A Guardian Angel-in-training. A soul-eating djinn. A werewolf ex-convict torn between love and vengeance. More than a heart hangs in the balance.
Season 1 of Into the Wild Dark
***
Wrongfully-convicted Jack Slobodnik wants his life back. Four years...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ch. 7: Jack's Dilemma
August 11 | Late Noon
In the narrow galley kitchen of the studio apartment, Mom clutched a blue mixing bowl under her arm and whipped her frustrations into a milky corn batter. Fluffy grey-streaked curls bounced with her intensity. My gaze fell upon the grocery store receipt. A thin square of paper with a bold three digit total. I surveyed the meager plastic bags of groceries scattered across the countertop. The cost of living was murderous.
A dusty beige AM/FM radio atop the fridge blared the Sunday morning Baptist service of some local megachurch. The wavering voice of an octogenarian preacher swore time was running out. "Time," he yelled magnificently, "is not on your side! Come on, get right with Gawd." Suddenly, the jingle of an auto commercial broke the altar call, and Mom turned the volume down.
"Hey, Mama." I stared at the cheap vinyl floor.
Lois grunted. She was cooking one of my favorite meals again. The kitchen smelled like Eden with a touch of purgatory. Pot roast, garlic potatoes, cabbage. Mom had been fattening me up ever since I got out of prison.
Dad braced against the door out. His brown trousers and crisp white shirt contrasted with my rumpled suit. As he crossed his arms, his bushy eyebrows furrowed so low, his eyes disappeared in the creases. I waited for probing questions. Where I'd been. What I'd done. I couldn't answer.
A forlorn glance at the living room reminded me I had no space to retreat. Unfortunately, neither did my parents. We were stuck in this mess I'd made of things.
I had awakened in a foreign house with my phone near-dead, and overreacted by calling Dad. Once the truth came to light–that I'd had too much to drink, and Mal Ashivant had graciously let me sleep it off at her place–I felt silly. An annoying detail still itched at my brain. Given today was Sunday, I had somehow lost a day.
But it was done. The whole lot of it.
Nondisclosure agreements were involved. There was no telling my parents about the billionaire's miracle offer to turn our lives around. Either they wouldn't believe me, or they'd say it wasn't worth the hazard.
I surreptitiously patted down my chest. Breathing, heart rate–normal. My limbs felt fine. Hell, I felt better than I had in months with the stress of figuring out my future put to rest.
The nebulous side effects hinted at by Mr. Cyprian hadn't shown up. I half-remembered my gorgeous lawyer reassuring me a medical team would do monthly physicals to monitor my health. Most importantly, my parents were slated to get enough money to climb from the financial pit my conviction had thrown them into. So, I wasn't too worried about the risks.
There was an egg-timer by the kitchen sink. When it dinged, Mom whumped the bowl of cornbread mix on the counter and reached into the oven for a pot with her bare hands.
