Page 64 of The Serpent King

“Well, sorry. Anyway.” He started for his room.

“Get your ass back here. We ain’t done.”

Travis turned, yanked thoroughly back to Earth. And so it begins.

“I got a call come in at four-thirty needing a load of pressure-treated for a deck. Five-hundred-dollar order. And guess what? I didn’t have nobody to deliver it.”

Travis began to sweat. He felt queasy. “I’m sorry. I told Lamar, and he said he’d cover deliveries.”

“Lamar’s oldass brain forgot. You left me high and dry. I tried calling you. Bunch of times.”

“I forgot my cell phone.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Travis’s father stood up. “I got it right here in my damn hand.”

He hurled it at Travis. It hit him in the sternum with a meaty thud. He managed to grab it on the rebound before it hit the floor. He caught a glimpse of the screen. Fourteen missed calls. All from his father.

Travis’s father walked unsteadily toward him. “Five hundred you cost me today. What you got to say about it? Huh? Think we can afford that?”

“I’m really sorry, Dad. Can’t we deliver tomorrow? They probably didn’t think if they called that late—”

“No. No. We can’t deliver tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“What’s that?” His father pointed at Travis’s newly signed copy of Bloodfall. “Huh? What’s that? More faggy wizard shit?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Huh? That what you cost me five hundred dollars for?” he shouted.

“I’ll take the delivery tomorrow. Before school. I’ll—”

Travis’s father tore off his baseball cap and whipped Travis on the back and face with it.

“Huh?” Whip. “Huh?” Whip. “That what cost me five (whip) hundred (whip) dollars?”

Travis tried to shield his face but one of the whips caught him across the eyes. They watered profusely. He blinked and wiped at them. He began to churn and froth inside. “You’re drunk, Dad. Please let me go to bed.” Please don’t make this the night. Please don’t make this the night you knew was coming. Please don’t make this the night.

His father grabbed for the book. “Gimme that.”

Travis yanked it away. He heard his mother. “Clint, sweetie, you woke me up. What’s going on?”

His father lunged at him again. Travis again yanked the book from his reach. His father pushed him into the hutch where Travis’s mother kept the china and her doll collection. He shattered the glass doors. His mother screamed.

“Gimme that piece of shit,” Travis’s father seethed through gritted teeth. He managed to snatch the book. He turned away from Travis and started ripping pages out of it.

Something rent inside Travis, making a sound in his mind like a thousand tearing pages. He howled like a wounded animal and threw himself at his father’s back. It was a solid hit. Had this been a football game and had he not been the target, it would have made Travis’s father proud. Instead, it sent him careening into an end table, knocking a lamp onto the floor and shattering it. The book fell from his hands. Travis dove on top of the book and covered it with his body.

Travis’s father got up and stood over him. “You think I’m some beaner wetback kid you can take? I’ll whip your ass right now.” He slapped at Travis’s head, boxing his ears. He tried to get at the book, but Travis sheltered it completely. Travis’s father unbuckled his belt and whipped it off with a swift motion, popping loose one of his belt loops. He raised his arm and scourged Travis’s back with the belt. Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.