, it wasn’t the responsibility of the government to raise his family. He was there, breaking his back and trying to make ends meet. He wasn’t about to worry about pandemic loans that would further cripple a struggling economy.

In the same accord, he wasn’t taking kindly to those who kept trespassing and pleading with him to join in one of the countless food box programs, where he could give his crops, the very ones he needed to sell to survive, to help others in this time of disaster.  

This was a plague presented by God and given to the very people who deserved it. Those who lost their fight to a deadly virus were brought to Heaven when they were always meant to.

This wasn’t the movies. There weren’t supernatural forces at work that constantly tried to undermine man. Weak people without critical thinking skills believed this. Not those who had the required knowledge of the Good Book to function in society.  

So, when his daughter and his grandson Paul demanded that he used proper pronouns. He told his daughter she could go fuck herself. Then he turned to his grandson and let him know that the bulging dick he got in the women’s restroom peeing, was what made him male. No relative of his was going to be a transgender queer.  

Even with his harsh views, family is family. When ole Leeroy Johnson opened his mouth and called his grandchild a ‘tranny’, Robert let the drunk man know there was a price for his words. Picking himself off the ground, his nose broken, and a front tooth chipped, Leeroy had a more modernized view of society. Sobbing and bleeding, Leeroy apologized to Robert’s lovely granddaughter, Pauline. Afterwards, he found he didn’t need to remind Leeroy to keep his opinions to himself. It angered him that anyone thought they could judge his family. Besides God, Robert was the only one that was going to tell his kids and grandchildren how things were going to be.  

But that was then, and he was in a new world, struggling to get through the here and now. This was the world he was told to maneuver through the evolution of social consciousness. He couldn’t even walk into the store and ask for a ‘nigger toe’ without the judgmental looks of others. Many of which had said the same damn thing a hundred times before him. Now he had to ask for ‘Brazil nuts’ during the holidays.

He didn’t say it with any maliciousness or hate, either. But the young hipsters wanted to whitewash the world and rewrite history. Society forced people to have a meltdown, and scream at you in an unwarranted rage, because you weren’t sensitive enough for them. Because they had replaced civility with absolution if you could hide the crimes of your past.  

The number of people who he had seen on TV caused the talking heads to have a meltdown and feign an apology was remarkable. People who wouldn’t stand behind the words they spoke. All because the modern world looked down and considered such things too taboo. So, by the light of day, among the crowds, people behave and speak the way society wants them to. While delivering their hateful takes, believing their painful pierces of pettiness stung less.  

Spitting to the side, Robert watched as his loogie struck the thirsty ground. The dirt anxiously absorbed the liquid. Robert returned his eyes to the threatening darkness in the sky. The surrounding earth was a far cry from the 1950s when he was younger. The teachings of his parents, their parents, and their parents before them became hate.

Robert was living in a world where no one understood him or his values any longer and he felt alone. If Jesus came back, Robert knew there were people who claimed he was a socialist. But he couldn’t imagine his God allowing anyone who didn’t cower at the feet of the lamb, to scream his praises, and to avoid the sinful pleasures of the flesh, to be worthy to pass the pearly gates. 

What the world needed now was God. Along with the leadership of a good man, who knew what the right thing to do was. Even when it hurt the feelings of others, he could make the tough decisions. Thankfully, there were still political figures with tried-and-true conservative views. These people understood that at the core, and Robert felt men knew what was best. Female politicians have long been the blight of the political system allowing feelings to get mixed up into everything.

Not everyone was going to be happy with the decisions that are made. There will also never be a person with a 100% approval rating. But if they stick by the word of God, and held firm to their convictions, there was no reason to replace them. The polarizing parade of presidents over the years reflected the chaos that had driven his home in a dark direction where the core values were being removed. With the incredible job he felt President Mrziti was doing, he wouldn’t mind allowing him to hold the position as long as he wanted to.

But people wanted to find reasons to tear the man down. Now, they were citing the rise in deaths were to a virus. It used to be heart disease, heat stroke, rattlesnake bites, lung cancer, and liver failure that would claim the people in his life. Now, the media fueled chaos called, Coronavirus, was killing off people he knew. People who had lung cancer and liver failure, acknowledged before the pandemic, and Robert is now told to believe that some new virus was killing them? What’s worse was the people were rallying against a good President and trying to tarnish his image with a sinister plan to overthrow the very world that people of virtue had built. In exchange for a planet where mental illness is something to celebrate, and diversity is an agenda being tossed down the throats of him and his peers.  

But conspiracy theories and lies were a supposed plague on the land. Rebecca kept telling him he needed to get professional help. Not just see his doctor, but an actual psychiatrist. But she didn’t want to hear his opinions on the quack job shrink that told his grandson that playing pretend was fine.

