Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
It was interesting how an old Russian man, who appeared fairly feeble, could still, when he needed to, scare the horns right off of Satan. Dad had been a big, mighty man when they were children, and though before the drinking, bad times, and deterioration, he could be fun at times during their younger years, he didn’t mess around back then, either.
Dad never shared what he’d discussed with Dmitriy that fateful day in California, but he made it clear to Nikolai on their flight back home that he knew certain things about his children, all of them, that they didn’t think he knew, and those bits of intelligence came in handy should one of them need some persuading to stop fucking around. He’d told him he’d had enough of Dmitriy’s destruction, and needed to once and for all put an end to it. Dmitriy was not merely crazy, he was evil to his core… and sly as a fox.
Nikolai also believed that somewhere inside of their father, he blamed Dmitriy for their mother’s death. The love of his life.
Nikolai would have been lying if he said he hadn’t considered that Dmitriy’s deeds and behavior had played a part in her decline, too. For the past two months, Dad had been sober. But on his last night of drinking himself into a stupor, he’d offered a strange, yet a hair-raising, theory as to the problems with Dmitriy…
He stated that he knew he was wrong for how he treated Dmitriy, but that he wanted to clear up a notion. He looked Nikolai in the eye, whiskey and vodka on his breath, and said, ‘Your brother was born evil. I was trying to get the Devil outta him, Nikolai. I knew soon after he came out of your mother that he was going to attempt to destroy everything in his path. He was never a good boy. He was just playing a role of one.’
The old man actually believed that Dmitriy may have been the foul son of Veles, a Slavic God, also known as Volos, who was a god of the water, earth and livestock, and hailed from the underworld, according to Slavic paganism.
He shared this was why Dmitriy was so obsessed with the sea and the beach, and his inner demon fashioned him to mimic Nikolai’s physical appearance and agility, as well as Mark’s intelligence to create the perfect son, but failed miserably. As ridiculous as it sounded, he could tell his father truly believed what he was saying, intoxicated or not. Dad had put a stop to his love for the sauce, stating that it was because he was sure he only had a year or two more left to live, and he wanted to enjoy them sober—to spend time with his two sons, his daughters-in-law, and his grandchildren.
Regardless, Nikolai knew deep within his soul, that his father simply couldn’t face the full truth. He was still inventing excuses and absurd mystical theories as to why some people turned out like Dmitriy. No one else in their family had been like him, but these things sometimes happened without rhyme or reason.
Dmitriy was severely mentally ill. About that, most would agree. He’d suffered as a child, and he’d begun to inflict suffering upon others. He was a human being, though. Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. He was no son of an underworld god. He wasn’t an elf, an ogre, a big bad wolf, or a troll under a bridge. He was the third child of his parents. Rurik and Nina Raven. Born in the winter, on a cold morning in Portland, Maine. He was his little brother. At one period in time, even his friend. And now, he was gone. A memory.
“BABY! Breakfast is ready!” he called out as he grabbed a small plastic sippy cup with pink teddy bears on it for Jewel. He filled it with some of her smoothie mixture.
“Okay! I’m on my way, honey!” Porsche answered.
This was all he needed to give his attention to. His family. Dmitriy was something that Nikolai refused to give any more power or invest deep thought. Rather, his focus honed in on the beautiful woman who’d saved him—given him something to look forward to in the morning, and something to hold tight in the middle of the night.
She was the mother of his children. His best friend. His lover. His confidante. She was sometimes his business partner, and the only person able to calm him down when he was about to explode. She was his conscience. His peace. She was his answered prayers, and the quiet whispers of his raven…
~The End~