The Resurrectionist Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t love me. You don’t know what love is. You’re not capable of feeling love. I don’t know what you feel, or if you feel anything at all, but it isn’t love. You’re evil, Dale. You’re some kind of monster. Now just leave me alone and let me die.”
    Tears welled in Dale’s eyes. He couldn’t believe his mother was saying these things to him. She had been looking at him suspiciously ever since his grandmother died. Now she’d finally said what she was really thinking.
    Dale’s brow furrowed and his voice lowered. He stood up and put a hand beneath his mother’s chin, turning her head to look him in the eyes.
    “No, Mom. I won’t let you die, ever. I need you and I’m not going to let you go. You can kill yourself again but I’ll just bring you back. I’ll just keep bringing you back again and again. You can’t leave me. You can’t ever leave me.”
    The next day his mother set herself on fire and burned down the house. Dale awoke to a room filled with smoke and a bedroom door that was engulfed in flames. He’d had to crawl out of his window and jump down into the parking lot below to avoid being immolated himself. He had just barely managed to get outof the house alive. The firemen told him that there had been gasoline poured outside his door. His mother had tried to take him with her. This time, he was not able to bring her back. She had found a way to get away from him after all.

C HAPTER F IVE
    Sarah Lincoln awoke to the smell of maple syrup, frying bacon, and the clash and clang of pots and dishes. She loved Saturdays. Saturday was the day that Josh felt guilty for working late all week and woke up early to cook her breakfast. Sarah knew that Josh had to work to support the family. She still hated it. She wished he could spend every day with her.
    She loved being able to stay home and play the dutiful housewife, cooking and cleaning, decorating their home, clipping coupons, balancing the checkbook, and making herself beautiful for him, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she resented it sometimes. Seeing Josh leave for work every morning before the sun rose, and sometimes coming home long after dark, working double shifts, ten-, eleven-, and twelve-hour days, awoke all of her jealousies and insecurities. Even knowing that Josh was hard at work, all Sarah could think about was that at least he had people to talk to there, and that many of those people were women.
    Josh was a blackjack dealer at one of the largest casinos in town, and while she just could not imagine standing in place for eight hours shuffling cards—it would have been hell on her feet and her lower back—she could imagine all the interesting people he got tomeet. Including drunk, flirtatious women looking for a Vegas fling.
    Sarah didn’t think Josh was cheating on her. He wasn’t the type. But she knew he enjoyed his work. He enjoyed the social interaction. He enjoyed getting the chance to meet celebrities and millionaires and people from all over the world. Sarah didn’t get to meet anyone except the clerks at the local grocery store and the sales people at Wal-Mart. She was alone. She had no friends in Las Vegas. She’d left her family, her friends, and everyone she’d grown up with back in Indianapolis. After living in Las Vegas for eleven years she still did not even know the names of her neighbors. With all the foreclosures, her neighbors kept changing before she got to know them. Josh was her only friend.
    The acrid aroma of burning butter wafted up from the kitchen, followed by a few whispered curses and the whoosh and sizzle of cold water running into a hot pot. Sarah giggled. Josh was many things, a hard worker, a sensitive listener, an attentive lover, even a pretty good singer, but he was a terrible cook. As she did every weekend, Sarah crawled out of bed and decided to go downstairs and rescue Josh before he burned down the house.
    A loud banging noise came from across the street and