The thing was the world is a cruel place. He loved his grandchild. Who was going to watch out for his grandson when Robert was dead and gone and there was no one else to protect him? The others in the town would torment and terrorize him. He didn’t want his grandchild to hurt or to feel pain. Plus, he wanted to meet his grandchild again after death. Since queers don’t get into heaven, according to his pastor, he would spend an eternity of missing someone he loved. 

Paul didn’t want to hang out with his Pop-Pop any longer. In fact, now he was just Robert. So much that aside from the perceived mandatory family holiday gatherings, they would only speak when it was necessary. Which it turned out, fortunately for him, was not very often. Just when the kid needed money for something. Then he could be Pop-Pop again, until the check cleared.

Robert was over it all, so very much as the evolution of the mind happened, he found he really didn’t want to have much more to do with the world. As long as he stuck to the open land, he could live among the cattle on his property and never have to worry about the interactions with the rest of the world. Whatever they did in the big cities could remain their decisions and no law aside from the rule of his fist would determine how things ran on his property. But if someone spited him or his family, there would be blood to pay. No apologies for it happening. A man defends his family at whatever the cost, up to and including the death of someone who has darkened his door with their shadow.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a hard pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out of box and into his hand. With a couple flicks on the flint wheel of a little green lighter, he took the flame to the tip of the tiny white and brown stick. As the flame found the paper, acidic smoke with the hint of sweet tobacco crept into his nostrils and tickled them tenderly. Robert let out a harsh cough and then inhaled from his cigarette. As the smoke crept over the walls of his lungs and fed his desire for nicotine, he knew everything would ultimately work out for the day. The kick from the nicotine, combined with the thick sludge of coffee in his thermos, was enough to keep him going across the land. Watching the cattle and making sure that things remain safe and calm for them. Just until his crew came back up from the Mexico border. His right-hand man, Carlos, kept picking up supplies down there for the owner of the local diner. Robert didn’t mind since the woman was always purchasing large quantities of his beef. Whatever they routinely picked up for her, he didn’t care, he just knew it generated a sizable income for him. So long as she kept the orders coming in and he could pay his guys, that was all he worried about and not what they were pulling over the border.  

Inhaling from the cigarette deeply, he saw a flashlight scan the area and click off. This was private property. No one had permission to be on his land, aside from those who were working for him. If a stranger was trespassing, he would not take kindly to them. He didn’t care if there was a potentially deadly virus going around the planet right now, either. He would still throw a person off his property and get in their face and scream at them. Slowly, he exhaled.

Until the good Lord pulled him off this planet and told him it was time to come home, there was no way that anyone else was going to tell him how to live his life. He was a good, god-fearing, Christ loving man. Not the sparkling rainbows and dazzling unicorn hybrid religions that twist and manipulate the word of God for sin justification.

Life used to be easier. People were people, and Robert should give a deplorable individual the same crass and hate treatment they approached him with. God would see in his heart, and that God could justify his hatred and rage by adhering to the prophecies of The Bible. That God would strike a man dead with a cold and empty heart that was baptized in sin and burned with the unholy fires of the flesh. Honestly, some of his kids had walked away from him over the years. But his Rebecca loved her Daddy too much to give up on him.  

Because if God saw the value in the scheming sinful sludge of humanity, then why should he bother living a life as virtuous as he did. For what? 

Why did he go to church on Sunday, give his hard-earned money to the church, and do what he could to live the best and holiest life he could, if someone sinister and as ungodly and dangerous could get into heaven just for finding God at some point and loving him?

He couldn’t imagine a world where people lived their life in sin and suddenly, God gave them a list of all these commandments they were to follow. Then they could simply ignore his orders and become abominations? Wait for some time. Allow their sinful ways to fester and rot their souls. Until the pungent stench of betrayal, greed, and lust would become too powerful to ignore. So, like a good and faithful member of God’s flock, they could walk down to the confessional and plead their case with a preacher. Three Hail Marys later, their sins forgiven, and they can return to their diabolical life of sin. All better, knowing that God would simply wave a magic wand over them, and would instantly cleanse all their indiscretions and lapses of judgement. Because God is like any parent who loves to watch their kids commit the same mistakes repeatedly and never change and grow. Because there is no need to when you have forgiveness.  

