“Growing up in a ghost town sounds intriguing.” She paused in her motions, slowly placing the wooden spoon in the bowl before her so she could turn her full attention to the stranger. Something about him struck a chord within her, but the girl couldn’t quite place what it was. “Though I suppose it depends on whether or not you believe in ghosts.”
“No’ really. I mean, the drif’ers comin’ in an’ ou’ o’ the bar make for some good stories, bu’ no’ much else.” He snorted at that, eyes rolling a little. “Ain’ no ghosts there. Hellhounds an’ shit, bu’ no ghosts. No’ tha’ I’ve seen anyway. ‘Sides, if there were, family friend’s go’ a kid tha’s a necromancer, so easy fix.”
He paused, studying her with a smirk. “Ya don’ remember me a’ all do ya.”
Micah was a mistake on Manson’s part. A boy she never should have gotten involved with. But he was sweet and protective, always trying to find a way to get her away from her parents. He never knew the whole story, she had only told him they were abusive.
The reality of her situation didn’t really sink in for Micah until it was way too late. When Chance had put them both in that room, him tied and her in chains, he thought it was about hurting Manson. He was right, in a sense, but not in the way he thought.
The last thing he saw before dying was the girl he was falling in love with sobbing over him.
ofviolentdeath 