Prologue

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It's a dark and windy night, and

Allison can't sleep. She looks outside

her cracked window pane as the rain

trickles down. She watches the leaves

fall from the tree branches with eyes

red from weeping. With the leaves

drifting through the cold breeze,

Allison herself starts to wither away.

In an instant, her head is spinning. Her

legs begin to surrender to the gravity,

but with the strength she has left in

her, she grabs her bedpost. Then she

guides her jelly-like legs and crawls

back into bed.

The night before, there was an

unsettling knock at her door. She

wasn't expecting the husky man

wearing a trench coat, yet there he

stood, asking if she was Allison Hensley.

"Yes, I am. Who are you, and why

are you here?"

"T'm Detective Perkins," he said,

flashing his credentials. "Please, may

I come inside?"

Allison swung the door wide and

offered him a glass of water as he

entered. He politely declined and asked

if they could sit. Looking at him, she

saw in his facial expression that he

was collecting his thoughts, almost as

if he was hesitant to explain his reason

for being there.

"Please, Detective, what is this

visit about?"

Pulling at his collar as if he couldn't

breathe, the detective started to

sweat. Finally, he opened his mouth

and broke the nervous silence. "We

believe we found your husband in thew oods, dead. We are investigating it as homicide

Allison was in shock. In disbelief, she

uttered, "You believe? That means you

aren't sure it's him, right?"

Detective Perkins explained, "We could

hardly get samples, and those we were

able to obtain either got contaminated

or the results were inconclusive

Only you can give us a positive ID 0on

him." Then he brought the file into

better light to see. As he pulled out

an evidence envelope with a picture

inside, he said, "However, we did

find this next to the body. This is your

husband, Jack Hensley, right?"

She took a big gulp as he said her

husband's name. "It can't be him!

You're lying!"

He tried to calm her down by telling

her to take a few steady breaths, and

after taking a moment to find hert

center, she got the courage to look at

the photo. Instantly, she realized that it

was a picture of Jack with his mom and

dad when he was younger. To confirm,

the detective turned the picture around

and showed each of their names:

Brooke, Tom, and Jack. Across the top of

it were the words The Hensley Family.

"He was just here this morning. He told

me he'd be back this evening after his

run." Looking down at her watch, she

realized how late it was getting. "Is it

really seven o'clock at night?"

There was a heavy pause as she

wondered why Jack hadn't come

home s0oner. "Where exactly did you

find his body?"

Detective Perkins told Allison that he

was found deep into the woods off the

Weetamoo Woods Trail. Those words

meant that she had to face the truth.

Her husband was gone. She knewv

Jack went running on that trail, s0

there was no doubt in her mind that it

was indeed him.

When she asked the detective what

he looked like when he died, he told

her that he couldn't disclose that

information. However, when he offered

a sympathetic hand, his clumsiness

caused him to drop the file, exposing

everything.

Falling to her knees, Allison helped pick

up the mess. She knew the detective

wasn't supposed to let her look at

it, but it was too late. Staring at the

gut-wrenching pictures, she started to

feel ill. Those images would forever

haunt her. She would never see him in

the same light again.

Beaten to a bloody pulp, Jack's eyes

were swollen shut. His legs looked

mangled as if they went through a

meat grinder, and his fingers were

all cut off straight through the bone.

Allison looked closer, noticing how

clean the cuts were, almost surgical.

The next image unveiledhis smile.

Although, she knew deep down that it

was anything but when the anti-tooth

fairy shattered his teeth, leaving his

mouth nearly empty and only filled

with dented gum lines. When she

glanced at the last photo of Jack, she

realized that his head had been scalped.

Allison became scarred at the sight of

his skullcap. She didn't want to, but

she kept imagining the culprit going as

far as drilling it open and spilling her

husband's brains out.

"Excuse me," she told the detective as

she rushed to her bathroom. How could

anyone be capable of such an atrocity?

Was it some kind ofunconventional

trophy of theirs that they had to claim?

she thought while she was facedown in

the toilet. Continuously sobbing as she

vomited her guts out, that image of her

dead husband flashed in her mind. The

once flickering flame that lit her world

vaporized into thin air. If he had died

normally from something as simple as

a car accident-that she could handle.

But this was something else..

More vomit spewed out of her, which

shocked her because she hadn't eaten

much that day. Lately, Allison had lost

her appetite, and after seeing all those

photos, she wasn't quite sure if it would

ever come back.

"Mrs. Hensley, are you alright in

there?" the detective called from

outside her bedroom door.

For a moment, she had forgotten all

about him. She cleared her throat to

give her stomach time to settle, which

gave her time to make sure she wasn't

going to hurl again. "Yeah.. just go

sit back down. I'll be right out," she

answered, her voice strained from

the stomach acid.

"Take your time. I'm in no rush,"

he said.

It took a second or two to catch her

balance when she pulled herself up

from the cold tile floor. Still sobbing

uncontrollably, she found her footing

and splashed water on her flushed face.

The towel hanging next to her was thick

enough to muffle a screanm at

the top of

her lungs before patting her face dry.

"Sorry about that," she apologized

when she walked back into the

living room.

"No need to be sorry. Is there anyone

you can call or invite over to talk to for

Comfort? This iS a sensitive matter. In

fact," he paused to take something out

of his inner left pocket, "take this. It's

a pamphlet with listed support groups

for those grieving the loss of a loved

one. I wish I could be of more helpp

here, but I'd be more helpful out there

solving this case."

After pulling out a tissue and wiping

her tears, she said, "Thank you,

Detective. Please, find his killer. I just

don't understand why this happened,

and I need answers."

Perkins told her that he wasn't sure of

the motive behind such a gruesome

murder. "You may have given a

positive ID from the photos, but I'll

need you to come down and identify

his body for the record once we have

him at the morgue. You know, to make

things official. I'll contact you when

everything on our end is finished." He

headed toward the front door, turned

around, and said, "Oh, one more thing,

we will ask questions about who you

think might have done this. I didn't

want to bother you with that tonight.

I'm sure you still need to take time

to let it sink in."

Allison, head hung low, giving the

impression of a weeping willow,

managed to tell Perkins to do whatever

it takes to find the person responsible

for Jack's death.

"Will do, Mrs. Hensley. I'm so sorry

for your loss. If we find any leads, I'l1

be sure to let you know. If you need

anything or have any future questions,

please don't hesitate to contact me."

Allison thanked him and wished

him goodnight.

After the detective left, Allison went

to Jack's study. Stumbling across the

room, she grasped at the first thing

in sight. She opened the bottle of

Everclear vodka with ease and didn't

even pour a glass. Instead, she brought

it up to her mouth and pressed it to

her dry lips, taking a sip. As the liquor

popped on her taste buds, she felt it

slither down her throat. Before she

knew it, she had drunk the entire

bottle. Digging through the cabinet, her

favorite drink struck her like a volt of

electricity. Chugging it like there was no

tomorrow, she hoped it was true, that

tomorrow would never come. Instead,

she wished that it was yesterday or any

day before her husband was gone.

Everyone grieves differently. It just so

happens that Allison grieved with a

bottle of whiskey. Until that night, she

hadn't touched a drop of the devil's

nectar in over eight years. Jack was

the drinker in their relationship,

moderately, of course. In fact, he's the

one who saved her.