The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Before she could even open her sore eyes Lynnette heard something that sounded like water very nearby. She attempted to open her eyes, but it seemed that with every effort her eyelids couldn't or wouldn't crack apart. The more she heard the water that was all the more Lynnette wanted to see her surroundings. She precisely recalled what had taken place in her life minutes, hours or even days ago. The last thing she remembered was feeling tiny fish float all around her face right before she blacked out.

Lynnette once more tried in vain to open her eyes. But before she could even tear them open, a sudden burst of light caused her to shut them all over again. She gulped and opened them once more to see the sunshine all around her. To her left was the sand, and to her right was the crystal blue sea. In front of her, however, was something that caused her to believe that she was still in a state of delusion, or at the very least dead. For in front of her, kneeling and grinning, was none other than Arthur Bushard.

Lynnette opened her eyes all the way. The blazing sunlight was far from a detriment at that point. She tried to move but realized that something was holding her in place. Lynnette looked up to discover both of her hands tied upwards to a palm tree.

"Hello, mama," Arthur grinned so wickedly.

His facial features were swollen, along with the rest of his body which was covered only by a pair of torn, brown shorts. In her eyes, he looked as though he had been stung by a horde of bees.

"You are a tenacious one, I must say." He caressed her face.

Lynnette kicked and spat at the man until her arms began to wretch in pain. "Please, God!" She began to sob.

"No, no, no." Arthur waved his hands. "Dis has nuting to do wit him. How you know I still alive, mama?"

"Please...just kill me and get it over with!"

Arthur smiled and said, "When I was told dat you were here in my homeland I was quite surprised. I never imagined dat you would have such bravery. Do you know dat I was dere dat very night Isaac ate you out? I saw de whole ting."

her head in misery before looking back up and staring at

"You have

"You're not a god." Lynnette

much. But when one is...taken over, it's like being inside a racing car, and you cannot control it. All of dat blood dat was covering her; I couldn't help but to devour her. She tasted so good

away from the man's ghastly face that wouldn't cease staring

"I want you to know exactly how dis feels." He grunted while forcefully grabbing her by the cheeks. "I took you out of dat water for one reason and one reason only." With his sharp right index finger Arthur made a tiny slit in Lynnette's throat until a sliver of blood began to trickle. "I will kill you, mama, but not yet. I want you to taste dis to its fullest extent. You will know a hunger de likes you have never experienced. Isaac felt it, too. It consumed him so much

of desperation, Lynnette turned her head from left to right in the hopes of

completely consumed you, you shall beg me to kill you. I shall return, and when I get through with you, not even your Christ himself

his hands on his hips. All she could see was the sun gleaming down upon his body;

dis far." He reached down and slapped her across the face before turning and walking away. "I make you

took control of Lynnette. Her conscious mind stopped functioning at that moment. The final words that Arthur spoke right before leaving had all but vacated her thoughts. A sudden burst of

to blur. Instead of seeing a bright and luminous beach landscape her eyes gathered only darkness; it was like someone had placed a black film over her eyes. With an insufferable hunger inside her stomach Lynnette stalked the beach like a rampaging animal, frothing at the mouth. Her neck was bleeding but not to the point where she was gasping for oxygen. In the distance her ears could pick up the sounds of a barking dog. At the snap of a finger her attention was seized at red alert. Lynnette took off down the beach

went into overdrive at that instant, causing her to feel as if she hadn't eaten in months. Like a furious wind she bolted after the unsuspecting dog and tackled it to the sand before sinking

have cared less about

nomad. Her entire face was drenched in the blood of the dog she had consumed; and even though she had eaten nearly fifty percent of the animal, her

songs while some tourists stood around them and listened. There were children playing and swimming in the water while others just walked up and down the beach. In Lynnette's eyes they were all ripe with warm, smelly flesh and red flowing blood. She apparently didn't care that she herself was a mess of wet clothes and blood, all that mattered to her was the next meal, whether it was walking, swimming or flying above her with wings. Some people, as they strolled by her, managed to