Chapter 4
Thomas stared at the wall, imagining he could see the pitted swells in the paint even though it was barely four in the morning. The mind was such a powerful tool that way. Filling in the blanks from memory when the eye failed to perceive them. He could almost swear he saw the smudges made from the shoes his father had thrown at his head when he’d run into the room to escape his anger. It hadn’t been a guest bedroom then. George Durling had claimed it as his thinking space, which meant his sanctuary to drink when he didn’t want the world peeking into his business. He’d fooled himself into believing nobody knew the truth, when really, they were too afraid of his reaction in case they said the wrong thing.
Ah, the mind. A most potent weapon, indeed.
As much as he would’ve liked t
