It’s all wrong. Jeremy balls his hand into a fist but doesn’t dare raise it. Mikey stomps away from Mom, hugging an armload of Richard Scarry’s Busytown books. “I wanna KEEP them!” Stomps are building up in Jeremy too, but he grits his teeth instead. Mom’s right....
I am the beast, and he is my boy. A young, cruel boy with a smashed-glass smile. We are hunting tonight, because he is hungry. There is a strip of asphalt outside the town; it is our hunting ground, straight as an arrow and black as night. We idle beneath the only...
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