It was a nightmare Clay hadn’t had for many a year, though it had haunted him for a time in the Blinds, fading when he found Joya and Derk. The scene was much as it had been in life, though whatever vicious corner of his mind crafting this version had added a few details; the blood covering his father’s hands for example, and the rent and torn body of Clay’s mother on the card-table before him. A stack of scrip and exchange notes were piled atop the corpse, stained red but otherwise unnaturally rigid and neat. Clay’s father turned, cigarillo poised before his lips as he regarded the boy
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