Jacob waited.
He smoked a cigarette.
The early morning sky was black.
It was raining.
***
M. R. Quinton gazed at the body of his son. He looked at the fireplace. The fires were burning; the fires were warming his cold hands. Something bothered him. The Night Road; the place where darkness came last winter. He looked at the calendar. June 13, 1982.
In his left hand was a scythe.
He looked at the police officers.
He put the weapon away, and smiled at them as he opened the front door.
'Good afternoon. How may I help you?', he asked.
'We'd like to know where Simon Quinton is', Homicide Detective Vic James asked him.
'He's dead', M. R. Quinton answered.
'Freeze! You're under arrest for the murder of Simon Quinton', Homicide Detective Vic James raised his .38 Smith & Wesson gun at the killer. The sounds of gun fire disturbed the city of Wisconsin, and the nightmare was over.
Or was it?...
***
Homicide Detective Rachael Myerson stared at the body.
'Tragic', she said.
'Was the father insane?', Homicide Detective Vic James asked.
'Yes, he was mad. He'll be arrested for a long time'. They placed handcuffs around her wrists, and took him into the :Police car. It was ten minutes before they arrived at the Station.
***
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