Demolition Before the Bloom

I grabbed the edge of the table.
“What is it?”
Julian took a shaky breath.
“I know that tattoo.”
Mr. Morris leaned closer.
“Who is he?”
My son swallowed.
“The tattoo belongs to Gabriel.”
The room fell silent.
I frowned.
“Gabriel who?”
“My cousin.”
The photograph slipped from his fingers.
Three years earlier, Gabriel had vanished without warning.
Everyone believed continue reading …