By Dennis Eamon Young

Scully felt the heat of the blood run down his arms and chest. It was burned into his brain. The look, smell, the taste— all part of that vivid long ago picture. He’d been nineteen at the time, but it took four grown men to pry him off his father.
“Was it that confrontation that started you on such a life of violence, my son?” the old priest asked.
“No, Father. That just provided a stop along the way.” Scully noted the shaky edge in the priest’s voice, and the lack of eye contact. The man didn’t want to be here anymore than Scully wanted him. That was obvious. Scully didn’t care.
“Don’t be afraid, Father. The guards are right here. They won’t let me hurt you.” Scully laughed from that deep, dark place inside, the place where a little boy had cowered in abysmal fear for as long as he could remember. The same little boy who’d been hurt time and again, and who covered his eyes so he didn’t have to watch his mother getting battered. Continue reading Nightwriters: No Need For Forgiveness →

By Paul Fahey

London 1940
With the blackouts down and the curtains drawn, Eva sat at her dressing table barely able to see her reflection in the mirror. In a way she was thankful. She didn’t need to see her fear. The Blitz was enough to deal with, and now Eva had a body lying on the living room floor mucking up the mix.

Eva hadn’t meant to kill Ambrose. If only she hadn’t caught him going through her briefcase and photographing the papers. She rarely brought documents home from the office, especially ones so sensitive, but she had to prepare for a security briefing the next day, so she made the exception. Just the once. Continue reading The Only Light in Town →

By Christi Withers

Ray rose to the sound of waves and a train’s clickety-clack as it crossed the trestle bridge over Jalama Creek. The train’s melancholy whistle faded as it headed south. This is it, Ray thought. Everything has been said. They were through.

Patti was still asleep, gently snoring as she lay tucked away in her queen size be at the tail of the couch. Ray could see her slender form, the dip in her waist where he’d rest his arm when they lay together. She used to wake him when she was restless and they would caress each other back to sleep. Now he ruminated in the front of the RV in the crow’s nest bed above the driver’s seat. He knew she needed space. She’d been telling him so for over a year.

Ray sneaked out to watch the Milky Way wash brightly across the midnight sky and hoped for a sign. He believed in signs. Tonight the big dipper hung oddly in the north with its handle pointing straight down from its scoop and Jupiter hid behind the hill. Ray surrendered and headed back to bed until it was light enough to pack up. Continue reading Sunset at Jalama Beach →