His mind wouldn’t shut down, wouldn’t shut up. So many things to think about, loose ends to tie up. Or rather, cauterize. The initial meeting with the Janitor had gone well, for the most part, but he wanted to prove to the old man that he could conquer his own demons without an exorcism intervention. First step of his twelve-step program: don’t be late for the ten o’clock council meeting. And that meant getting a good night’s sleep. Dear god don’t be late. He finished buttoning up his shirt, then wrapped his gun belt around his waist. The Janitor hadn’t told him he couldn’t carry it, so he would unless otherwise directed. Those eyes. David had felt exposed, unable to hide, physically or emotionally, from the Janitor. The old man appeared all-knowing, all-feeling. Omnipresent. Ubiquitous. But it went beyond those piercing pupils. They were just the tip of the spiritual spear. The Janitor had sliced into his conscience and subconscious by barely digging at all. Hell, the conversation had centered on the old man and this place, David saying very little, if anything, about himself.
What do You think about Dead South Rising: Book 1?
