Monsters Walk Among US (Ruthless Monsters #1)
Prologue
The Beginning
Silas
" A shes to ashes, dust to dust." I vaguely hear the priest as he finishes the ceremony, but I’m not really listening to anything he's saying.
You don't ever think at eleven years old, you'll be the kid watching their mother's casket being lowered into the cold, hard ground.
But here I am, staring at the photo of her beautiful face smiling back at me, surrounded by a floral wreath displayed next to her headstone.
The polished, granite stone etched permanently with her name.
Cynthia Marie Voss
January 16, 1966-January 5, 2005
A loving daughter, sister, wife, and mother.
She was all of those things and more. She was my protector and my best friend, but I couldn’t save her. I failed her.
As her funeral comes to an end, I know that my life has changed forever. The day I lost my mother, my innocence and the boy I was, died alongside her. It was the day I realized that real monsters aren't the ones under your bed, or hiding in dark corners when the lights are out .
True monsters walk among us, wearing the faces of those we love and trust the most.
I sniffle, trying to hold back my tears. My father leans down, whispering low in my ear, "Men don't cry." To anyone else out of earshot, it would look like a loving father trying to comfort his son. But this wasn't a father trying to console his grieving son—this was a warning.
I knew the consequences of embarrassing him, so I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth as the funeral guests begin to leave.
My Aunt Sydney, Mom's twin, stands beside me. She's always been like a second mother to me. It offers me a small comfort to have her by my side. She hands me a single white rose and together we walk side by side toward the open grave.
As I stand looking down at my mother’s final resting place, the toe of my black dress shoe sticks slightly over the edge, causing some dirt to dislodge and tumble down the side of the freshly dug grave.
Aunt Sydney gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and together, we drop our roses onto my mother's casket.
A last tribute to the most important woman in both our lives.
"I'll keep two roses and press them." My aunt’s voice is soft as we walk together to her car. "One for each of us to remember her by." The sentiment is a nice one, but I know our reasons for holding onto those roses will differ greatly.
My aunt wants to remember her sister as the vibrant and loving woman she was. For me, that rose is a reminder of my failure to protect her when she needed me most. It represents the last promise I made to my mother as I knelt beside her lifeless body, cleaning her face.
From the ashes of my grief, a new creature was born. A monster of a different kind, forged in the fires of betrayal and rage. I have one purpose .
Her killer will not go unpunished, and he will die by my hands. My father will pay, they will all pay.