The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 40

All Hallows Eve

"Hugo. Hugo, awaken from thy slumber."

Ever so sluggishly Livingston, who was still dangling from the truck's passenger window, opened his bloodshot eyes before falling backwards onto the muddy ground. He raised his right hand to pull out a shard of glass that just happened to be lodged inside his forehead. Instantly, blood started to stream down his face. The man wiped it away before attempting to get to his feet.

"Yes...Yes, get up."

The rain had at last ceased. Livingston looked all around at the gradually brightening morning but could find no one in sight.

"Who's there?" His voice slurred.

The man's body was cursed in pain. His scratched and scarred head and face was bleeding profusely, his stomach felt as if he had been punched all night, and his legs could barely keep a steady balance. It was morning, a hazy and warm morning. Livingston stumbled about looking up at the rolling clouds and the mist that was surrounding him so heavily that seeing just two feet ahead caused the man to stagger in sheer amazement at his own blindness.

"Come to me,

Livingston screamed out loud. "Arthur, is that you," he spun

"It is I, your new

pocket only to recall that his gun was no longer inside. The man then leaned up against his own

"Please...where are you?"

"We are here, Hugo." A series of voices answered in

"Who's we?"

All the others failed,

"God...please

side and slam the door shut behind him. He then covered his ears as tight as he could,

"If only you

dammit?" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "What the hell

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