The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Mr. Mercer drove down the road at a steady pace while conversing back and forth with Deacon Hawthorne who was seated in the front while Lynnette, Isaac and Isaiah were all packed in the back seat of the car. The deacon's bald, light skinned head bobbed up and down, agreeing with just about everything that Mr. Mercer was mentioning about the book of Galatians, while Isaac kept his attention solely at the passing scenery outside his window.

He had hardly said a single word ever since leaving church earlier; he didn't even acknowledge his own son when he reached out for him to be picked up into his arms. Isaac's head was elsewhere that cloudy afternoon.

Light flurries rained down from the sky, making it look like a complete whiteout, even though not one flake seemed to be sticking to the ground. With every building that passed, Isaac's stomach growled even more loud and irate.

"Uh oh," Deacon Hawthorne said, "sounds like someone didn't eat breakfast this morning."

"That boy always eats breakfast." Mr. Mercer giggled. "I can't imagine why he would be so hungry now."

Isaac could tell that his menacing silence was causing a bitter chill in the backseat. Even though he didn't want to look at her, Isaac could feel Lynnette's eyes pierce his flesh.

"Pastor Mercer," Lynnette all of the suddenly called out.

"Yes, ma'am," Mr. Mercer replied.

"Your son here told me a very interesting story about you the other night."

As if someone had clocked him over the head, Isaac awoke from his deep spell and stared peculiarly at Lynnette.

"He told me that you once were a pimp and a drug dealer before you became a pastor."

"Oh, did he

Because I'm having a very hard time believing

amused. "That was way back when Satan had his claws all over me. I was into a lot of mess back then. Then I met Mrs. Mercer, and well...let's just say that

"Amen, she surely was."

"I see,"

after all that,

end." Mr. Mercer laughed

Everyone inside the car, including Isaac, joined in on the chorus of laughter at

jive people." Isaac smirked. "You even got my own son laughing at me." He looked down and over at Isaiah who was grinning from ear to ear in his winter coat

you, son." Mr. Mercer calmed down. "You're alright with me. But we'd better get some gas or else we won't make it to Don's

As Mr. Mercer pulled into the Texaco station, little Isaiah chimed along with the ringing that the black, rubber hose made when the car rolled into

too?" Deacon Hawthorne smiled as he looked at

"Yes, sir," Lynnette replied. "He always does that every time we stop at the filling station.

"I'll pump for you, dad." Isaac said while

Mercer complied as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed Isaac

his way into the blowing fury that was flying flurries towards the tiny cashier's hut, a homeless man, smoking a cigarette caught his attention. For some odd reason Isaac couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the man; it

eyes. It was the face of a man, a light-skinned, young man that resembled an old, childhood friend. In his mouth he wanted to say a name, but his jaws

large black man warned

already standing, who instead of wanting to buy gasoline, only desired to purchase cartons and packs of cigarettes. Isaac, too, longed for a smoke, but

woman. She stood only a few inches shorter than Isaac. The lady was wearing an autumn orange and brown knit hat, a long, black leather coat that reached her