Jack Follman

I would ease closer to her once we got out onto one of the long, dark highways she was going to have to take to get out of town. That is when my work would really begin.

Sometimes it’s best to let secrets lie if they work in your favor.

I took a few moments to calm down a little bit and fully absorb my situation. Something about the whole situation seemed off from the get go.

Everyone in Howeville, Virginia knew about the Barnes Family Curse, but no one knew more about it than me.

The service I offered was simple. You wanted a guy beaten up, I was your guy. I caught the guy at just the right time, picked a fight with him, and won. Always won.

Like Gram and Gran’s deaths, I now had horrifying concerns about the people I was sharing my life with who were listening to old Bob Dylan records in the kitchen and probably already five drinks in.

“I don’t know what he is going to do to you, but I can’t say you don’t deserve and I don’t think anyone is going to judge either of us when they find out what you did to him and why you made him run away.”

“You have to get out. You have to get out now. Now. You are not safe.”