Rain crashing down.
The boy sat motionless beside the fresh grave.
Two hours earlier, he had watched his father's coffin
lowered into a hole and covered with dirt.
He stared.

By now, thunder had arrived, along with streaks of
lightning flickering across the skyline.
This was not the kind of weather for sitting in a
cemetery, yet he remained still.

"Father" the child spoke
"I will never tell Mother the truth.
I knew about you and Aunt Miranda long before
I caught you both in bed that day.
And you know what?  
She's next"