Spitting off to the side again, he looked out hard again at the land. He didn’t enjoy having to have such a dark and harsh view of people and the world. But the kindness and understanding that once was there had vanished over the years. Robert stopped feeling anything more than apathy towards people and dreaming of a time when he could just be finished once and for all. No longer pretending to care about the people living in a sinful manner. He would have no issue casting a stone on a single person and leading a movement to return God to the land. Every individual who would fall at his hand in the name of God would learn the truth when they crossed over. God doesn’t like to be mocked. God doesn’t like people to interject their feelings. Opinions are invalid if they go against the teachings and morally alarming in his world.  

He could feel his blood boiling. He didn’t need to go off on a tangent when someone was trespassing on his property. Gently, he tapped the gun in the brown leather holster on his side. He would shoot to kill and let the questions be from law enforcement. Those incredible men and women in blue did all they could to protect the people of the area. Now with rioters dousing cities in gasoline and torching them down without care, and other religions overthrowing the world around him. It was a matter of time before the world would just become godless.  

The thought brought a tear to his caramel-colored eye, and he squinted as he tried to fight it back. As it broke free and trickled down his cheek, he wiped it away and looked around. He didn’t need anyone thinking he was a weak fairy.

Just because the world told him he had to play nicely with the foul skin flute slurping serpents, didn’t mean that God wouldn’t know where he stood on the issue. They weren’t people, anyway. These heathens were abominations according to his God and there would be Hell to pay for them when they went to meet his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ before plunging into the eternal flames of damnation.  

Now, he didn’t believe in abortion. But if it meant a homosexual abomination didn’t get to slither its way across the blessed and sacred land that his Jesus made for him, there would be no way that he would see a fault in the sinner. Here is an example, he felt the sin justified the circumstances. His views and opinions might not mesh up with the others. But it wasn’t his first-class ticket to hell that he had to worry about. That would be between the ungodly and their decisions that they made. Like creating a virus in a government laboratory before killing off citizens in mass with a deadly chip laced vaccine. It wouldn’t be long before they were knocking door to door on people’s property and forcing injections with tainted needles into their flesh.  

Something shifted in the shadows ahead of him. He assumed it was a coyote looking for some shelter from the storm. The now heavy sheets of rain were causing visibility to go down to the bare minimum. Robert placed his hand on his gun, sitting in the holster on his side. If the wildlife acted up, he would be fine. There was no need for him to worry.  

Removing the gun from the holster, he pointed it toward where he had seen movement and shot off into the air. The thunderous boom silenced quickly beneath the sound of the rain hitting the earth hard below. The smell of burning gunpowder clung to the air briefly and mixed with the enchanting scent of the rain. He then inhaled deeply and braced himself. Robert threw a baleful look toward where he shot.

Git! Robert snarled in a beastly growl.  

Robert watched and waited to see if he could see a javelina, coyote, or even a jack rabbit sprinting off through the rain at the influx of noise. But aside from the continued drone of the rain, he didn’t see more than muddy puddles of water forming beneath his feet.  

A new sound caught Robert’s ears, and he turned his attention back to where he previously saw the figure move earlier. A sound so blood-curdling from the sheer fact he couldn’t tell what it was. The sound of a heavy thud rolled across the air. Robert looked curiously in the direction and paused. Catching his breath, he listened carefully. Another thud sounded as heavy footwear struck the mud below. It was clear something more human than animalistic was coming near him. His heart quickened in his chest as he tried to gain his composure. The charnel scent of rotten flesh picking up and carrying the rancid scent to his nostrils as the stench crushed the surrounding sweet smell of rain.  

Hello? Robert called out.

He peered around and paused with hesitation. Hazy rain drizzled around him. A sense of dread and fear swept over him, as he felt evil closing in.

No response. Aiming the gun in the air again, Robert shot off another warning shot. The pellets bursting from their shell and spraying into the sky. As he fired, Robert heard rustling from the bushes and let out a surprised gasp as the brownish gray jack rabbit darted out and flanked left when it reached him. He caught himself chuckling in the rain.  

From nowhere, the blood-curdling scream of the stalking hawk sounded behind him and caused Robert to jump. The bird narrowly missing the sprinting rabbit, before it darted down another hole. The hawk perched itself on a branch above the critter hiding as it intently watched and waited for the rabbit to escape again.  

I thought you were someone, little guy. Robert chuckled to himself. That hawk looks hungry. You best be careful. 

Behind him, a long, arching bolt of lightning flickered and illuminated the surrounding land. Near some old mesquite bushes, Robert thought he saw what appeared to be a silhouette of cowboy huddled close to the desert shrubbery.  

Sir? Robert called out in warning. I will shoot you graveyard dead if you try anything. Come out here and show yourself, young man. I can see you crouching down over there. I don’t have any time for this creepy viral nonsense you’re doing. Get your viewership streams by doing something productive with your life, not harassing an old man. Internet fame has no real value to it. 

