Here After

by Sean Costello

Vickie said, “Incredible,” and heard a raised voice from outside now, calling her name in alarm. She looked at Laking looking at her, a sick feeling in her gut, then ran for the screen door, Laking hot on her heels. One of the coppers was standing at the foot of the porch steps, pointing at the road. Vickie saw the officer first, the one Laking had sent in search of Mullen, the man running full bore toward the farmhouse now, utility belt jangling. He was shouting something Vickie couldn’t make out, waving a hand in the air. Then she saw Mullen, fifty yards behind the cop. He was running too, a gaunt, emaciated child, naked save a filthy pair of underwear, flopping rag-like in his arms. To Vickie, the boy looked dead. It was at once the saddest and most triumphant scene she’d ever witnessed.