MO STARED OUT THE WINDOW. The waves came crashing towards the shore with tremendous force. He could almost feel the cold water rushing over him, pulling him down, forcing its way down his throat until he was one with the water.
The whiskey burned his throat, but he kept pouring it anyway.
He’d been up all night, unable to sleep due to some strange banging in the cottage. Every time he’d started to relax a chill colder than any winter storm swept through the room and then sounds without a source ricocheted through the air. He had no explanation for what was happening, but he could live with the sounds if he had to. What he couldn’t live with was the image of himself drowning a man in the water outside the living room window.
Mo had never killed anyone, hadn’t hit anyone since he punched