Before him, Robert watched as the figure approached him and boots slowly materialized on the ground with cruel, intent footsteps. The snakeskin cowboy boots impressed Robert and how the red dirt clung to them. He couldn’t shake the sense of something dangerous in the way the figure carried himself. The daunting task of watching and maintain his composure was proving to be quite difficult for him. He wanted to shoot first and ask questions later. But the world wasn’t taking too kindly to people just standing their ground these days.  

Dirty black jeans clung to the lower half of the stranger’s dreadful frame, while a short-sleeved black cowboy dress shirt clung to his chest. The brim of the raven-colored cowboy hat dipped low enough to obstruct the view of all but one of his deathlike icy blue eyes. A red stubble clung to the man’s unshaven face. The man parted his thin lips in a detestable sneer.

What do you want? Robert demanded and pointed the gun at the stranger. His disquieting thoughts causing the rapid adrenaline heartbeat in his chest to quicken.  

Rest from the storm. The stranger replied in a menacing growl. Won’t you take me in? 

The rain won’t hurt you. Robert warned. But don’t mistake me for being kind. You make one false move, and you die where you stand. Understand me, son? I don’t deal well with detestable individuals. I can feel the evil you are giving off. The pure sinister aura of negativity you have surrounding you is making you very formidable. 

Understood. The stranger replied, an evil chuckle escaping his lips. If the intensity of this storm wasn’t so execrable, I would have already been on my way. But the humorous little show you are putting on, it makes me want to stay and play.

What’s so humorous? Robert demanded, as he thrust the gun forward in aggression. I would be far more fearful if I were you. I am not playing games with you! 

You reek of hatred, stale cigarettes, and cheap whiskey. The stranger replied with a smirk, and a half-hearted shrug. I can imagine the lack of remorse from the mourners at your funeral.

Robert looked back at the man, dumbfounded. Clearing his head, he returned the scowl to his face. His heartbeat thundered wildly in his chest. 

You can’t smell a thing in the rain. Robert shouted. What a ghastly thing to say. I think it’s time for you to leave, and stop this fear schtick you’re milking. 

Before him, the man just offered a grim chuckle. His icy blue eyes caught Robert’s caramel-colored eyes and an eerie silence crept between the men. Both blankly looked back at each other. Robert could feel his heart quicken, as the man moved ever so slightly, and placed more of his weight into his stance. The spike of adrenaline in his veins caused the fight-or-flight syndrome to rock his body, and the deafening thuds in his chest caused some beads of sweat to form above his eyes.  

As the rain continued to trickle down his face, it mixed with the beads of sweat that were forming. The trickles of salty water traveled down his forehead and with each droplet, he winced from the sting of the salt that the rain was pulling into his eyes. Still, he did what he could to not allow his eyes to close for any amount of time. He had no way of knowing what the figure before him intended. The experience was hair-raising, but far from the gruesome excessive mutilation of bodies and grisly crime scenes that plagued horror cinema.  

Again, the figure moved forward towards Robert. He could feel his heart quicken. He already struggled enough to breathe thanks to the COPD Robert had from years of heavy smoking. He didn’t need the antics of some drunk, lost cowboy, to end his life out of a fluke. With a heart-stopping beat in his chest, Robert shook as he raised his silver weapon at the stranger.  

I will kill you. Robert warned. Just leave and end this harrowing experience. 

He lifted the gun and aimed to the side of the figure again, near the side of his boots. Firing, he watched as the man jumped when the rock and dirt sprayed around him from the bullet that Robert had fired. The warm smell of sulfur from the gunshot growing heavy in the air. Smoke crept and crawled from the barrel of the gun.  

Aren’t you the bravest coward? The stranger replied in a sepulchral tone and wickedly laughed. You must feel superior holding your weapon. Didn’t you hear those things are hazardous to your health? You are such a poltroon. 

My second amendment is hard at work keeping me from becoming just another dead rancher haunting the land. Robert snapped. Now, git gone. 

For a moment, the man turned his head to the side and gave Robert a heinous look, crossing the hellish fire of hate and the hideous retching of rage in a manner Robert had never witnessed before. A horrifying and intimidating look that felt like the pit in his stomach dropping as his pupils met the strangers. The look exchanged almost Kafkaesque as the lingering as it grew more menacing. The glistening of lightning in the man’s glassy eyes beneath the brim of the hat to catch a quick reflection of the light and gave Robert a sense of dread, much like the warning of a deadly premonition.  

Pulling the trigger again, Robert shot next to the man’s boot again. He hoped that by increasing his aggressiveness, his nasty nature would shock him enough that the predator would decide to