Freelance Good Guys: Monster by Moonlight

Monster by Moonlight

[CHAPTER 1: CATTLE THIEF]

SUMMER, 5976

Evan flinched at his father's footsteps booming down the hall.

"What's this I hear about you fighting with the neighbor's boys?" the man bellowed. Evan jumped with a start and pulled the blanket over his head. His big sister, Abigail, was sitting at his bedside with a cotton ball and a bowl of alcohol to clean his bloodied face.

Their father barged through the door and pointed an accusatory finger at the lump under the blanket. "Every day it's some kind of trouble with you, boy! Are you trying to trash this family's reputation?" he howled. Abigail quickly stood up and maneuvered between the two.

"It was not a fight, Papa!" she argued. "Those Galanis boys jumped him as we were coming home from school. Evan never got a punch in. It was me who blackened their eyes! And they damn well deserved it!"

Their father, Foster Atlas, glared down at the children for a long moment. He was a towering, bulky man with a receding hairline and a prickly squared jaw, a forest of brown fuzz on each forearm. His worn overalls were dusty from top to bottom, boots browned with manure.

Abigail stared back up at him and her jaw was set just as stubbornly as his was. Her auburn hair just passed her chin, a strong-bodied girl of thirteen. The entire Atlas family was built that way—solid and mountainous.

That was, except for Evan. He quivered under the blanket as his weak heart thrummed like the wings of a hummingbird, big round glasses all askew on his face.

Finally, Foster broke the staredown and mumbled, "No man wants a woman with sailor's knuckles."

Abigail crossed her arms and looked down her freckled nose at him. "Does no man have taste?" she queried. Foster growled and shoved her aside. He tore the blanket away from Evan, revealing two skinny legs bound in braces.

"You're a blight on the Atlas name," he said. "Your sister should not have to fight your battles. If you don't shape up and stop picking fights—"

"Yeah yeah, blah blah, enough!" exclaimed Abigail. She gave her father a shove towards the door. "Stop picking on him, he gets it enough at school! Just get out of here and let me see to his wounds!"

Father and daughter broke out into a shouting match as Evan hunched over and pressed his bony hands over his ears. At just nine years old, already he knew the routine. Foster threatened violence, Abigail called his bluff, then Foster got frustrated and left with a slam of the door, stretching the crack in the wall just a little further.

Though a bully and a questionable father, Foster Atlas would punch a porcupine's back before he punched a woman. Hitting Evan didn't exactly reflect well on him either. Evan was so small, crippled, and sickly, he feared the lightest tap would kill the boy. But that never stopped his endless threats and yelling.

"I didn't do anything, Abby," Evan whined.

Abigail let out a long sigh and returned to Evan's bedside. "Don't listen to him," she told him, brushing the straw-colored hair from his face. "I know you didn't. And I don't care if I have to bloody my knuckles 'till they're old and wrinkled! I'll always protect my baby brother."

Evan grumbled, "I'm not a baby..."

His sister smiled. "Sure whine like one," she giggled. He was not amused. Abigail pulled him into a hug and added, "I still love you."

Evan glanced down at his shriveled legs, then back up at her. "What if I get worse?" he asked.

"Don't say that."