Pat's moved around like a large vacuum. His brother was gone, lost to him forever. When they took John away from him a piece of Pat died. He chalked it down to hopelessness. He was feeling sorry for himself. He was experiencing pity for his brother's corpse that lay entombed in their backyard.
He knew vindication could jumpstart the blood in his veins back to life. He understood revenge was his only catharsis. He needed someone else family to feel the way he did, to experience the abyss of anger and pain that left him feeling like a hollowed soul.
He replayed that tragic morning several times from his memory bank. He heard his brother scream like a child being flogged, calling out his name, begging for his life.
Pat kept having nightmares of his brother with his face swollen, eyes frantic like a lost child, blood oozing from his mouth begging Patrick to come and help him. Patrick knelt to the ground with the machete in his hand, turned his eyes to the sky. He was feeling utterly despaired, he no longer had any faith in man more so the almighty God. He attempted one last supplication and asked God to remove this cup from before him like his son Jesus Christ.
Patrick mumbled to himself completely unaware of Fay glowering at him from the doorway.
Fay shook her head in dismay tears threatened to flood her eyes. One brother was dead and the other was becoming a mad man.
#Excerpt from Jamaica's number one selling Novel online#
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