What makes Geoffrey Younger Tick
|The young man looked out the window and smiled. He loved this time of year; Autumn was full of dark reds and deep oranges. Before he leapt into the car and joined his parents on a trip to visit his grandmother way in the country, Geoffrey Younger spent the morning enjoying the smells coming from the kitchen. Apple pie and pumpkin muffins were baked, bacon and eggs were fried, and coffee was brewed.
The 1964 Buick Electra, green and long, was the first new car his father had purchased. They were home, he was told, and the moving where the military sent his father was over. The 10-year-old could finally make long-time friends, not having to make new ones every six months. A bonus, they moved close to his maternal grandmother, Nanna Patricia. The round but short woman was affectionate and gave the best hugs.
Geoffrey sat nervously in the back, something inside him caused a wave of despair to rush over him. He went to tell his father, Sergeant Clive Younger, to slow, that something, he didn’t know what, was ahead. Before he could get the words out of his mouth, he was sent flying. The crunch of metal and bone echoed in his ears before the knock on his head when he landed on the dashboard caused darkness to envelop him.
Ten days in the hospital. Ten days of not seeing his mother or father. The only familiar adult he saw was Patricia Michelson, and she was not forthcoming with answers for her grandchild. No tears were shed in the boy’s room, but he could tell something was not right. The looks on the nurses’ faces, the doctors’ sighs when he asked for his parents. Ten days of not knowing where they were.
“You’re telling me that if I have all the Iscariot Silver in my possession, I could control all the demons that walk the Earth?” the college junior asked.
The black suited man, his eyes obscured by dark-colored lenses just nodded. “It is written so.”
Geoffrey Younger thought for a moment. A childhood spent wondering why a God so merciful would take away his mother and leave his father forever unable to walk. Teenage years filled with anger at the same God who would leave a young man without a mother would be considered just. It was by chance or fate, he couldn’t decide which one it was, that he met a young woman, also angry at religion. She introduced him to this man before him.
“Good,” the young man said, an evil grin came to his face. “Time to do some research and find their locations.”