In the dark, the dead man’s anger explodes. With ears grown sensitive through the miracle of undeath, he hears the plot, now unfolding, though his grief has driven him miles from the scene. Blood tears stream, leaving their red tracks scored down his white flesh, escaping through anger and pouring for Robert.
My only son.
Aleister Sheraton – I will tear you limb from limb. You bastard.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan