Eve of Redemption

Table of Contents

About The Book

Copyright Information

Acknowledgments

Title Page

Prologue

Part 1

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Part 2

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

Part 3

Thirty-four

Thirty-five

Thirty-six

Thirty-seven

Thirty-eight

Thirty-nine

Forty

Forty-one

Forty-two

Forty-three

Forty-four

Forty-five

Forty-six

Forty-seven

Forty-eight

Forty-nine

Fifty

About The Author

Visit The Author

Meet The Design Team

HER TIME HAS COME…

John Burke's life is filled with despair. Four years after the mysterious disappearance of his wife and daughter, he wants nothing more than to end his own misery—until a confrontation with a peculiar little girl alters his life. Burke’s world collides with supernatural chaos, forcing him to face the reality of his past.

Now he must find his family and destroy the ancestral curse. Teaming up with a former policeman and his blind wife, along with a boisterous motorcycle gang, Burke discovers the one thing he thought he lost forever—hope.

EVE OF REDEMPTION

Copyright © 2016 Tom Mohan

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by

Walking Man Press

Library of Congress Control Number:

2016906449

ISBN-13: 978-0692695371

ISBN-10: 0692695370

This book could not have been written

without the love and support of:

My Mom,

who passed down to me the love of books

My wife and daughters,

Nancy, Sara and Katie,

who put up with me throughout the process

Kelly Farr and Kelly Dyson,

who dared to read the early versions and

give me honest feedback and advice

Quill Pen Editorial

for cleaning up my mess

Blue Harvest Creative

for making it beautiful

And, of course,

my Blue Monkey tribe

who inspired and encouraged me

when the task seemed impossible

Thanks to all of you!

NOVEMBER 11, 1965

C
aleb Burke’s heart pounded as he stared down at his bloodied hands. His heaving breath and the pulse pounding in his ears nearly drowned out the sound of the crickets that sang their praise to the night. Other than that, all was silent. He pulled his dazed eyes from the gore and looked around. Silhouettes of naked trees surrounded him, silent witnesses to this night’s cruelty. Something snapped in the darkness behind him, causing his labored heart to strain beyond what seemed possible. The cold ground numbed his flesh as the night’s events numbed his mind. He could smell the damp leaves that carpeted the forest floor, smell the sour odor of his own perspiration.
What have I done?

Caleb’s eyes were drawn back to the still shape lying a few feet away. She didn’t have to die. This night could have been special. He had told her that. He had told her how beautiful she was and how special this night could be for them. She had agreed to come out, after all. Why should he have thought she’d refuse? How could everything have gone so wrong?

Another crack—this time to his right—caused Caleb to twist his head so fast his neck popped. A shadow moved through the trees. He held his breath and listened.

Silence. Even the crickets had gone quiet, as though in silent mourning of the young girl whose blood seeped into the ground.

Caleb shivered in the cold night air.
Where’s the car?
He turned his head, wide eyes searching, but could see little. If anything, it seemed to have grown even darker, all but the nearest trees invisible. He sagged, his chin resting on his chest, and tried to get his brain to work. An item on the ground beside his foot caught his attention. The cooling blood felt sticky on his hand as he opened stiff fingers to reach for the object. It was cold to the touch, metal—a tire iron. He had kept one beneath the driver’s seat of his car ever since that idiot jock Chris Hutchins had come after him for hitting on his girlfriend. Hutchins was lucky Caleb hadn’t had the iron within reach that night, or things would have turned out a whole lot differently.

The memory of that midsummer evening faded as Caleb’s fingers stroked the tire iron. He’d used it tonight, but not on Chris Hutchins. He looked again at Jackie’s broken form, thankful that the darkness hid most of the evidence of the pent-up violence that had exploded from within him. Why had she slapped him? It wasn’t like he didn’t care for her. He did. He’d told her that over and over. She shouldn’t have led him on if she wasn’t going to go all the way. The little tease should have just stayed home and not even bothered him. It was her own fault she was out here now—not his.

She had brought this on herself.

Caleb shivered uncontrollably. He dropped the tire iron and wrapped his arms around his body, fighting to hold in the escaping heat.
What now?
Too many people had seen Jackie and him together. Her best friend, Heather, knew she had gotten into his car. He had to get back, find his car, and get out of here. No one could prove anything. They might not even find her body out here in the middle of nowhere. Even as these thoughts jostled together in his sluggish mind, Caleb knew his life was over. Who was he kidding, anyway? Jackie’s uncle was the county sheriff. The temperature dropped at least twenty degrees. Caleb’s head snapped up as a wave of dread washed over him. Shock from what he had done? No, this was something else, something worse.

He wasn’t alone.

He was as sure of this as of anything in his life. Though the woods remained ghostly silent, something lurked out there.