Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

it came to his brother. His brother, who they’d spent a lifetime protecting. Cleaning up his shit.

But now, sweating in the car with the windows cracked in late November, Gibbs understood Peter was out of time. He’d always assumed his boy would get his life together one of these days; he’d grow up and become the man Gibbs demanded. A parent keeps hoping.

Francis saw the truth—that wasn’t going to happen. There was no sudden leap of maturity on the horizon. No sanity riding over the hill.

Especially not with Peter fixated on this new girl. And the new girl fixated on a man like Daniel Jennings.

But did it matter? Did anything matter anymore? Gibbs would be gone soon, free from the responsibility.

Panic rose in his chest again. Facing the unknown. Facing The End.

He’d be gone. Gone gone.

But Francis wouldn’t. Francis would be left to deal with Peter. Peter who threatened to burn down Francis’ carefully constructed life. Peter who would tarnish his legacy. Peter who’d angered a Green Beret.

That’d be a fate worse than death—leaving this earth knowing both his boys were in jail. That couldn’t be allowed.

Maybe Gibbs might have enough life left to fix things. One final time.

Part II

He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.

- Nietzsche

28

Catastrophe snaked its way through the corridors of Valley Academy, looking for prey. There was perhaps no hunting ground more fertile than a boarding school dormitory on a cold Saturday night. Muscular boys on the cusp of manhood. Pending millionaires. Wealthy and entitled and bored. Without parents and without restraint. The corridors reeked of leonine musk, territories marked, violent rivalries restrained by thin threads of self-respect and memories of family.

Most adults didn’t dare venture through, alien and unwelcome, including many dorm proctors. Their danger wasn’t real but it was heavy.

Daniel Jennings loved the hallways, fraught with testosterone and peril. Not because the environment was good, but because he knew life held worse terrors beyond. Because the hallways needed men like him, needed their guidance. Because with the right nudge, the hallways became crucibles instead of crucifixes.

Jennings was strolling the noisy second floor when room 208 ruptured, spewing Sean Salazar into the hallway. Sean, heir to the Salazar Investments fortune and current star of the Academy’s lacrosse team, landed on his back. Benjamin Lynch, red-faced and hairy like a baboon, emerged from the room and knelt over Salazar.

“Call me new money again, Salazar.” Benji was trembling and he cocked a fist. “Talk about my family one more time!”

The hallway sensed a fight and spectators spawned, drawn by visions of gore.

A savage Ground and Pound attack would end with Sean in the hospital and Benji expelled. Jennings lowered his shoulder and bowled Benji off the boy. They spilled onto the floor, Jennings holding Benji’s right arm in a half-nelson.

“No.” Jennings’ voice held reason and resolve. “It’s not worth getting kicked out, Benji. Walk away.”

Tribes gathered with conflicting alliances. The football team supported its own, as did the lacrosse team. But old money was old money, and new money was new, and colors blurred and howled.

Benji stood and tried to swarm his way by Jennings but couldn’t. The former Green Beret frustrated the boy’s efforts and sent him backward.

“Outside, let’s talk outside,” said Jennings.

When Benji had fought enough to prove he was a man, he allowed himself to be manhandled to the stairs. Jennings herded him like a sheep dog.

Sean Salazar stood, shaky in the knees and hands. He pushed his flop of hair into place. “Dumb fuck,” he told his audience. “Not smart enough to know he doesn’t belong.”

Outside, the giant boy paced the dark grass and refused to talk. His body steamed in the cold. Jennings watched and marveled at the rage.

“You know what gets me, Mr. Jennings?”

“What’s that?”

“They blame me. For losing the game. I played my ass off and…”

“Forget them. They’re mad and don’t know what to do with it,” said Jennings.

“I played hard. I let the other team know who I was, you know? None of my teammates played as hard as I did.” Benji gripped his thick hair. Arched his back and closed his wet eyes. “But you know what my dad said? He said I must not have cared enough. If I cared, I would have won. He said I embarrassed the family.”

“That’s bull.”

“I know it is. I mean, kinda. What else am I supposed to do? I tried and it didn’t work. I don’t mind the losing. In some ways it’s better than winning because it takes the pressure off. But not for my dad. He just…he gets mad and…”

Benji reached the end of his route and turned to pace back, but he ran into Jennings. Jennings grabbed him into a rough embrace and squeezed, the same hug his father had given at college drop off. One of those awkward and necessary gestures no one knows how to do well. The boy didn’t want to sob but the unexpected contact forced it. Jennings let it happen for thirty seconds. Mr. Hogan, another dorm proctor, noticed and gave them space.

“You’re doing good, kid. You got a dad who’s tough on you. Maybe he doesn’t see it, but the rest of us do—you’re trying and you’re doing good. I’m proud of you.” A stupid thing to say but Jennings didn’t have other words.

Benji mumbled things that he couldn’t understand.

Jennings said, “And killing Sean won’t help.”

The boy stepped back. He laughed and cried together. Pointlessly wiped his eyes. “It might.”

“Yeah. It might.” Jennings tried to grin and couldn’t. “Trust me, though. Don’t do it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Jennings. I’m not sure where all this came from. Sorry to dump it on you.”

“You got friends in the other dorm? Go hang out there and cool off.”

Benji, nodding and sniffing. “Good idea. Yeah I will.”

Jennings watched him plod to the sidewalk. He was cut down with grief at the wake of destruction