Resurrection of the Heart by A. Zavarelli EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: A. Zavarelli
- Language: English
- Genre: Gothic Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
SANTIAGO
The small gray house in Oakdale blends in amongst all the others. It
is not the first time I have visited, but it will be the first time I have
stood on the doorstep.
I know every detail of her schedule. When she leaves each day. Where
she goes. What groceries she buys, how often she fuels her car. There isn’t a
single thing I don’t know. And as I count the time passing on my watch, I
know in fifteen seconds, she will open the door, rushing out to her car to
take her son to school.
I stand and wait. Moments later, there is a commotion on the other side
of the door. Something clatters to the floor, and she curses. She yells for her
son, telling him they have to go. The knob turns, and when the door opens,
she spills out in a rush, nearly colliding with me.
A small gasp flies from her lips, and horror washes over her face as she
scrambles back inside, trying to shut the door to seal the monster out. My
palm slams against it, and a dark smile bleeds across my face.
“Hello, Hazel. It’s been a while.”
“No!” She shoves against the door with all her might, trying to stop me
from entering.
Panic seeps into every muscle in her body as she glances over her
shoulder at her son and tells him to run.
“There’s no need for such dramatics.” I shove against the door, the force
knocking her off balance. When she stumbles back, I enter the house and
shut the door behind me.
Hazel is breathing hard, eyes wide, looking very much like her sister but
not as beautiful. Nobody is as beautiful as my wife.
“Please.” Her hands shake as she reaches for her son, who can’t be older
than five, securing him in her arms. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What exactly is it you think I’m here to do?” I cock my head to the
side, studying her.
She glances briefly at her son, tightening her grip on him. He looks just
as terrified, and I find that notion surprisingly distressing. I haven’t ever
given the feelings of children much thought, but considering my impending
fatherhood, I think perhaps I should make an effort.
“Your name is Michael, right?” I kneel to meet his eyes, hoping I might
be less frightening for him at his level, but he only curls his little fists
tighter into his mother’s shirt. “I’m Santiago.”
He looks up at his mother, and she forces a smile that looks more like a
grimace. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Why don’t you just go upstairs and play
with your toys for a little bit? Mr.
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