In a motor lodge outside of Bozeman, surrounded by virgin snow-capped peaks and icy cliffs, we would move into our new temporary home on the 1st of January. But first, Tom and Reba would have one last fight.

When the argument first broke, I picked up little Connor and baby Carrie and moved them to safety. I haven't yet mentioned how attached I was to Connor. When he learned how to walk, he walked to me.

The night Morgan died, Connor stumbled over to me. I held him close and cried for the first time and felt a miserable sort of relief. He was my buddy, and I was his.

Protecting Connor from Tom was more important to me than anything. When Tom was away at "work," I pleaded with Reba to take the kids and leave Tom. I'd ask her why she stayed with a man who hit her, who hurt her children, but she loved him, she said. She was alone in Washington. Where would she go? How could she leave? She spent all day at home taking care of the kids. There was no time to make friends or chase opportunities.

Meanwhile, Tom grew tired of his dull, simple wife. Just before we left Washington, he found a new girlfriend named Karina. She was a young, buxom blonde, smarter than Tom was used to, and even funny. I might have liked her if I didn't think she was into Tom for the money and the drama.

For some dumb, fucked-up reason, Tom decided to bring Karina with us on our month-long trek across the states. That went over as smoothly as you'd expect, considering Tom's ex-wife drove the other Uhaul. Yeah, they divorced (actually, they were never legally married, but they called each other husband and wife for a bit until they didn't).

So it should surprise no one that Tom and Reba fought bitterly and frequently on our roundabout voyage. I could tell when a fight was brewing. I knew when Conner and Carrie needed to be secured in another room. I'd seen it played out dozens of times, but it was worse those days. Before, when Tom hurt one of us, it was a demonstration of force but also a show of control, of benevolent restraint. He thought of himself as a hero, remember. He used to twist my arm until it almost snapped, but it never did. He always let go just before lasting damage was done, and then he'd smile as if he had rescued me.

But that was before. On this particular night, a loathing filled the air between Tom and Reba. Karina... well, she didn't help. For the most part, Karina ignored Reba and avoided her, but there was no respect between them. But on this particular night, Karina said something snide and dismissive, and Reba blew up. She called Karina vile names. Karina left the room at Tom's behest, but then Reba turned her fury on him. I shut the door to Conner and Carrie's room and stood sentinel, as I'd done dozens of times before. I thought I could protect Reba. Sometimes I stood between Tom and Reba. Sometimes I tried to pull him off her. These days I wonder if my presence agitated the situation because Tom loved an audience. I was so naive and stupid.

Reba shouted something vicious and hateful, and Tom slapped her across the face. I ran to Reba, but before I could do anything, Tom grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the couch. I pulled Tom by the shoulders, but he turned and punched me full in the stomach. I collapsed, gasping for air and crying. Tom turned and grabbed Reba by the skull, pressing his thumbs against her eyes and shaking her head into the couch as she screamed, and Mom screamed, and Jude watched and cried, and I writhed, useless on the floor.

Karina reentered, and immediately, Tom let go of Reba's skull. Reba fled the room. Tom stood calmly and reasonably explained that Reba was asking for it, and everything was fine. I watched with muted horror and disgust as Mom and Karina nodded along to Tom's crafted version of events. I hated them all in that moment. Even poor Jude, as he nodded along with them, tears at bay. Jude knew better. Jude knew Tom was evil, and Mom was delusional, but God, he was so small. What could he do? I left them to their lies, returned to Conner and Carrie, told them everything was okay, and held them close.

The police came promptly. Reba finally had enough. She told them everything. They arrested Tom, put Mom in handcuffs for interfering, and facilitated Reba's escape to Ohio with the kids. I carried Conner to the caddie that took them away. I still remember the look on Reba's face of sadness and joy, regret and relief, as she hugged me goodbye. And I remember Conner crying when I shut the door and never saw them again.

I think of that night as the worst of my life, which might surprise you since it has a happy ending. After all, Reba finally took my advice, the kids would be safe from Tom forever, and no one died. I got what I wanted.

Tom was released from jail a few days later, sadly, and the rest of us moved into a gorgeous log house over a buffalo pass, where Native Americans once chased buffalo to their deaths. Bones could still be found at the bottom of the cliff.

Livingston, Montana was a retreat town for rich skiing enthusiasts. Surrounded by mountains, it was a picturesque wonderland in the winter. The view of the surrounding mountains covered in snow is, to this day, one of the most breathtaking sights I've ever seen. It was the home Mom had always wanted. It had high ceilings, and everything was polished wood. It had big open windows that looked out onto town; at night, the lights in the dark distance were a spectacle.

We stayed in Mom's perfect home for less than a year. Remember what I said about lotto winners? The house was outside our means, especially with two new trucks and moving expenses. Mom never had that kind of money before, and she thought it would last forever. But once we moved in, Mom took a look at her bank statements, and things went from bad to worse.

