Cold Burn: The Demon Chronicles #1

Chapter 1 - Straight Up Facts

          I can't say I recall what was going on around me; frankly, I don't remember much at all. All I can remember is the pain. I'd like to think I have a high tolerance for it due to snapping my arm once as a child and never breaking down into tears about it, but apparently, I was wrong because falling unconscious was a new thing for me. When I woke up the world outside my closed eyes was relatively quiet and the smell of familiar cologne rode in a wave of nostalgic memories that I quickly thrust aside with a vicious shove as I opened my eyes. I watched as the headlights of passing traffic sent blurred rays of lights stabbing in the dark across a scuffed, dirty, grey and dingy dashboard with a next to useless pine tree swinging from the rear-view mirror. Thanks to the huge ass lettering, I could see in the side mirror I was riding in the cab of a moving van. A relatively large one; the kind that one used to move the entire contents of their two-story house, backyard with play set and plus size doggie house to another. As to why I was in the cab of one... well that was beyond me, but I imagined the man behind the wheel would indulge me eventually. Probably sooner, seeing as he suddenly grew stiff and as I knew he would, his hands slid up into the 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock position. Typical, he was bracing himself, but for what? For an argument? I didn't know, but refusing to catch of glimpse of him out of my peripheral vision, I forced my eyes to watch the dark pavement pass underneath the truck.

"Sweetheart," he said gently pausing, waiting for an answer; not that I was going to give him one. He continued, "What do you remember of the last few days?"

That of course got my attention and my head snapped around to look at my father. I opened my mouth to fling out a rather scathing rebuke that I had been saving for the past few years, but stopped cold as I took in his profile. He looked--- exactly the same. Same short, messy, black hair with that ridiculous cowlick in the back he could never quite keep down and laugh lines around his light green eyes, something that mom always said was his redeeming quality and day old stubble across his chin, but not a single grey hair. He hadn't packed on the pounds like most of my friends fathers had, nor had he lost a great deal either. He seemed static; unchanged and unmovable at the same time utterly unreal. I hadn't seen my father since I was ten, when he walked out on us, but that didn't explain why he appeared to be the same age as he did in the photo on my mom's bedside nightstand. Physically, nothing had changed about him in eight years--- absolutely zilch. That unfortunately, is when my suspicions kicked in and everything started running in overdrive. Memories flooded into me like a toilet that was backing up fast and near the rim full of the shit you couldn't quite flush down and like taking a plunger to it I tried to avoid the emotional backsplash while I riffled through the memories for the straight up facts of his departure and the explanation for his appearance. Not only in the cab with me, but his physical appearance as well and I could only come up with one conclusion.

"You bastard," was all that came out before I grabbed the vintage silver metal flake steering wheel and wrenched us roughly into oncoming traffic, nearly side swiping an obnoxious military green Jeep Wrangler speeding by. But my sabotage was short lived as he managed to get the moving van back under control with little to no effort, only demonstrating to me what I suspected and now knew to be true. Particularly when he removed his fingers from the indent he had made into the steering wheel.

"Are you out of your mind Kristen?" He demanded. "Do you have a death wish?!"

"Fuck you!" I snarled. "You worthless pile of cow shit! I hate you! You low down dirty piece of rotten trash, I got acid reflux the moment I saw your face!" I knew I was word vomiting at that point, but I didn't care and let every hateful and angry emotion I had about my father since I was ten fall from my mouth with little to no order or sense. "Let me out of this truck," I shouted. "I'd rather catch a ride with a drag-queen truck driver that occasionally had cannibalistic tendencies!"