The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller

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Black Lake cemetery was a study in contrasts. A velvety lawn, vibrant and lush, shrouded by people in dark attire with vacant expressions—all aimed toward the focal point, a slick mahogany casket perched over a shadowy hole.

I allowed my eyes to settle there for a moment, along with my thoughts, but nothing good came of it, just a grim and sobering realization.

There wasn’t enough dirt on this earth to bury that much evil.

I forced my attention away from my mother’s grave, fidgeted with my tie to loosen the knot. This place was hotter than the hinges of hell, an oppressive blanket of humidity and temperatures climbing to heights so ambitious that even my eyelids were sweating. Summertime in Georgia, just as I’d always remembered. I hadn’t been back in years. I hadn’t missed much. Listening to the preacher, I felt like I was attending a funeral for a stranger—and in a way, I was. Dedicated and loving? I must have missed that day.

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