She resigned herself to finding work, something she detested. She couldn't afford the lifestyle she wanted on her own, so she convinced Tom to pay her rent. He found work off-and-on, as was his habit, so rent was inconsistent, and even when it was consistent, they still fought over money. The thing is, my mother loves money. She's a greedy, grubby person. Tom agreed to pay rent, no big deal, but it wasn't enough and never would be. She always needed more money.

She didn't want to work. She abhorred labor of any kind, including the household variety. I had washed the dishes since I was nine. Morgan used to clean the bathrooms. It became Jude's chore when she died. Mom didn't cook or clean or wash clothes. She used to scream for me to bring her a glass of coffee or water because she couldn't be bothered to get out of bed. Rent was never enough because, deep down, Patsy wanted Tom to dump Karina and spend the rest of his life taking care of her.

They fought everyday like a married couple over anything and everything but always money. Jude told us all he thought about suicide, but no one listened. I found a job at a movie theater to get away from home. At work and school, I kept to myself and said nothing to anyone. The students in my classes called me 'The Boy Who Never Smiles' because no one knew my name.

One morning, Patsy yelled to wake me up, "Bastian, come quick. Karina has a knife, and she's threatening to stab it up her pussy to kill the baby." I was 15.

I rushed downstairs and saw Karina pacing like a madwoman on the wrap-around porch. Everyone else was in the kitchen. Karina was muttering invective, trembling, and holding a large kitchen knife.

"What the Hell did you do?" I accused Tom.

"Nothing! We went to a party, and someone slipped her something. She's coming down from a bad trip."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Jesus Christ. And she's pregnant?!"

Tom shrugged. Fucking dumbass.

I stepped out onto the porch. Karina and I had become friends. I liked her. She trusted me. More than the rest of my family, at least. Certainly more than she trusted Tom, considering his dumb ass was hiding in the kitchen.

"What's going on?" I asked her.

"I'm jonesing and- and I want some crack!"

"Well, I can't help with that but I can sit with you, if you like. We can talk shit, or- I read a good joke online. You wanna hear it?"

"No! I don't wanna fucking talk! I want. Crack!"

"I hear you. You're hurting. You want crack. But that's what's hurting you now. Taking more will hurt you again. The only way the pain stops is to ride it out. So I'll sit here with you for as long as you need."

As I said this, Karina began cutting her jeans with the knife, haphazardly, until the knife slipped, and she cut her forehead. She screamed in rage and threw the knife, holding her face and crying.

Quickly and quietly, I grabbed the knife and opened the kitchen door, handing it off to Jude, who was watching everything. He was 12.

"Nice work!" whispered Patsy, with a phone to her ear. "I'm on the line with police dispatch. Someone's on their way."

I panicked for a second. Then I grabbed a fresh towel and returned to the patio to comfort Karina. She was sobbing and holding her eyes, blood running down her hands and cheeks.

I touched her shoulder gently. "Let me help, please. I have a towel."

She held fists to her eyes and shook her head. "I hurt my baby! Oh, God. What have I done?"

I sat beside her, shoulders touching, bringing the towel to her wound. I said, "Hey. One mistake won't ruin the kid's life. Kids are tough. Besides, if you're not ready, I'll take you to the clinic myself. I don't have a driver's license, but I stole mom's car for a midnight joyride a few times. I can do it again."

Karina laughed, then she saw flashing lights up the road. She looked at me, terrified.

"Mom called the pigs. If they see you like this, they'll 50-51 you, best case. Go to Jeanie's house. Sleep. Drink lots of water. Go, quick, before they reach the driveway."

Karina's expression said everything. She hugged me, leaving blood on my shirt, and then leapt off the balcony to run down the buffalo pass, finally jumping a fence into a neighbor's yard and disappearing down the road.

The police came and went while I took a shower to wash the blood off my neck.

Later I learned that Jeanie helped Karina come down, took her to an abortion clinic, and even paid for her plane ticket back to Washington. I never saw her again.

So you can imagine why I spent all my free time in a book or a game or some other form of escapism. I studied religion and mythology. I read His Dark Materials, A Song of Ice and Fire, The Vampire Chronicles, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Crown of Stars, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Dragonriders of Pern, A Brief History of Time, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and more that I've forgotten. I saw every movie that came out that year. I played Elder Scrolls nonstop. I was desperate to escape my miserable existence but also desperate for answers I didn't know I needed.

That was the beginning of my fantasy world. It started as a question: where did Morgan go? Will I ever see her again? I was raised to believe in God and Jesus Christ. Morgan was baptized, so if there was a heaven, she was supposed to be in it. But the more I learned about Christianity's history, the more repulsed I was by it. The corruption. Colonization. Missionaries. The Crusades. The Inquisition. It was all inhumane. What kind of God would condone such evil? And did such a God deserve worship?

And meanwhile, I was realizing I liked men, and if those TV Christians were right, that meant I was going to Hell, and I'd never see my sister again. That terrified me. For five years, I spoke of it with no one. Morgan was the only person who knew. She confronted me about it months before her death. She told me she loved me no matter what. We didn't talk about it again, and she never told anyone, taking my secret to her grave.

