Some would say it’s a gift. I call it a curse I’ve had since I fell from the slide at five. I see a green glow around murderers.
I watch as the newscaster talks about the latest serial killer, Hank Curtis—such a simple name for a simple-looking man, except, he glows green. He had nineteen victims before he was arrested. Hank smiles as the camera goes for a close up.
My father walks in at that moment, his eyes red from crying. “Sam, the police found your mother…” he sobs.
My heart races—my father is glowing green.
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