Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) by Robert J. Duperre, Jesse David Young Read Free Book Online Page A

hard one.”
    A long silence followed those words. Horace sat back. He thought of Doug and his crushed youth. A pang of sadness pricked his brain. He felt sorry for the kid. To be that young and have so much responsibility heaped upon his shoulders could not have been easy. Youth is meant for learning and amusement, not this , he thought.
    His pondering brought back memories from his own childhood. It seemed like so long ago. He remembered how he was at Doug’s age, how driven and eager he’d been. There were so many nights spent with either his nose pressed arduously into a book or nipping at the heels of some revered Yale professor like an over-eager lap dog. He had done this not out of enjoyment but because it was what he thought he needed to accomplish his goals. And this is where I find myself. He was sixty-three, with no family, and lacking the sense of stability to ground him.
    In that realization, he regretted his past decisions. The memories, with all their bitterness and regret, forced his mind to tread even further backwards, to a happier time. He was ten years old again, playing stickball in one of the many vacant lots that peppered his neighborhood in Queens . Johnny Pazarelli, Shane Reynolds, and the rest of his youthful friends became his friends once more. He’d been immature and free in those days, a feeling that stayed with him until his brain kicked into high gear and he succumbed to the pressures his intelligence – and drive – demanded.
    “You know what I miss?” he asked. The others turned to him. “I miss the innocence of youth. I miss being able to walk down the street and know, just know, that everything is good and always will be. It didn’t matter how broke I was or how practical I could be. My father would let me skip school sometimes on weekdays, and he’d bring me across the bridge to Yankee Stadium to watch Mickey Mantle play ball.” He sighed. “I miss the time when baseball was all that mattered. I suppose we won’t have that anymore, either. Baseball, I mean.”
    Luis’s eyes lit up. “Damn, Doc, I hear you. I’m only thirty, but I remember my pops taking me out to Bush every once in a while to see the Cardinals play. I’d whistle every time Ozzie, the Wizard, shot the gap and turned singles into double plays. Man, it was fucking poetry watching the Oz play ball.”
    “Yes, it was,” said Horace.
    “Pops and I worshipped those teams. We lived and died with them.” Luis paused. A tear descended his cheek. “My father died in a car accident when I was seventeen. I didn’t watch another game for a good ten years after that. It just hurt too much. But then my son was born three years ago,” again he paused and his voice grew choppy. “And I…I…”
    “It’s okay, compadre ,” Hector said, placing a caring hand on his back.
    “I’m all right,” replied Luis. “So anyway, last year, on his second birthday, I took little Juan to a game. He was way too young to remember anything about it, but that was okay. I saw something that I needed that day. I saw my dad in the bathroom mirror. It was me. I realized it wasn’t the worst thing to remember the good times, even if it hurt. I was there, with a life I helped create, and I could give him a great set of memories just like my father gave me. It’s the first time I really appreciated what I had. But now…now he’s so far away. I don’t even know if he’s alive. I doubt he is. But I still wish I could see him again…see him and tell him how much I love him.”
    He began to sob, heavy tears that caused his body to tremble. Hector wrapped his arms around his friend. Stan reached over and wiped a watery smudge from his cheek.
    “ Gracias , you guys,” murmured Luis.
    Larry stood up and stared at Luis from across the sea of flames. “I’m sorry, Lou,” he said.
    “ Naw , it’s okay. I got shit I gotta work out.”
    “No, it’s not.”
    Larry paced around the circle. “Truth is,” he said, “that none of us