Sin Eater's Journal -Entry 37 Entry 37 I sat in front of my parent’s house rubbing my hands on my face. They lived outside the city in an old victorian style house that sat at the back end of a couple acres worth of land. I was afraid to go inside. I was afraid to see my mother. I admit my total shock when my dad called and said he had found mom and gotten her home. He didn’t let me ask questions, didn’t offer up any tale on where he found her. At that point Amy and I were already on our way to find her sister. Crawford’s note told me to choose. Did Crawford somehow know that I’d chosen to go for Amy’s sister first? Is that how dad so easily snatched my mother form the demon and his charge? How did dad get mom without running into Crawford? Unless Crawford allowed dad to take her without confrontation. There was only one reason I could think of for him to do such a thing. Crawford marked my mother. He marked her then let my dad take her, hoping I would assume she was safe. Dad would have no idea if she bore the demon sigil. He would assume her listless nature was do to her traumatic experience. Crawford never expected us to find Mary. He left no clues (that he knew of) that would have led us to York’s house. He expected me to fail in that endeavor and then come home to find my mother marked. He made me choose and he was planning on taking both, planning on breaking me as much as possible. Why would I ever think otherwise? Idiot. So, I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t want to see that burning brand on my mother’s forehead. I didn’t want to have to defend myself against the woman that bore me. I didn’t want to watch as she turned to ash by my hand. I thought of dad then…dad alone in the house with my mother, who was marked by a demon. Dad who didn’t answer his phone when I last called him. He could be dead already. Rage boiled in me at that thought. Rage at the possible loss. Rage at Crawford and the beast that rode him. The demon inside of me reared it’s head and whispered in my ear. It liked my rage. I realized then how long it had been since I fed it sin. I could feel the demon struggling inside of me, testing the bars of its cage. I had taken from Jim Guthrie but that hadn’t calmed my charge because his sins were deteriorated from the demon that marked him. I willed the demon back down, drowning it’s words, refusing to pay it attention. I’d have to save the sin eating for later. Right now, I had to muster the courage to get out of my car and go inside. I had to go see my mother and look upon her with the power in my blood. I would have to… I pushed the car door open and stood swiftly. If I sat and continued to think, I’d be frozen there. I needed to act as much as I didn’t want to. I needed to face this. I didn’t knock. I grew up in this house. You don’t knock when you’re coming home. The door was unlocked. I took a deep breath and entered. No one was there to great me. That was good in a way. I had visions of Mom standing there with a butcher knife in hand, fire blazing her forehead. I heard papers shuffling from down the hall in dad’s office. With a quick glance up the steps, I went towards the noise. The door was open. I stopped just before the doorway. I heard typing. My fingers tickled the handle of my knife. I stepped around the door frame and let out a breath. My father sat at his desk, working on his computer. He looked up with a piercing glance. “Bram.” I couldn’t help but take a long deep breath. I feared him dead, but here he was plugging away at his keyboard. “I called your cell.” He looked around absently, and said he must have left it upstairs in the bedroom. Not like him but okay. It had been a long day for all of us. “Mom?” I asked. He said she was upstairs sleeping. That I could go up, just not to wake her. I almost laughed at that. Waking her was the least of my worries. I left dad in his office and made my way up the stairs. The door to my parent’s bedroom was ajar by about an inch. There was soft light spilling through the crack. I placed my hand on the door, waited a few ticks, then gave it a gentle shove. I had one of my knives in my right hand with the blade running up my arm. It was ready for it’s job. I didn’t think I was. My mother was laying with her back to the door. Her bedside lamp was on. The covers were pulled up to her shoulder. She looked peaceful. I took ginger steps until I was beside her. I reached for her but stopped. I walked around the other side of the bed so I could see her face. The light from the bedside lamp cast her features in shadow. Her eyes were closed. She looked sunken and worn. I closed my eyes to steel myself. I pulled on the power inside of me and switched to my Holy Vision. I opened my eyes and saw…no demon sigil on my mother’s forehead. I opened my eyes and saw no demon sigil on my mother’s forehead…I opened my eyes and saw no aura what-so-ever surrounding her. My mother was dead. I ripped back the covers to reveal a large, dark, red stain on the bed under my mother’s body. The blood wasn’t fresh. I sunk to my knees and made a noise akin to an animal with it’s back broken. Tears blurred my eyes, and a great empty hole filled my gut. The demon inside of me whispered in my ear, pointing out that which I had missed. My father didn’t ask me if we found Mary Kennedy or what had happened. I realized it was because he already knew. Crawford had warned him. Copyright 2014 Wade Hunter