Step Children

6.

It was colder than expected. The field again. It smelled of rain and grain. A shiver washed down his spine as Scott stood up.

"Where is this? Why here? Why now?"

Far out near the horizon, a speckle of darkness crept in. Heat lightning flashed, prompting thunder to roll in sequence.

"Heat lightning? How is it hot if I'm so cold?"

The speckle grew larger, its form broken by the absence of light.

Panic struck him. Scott knew for sure, it was the Widow-Maker. And there was nobody there to protect him.

So he did what any rational person should do: he ran. As fast as his legs could carry him. Frantic, he looked for any sort of cover. Anything at all. There was nothing. Goldenrods sprawled for miles in every direction. A quick glance over his shoulder assured him that the Reaper was narrowing the gap between them.

Backpedaling, he turned to face him. The Widow-Maker floated fifteen feet in the air, in close enough proximity to be heard. His coat flapped as the wind picked up. He reeked of death. Not a fresh kill. Stagnant.

"Finally. No one is here to rescue you. You aren't strong enough to defeat me on your own," the Widow-Maker said. His amber eyes burned into Scott's mind, and he felt compelled to look away. His voice sounded so familiar.

"Why are you so interested in me?"

"Because of who you are." The Widow-Maker drew a .44 mag six-shooter, but somehow, Scott knew it only chambered one round. The Widow-Maker would only need one shot to ruin him.

That voice. Where did he know it from?

Scott's jaw slacked. He knew.

"Wait. You've got this all wrong. I'm not that man anymore."

"No more waiting. You've done this to yourself."

BANG

The lightning must have struck close. Scott thought. The thunder was so loud.

The skin on his chest felt warm and wet. Was it raining? No. How did he get on his back?

His arms were heavy as he touched his chest and looked down to his fingers. Blood coated the tips.

The left side of his chest burned. He started to feel light headed and colder than before.

If I close my eyes, I'll feel much better. So he did, and he did. Darkness started to fade in. It was nice. Much better than hurting. He would just lay down and nap for a while and then feel better when he woke up. It felt like a sound plan.

Brian arrived too late. The Reaper was gone, but there lay Scott in a pool of his own blood. The only still form amidst a sea of goldenrods that swayed in anticipation of the imminent storm. He felt for a pulse, with no luck.

Scott was gone.

Brian spoke at little more than a whisper. "No... It can't be." He said, desperate for reprieve. "You can't be gone."

He hung his head in defeat.

A flash of light erupted from the dark cloud above and struck Scott's body.

Brian jumped back as the crash of the lightning roared in his ears. Disoriented, he shook his head, but a deaf humming was all he could hear.

Then the smell reached his nose. Repulsive. It was the smell of burning flesh. Scott's skin and bones fell apart unnaturally fast, blackened by the yellow flame that sprang to life amongst them.