By Thomas O'Callaghan

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You mean in pieces. ” Chapter 1 Cassie turned her head on the pillow as a sudden flash of light woke her. ” she hollered. ” Her brother, Angus, who was sitting up in bed next to her, grinned, his attention riveted to the gleam coming off the three-quarter-inch ball bearing he was holding between his thumb and index finger. The narrow beam of a pencil-thin flashlight had reflected off the ball’s chromelike finish and shone directly onto her eyelid. “I liked you better when you got off pulling wings off flies,” she said, hiding her head under the pillow.

One more spell of darkness I’d need to live through, saddled with dread. And when the beer didn’t work its magic I’d be hauled into the godforsaken room behind the furnace, forced to strip, and climb atop a cold porcelain enamel-topped table. “Lay still, Angus. ” Father would then reach for the rubbing alcohol and sanitize a portion of my skin. With the cold tabletop pressing hard against the side of my face, I eyed the row of shot glasses that held the assortment of inks. I cringed, feeling the touch of Father’s rough fingers as he applied the Vaseline.

One more spell of darkness I’d need to live through, saddled with dread. And when the beer didn’t work its magic I’d be hauled into the godforsaken room behind the furnace, forced to strip, and climb atop a cold porcelain enamel-topped table. “Lay still, Angus. ” Father would then reach for the rubbing alcohol and sanitize a portion of my skin. With the cold tabletop pressing hard against the side of my face, I eyed the row of shot glasses that held the assortment of inks. I cringed, feeling the touch of Father’s rough fingers as he applied the Vaseline.

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