I hid myself away as much as possible but couldn't hide completely. I bought a sexy magazine of men boning, and it was discovered at work. They fired me. I was so humiliated and scared my family would find out, I panicked and got on a bus to Bozeman.

I wasn't thinking clearly. The plan was to get a job that night and pray that my family never learned the truth. It wasn't a very good plan, and unsurprisingly, it didn't work. I filled out some applications, but no one interviewed me or offered me a job, and as night fell, I realized I was stranded 20 miles from home, and the bus stopped running half an hour ago.

I called Mom and asked for a ride. She said I should have planned better. It wasn't her responsibility to pick me up. I got out there by myself, and I could get back by myself, and then she hung up the phone.

I had no friends in Montana and nowhere to go. I was stranded. I cried and felt sorry for myself, wandering the city for an hour or more, going nowhere, growing increasingly disconsolate. And also terrified because I was sure my family would learn I bought gay porn, and my life would be Hell from then on. Tom would humiliate me and call me a faggot every chance he got. Mom would cry because it meant I'd burn forever in Hell. Maybe they'd disown me.

My misery and fear consumed me until nothing was left but self-loathing. I was useless without Morgan. She was my other half: conscientious and grounded, whereas I was reckless and imaginative. She was confident and popular; I was insecure and bullied. She was my guide and protector. Without her, I was aimless and alone and so very tired.

It was well after midnight when I stumbled upon the bright neon lights of a 24-hour pharmacy. With blurry, tearful eyes, I looked up and saw the lights like the dawn, and a terrible idea came to me.

I hated my life, my family, and most of all myself. The idea of living with myself for the rest of my life was too horrible to accept on that night in a random pharmacy parking lot.

According to my mother, various media personalities, and the Bible, the punishment for suicide was eternal hellfire. But they also said that about gay people, so it seemed to me the game was rigged from the start.

But that didn't factor much into my decision because at the time, I didn't believe in anyone or anything. I assumed religion was a hoax spread for the sake of social cohesion. In my mind, Morgan was gone, and life was simply a series of coincidences. The Law of Averages. The origin of life was as inevitable as death. The sweet embrace of oblivion. An eternal, dreamless sleep.

With my mind set, I walked into the pharmacy. The blinding, fluorescent light made everything look sterile, like an asylum.

"Asleep" by The Smiths was playing on the overhead radio. I bought a soda and a box of sleeping pills.

I wasn't sure if the pills would kill me, but I hoped so. I found a tree to rest under and swallowed every pill in the box. I was too tired to cry. Instead, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, to dreams of sorrow and spite and profound relief.

But I didn't die. Lethal sleeping pills were legislated heavily in the '70s and '80s. I didn't know that, and like I said, I wasn't thinking clearly. I was just miserable, cold, tired, and afraid I would always be. Instead, I dreamed intense, vivid dreams.

I dreamed of Morgan, of Adam and Eve and Lilith, and a world where Morgan wasn't gone, but trapped, where she could be rescued, and I could see her again.

That was the genesis of Eden.

I dreamed I was on an island beach, washed ashore by the tide. I could feel the sand beneath me and the warmth of the sun on my face. I opened my eyes and saw an angel robed in blinding light, glory incarnate, with dove-like wings and a face of peerless beauty.

"Get up," the angel ordered. "Your sister is in danger, and only you can save her."

Raf coughed the water out of his lungs and tried to remember what happened. His father… The last thing Raf could remember was falling, and as the rocky waters neared, Raf blacked out. Had he died? Raf sat up and felt his body and felt very much alive and unharmed.

Wait! The angel said Morgan was in danger!

"What do you mean, 'in danger?' and what happened to my father?" he asked.

"Your father is dead. A fallen known as Azazel killed him. Now it possesses your sister, and if you don't save her, Azazel will consume her soul completely."

Raf couldn't think. There was a ringing in his ears. What does this mean? he thought. What do I do?

"What do I do?" he pleaded. "How do I stop it?"

The angel responded with a voice of wind chimes and cascades, "You will need to learn soul magic to trap the fallen and free your sister. To do that, you must enter Oceania and find the Time Dragon."

Raf panicked. Oceania? Soul magic? An angel and a dragon? This is crazy, he thought. Am I dead? Could this be a dream? He felt tears on his face.

"Clear your head," the angel commanded. "Go to the caves on the far side of the island."

Raf picked himself up and tried to do as he was told. Morgan needed him. He had to be strong.

"Good," said the angel. "I will remain by your side as you cross the island."

With that, the angel dispersed into a cloud of golden light that encircled and enveloped Raf. He felt something like a warm mist brush across his skin, but otherwise, no different. Raf felt alone and scared, but he knew the angel was near.

"What should I call you?" he asked.

At first, the angel didn't respond, and Raf thought he wouldn't get an answer, but finally, the angel said, "You can call me Sophia. Start moving. We have a long way to go."

End of Book I