The day they laid her mother to rest in Tech Duinn was a searing scar on Eunice’s memory. It was a bitter January morning. On Brasil, winters were mild, lasting three weeks at the most. Temperatures stayed well above freezing, giving the residents a long autumn that transformed into spring with winter seeming to vanish entirely. However, that was the year a fierce cold encased the island. “A bad omen,” many locals murmured to themselves as they saw frost on their green yards for the first time, killing plants they were certain would die from root rot before the cold.

Locals believed everything was a bad omen. If someone grew a double carrot, too many birds perched in the same tree, a fishing line snapped when a big tuna was on the hook. Perhaps someone thought they heard their name in a crowded room. Maybe a fella lost his keys when he was sure he had them in his pocket. The list of bad omens was endless. As to what the foul sign forebode, that was impossible to say. Locals had just as many outcomes to go along with their ever-expanding list. “I had trouble remembering who sang ‘La Bamba,’ and later that day, my car was broken into.” “The day I dropped a platter of dishes was when my dog ran away.” “When I wrecked my motorcycle, I recalled my wife didn’t kiss my cheek twice before I left.” Tourists laughed at the local superstitions, but no one from Brasil cared. They had their reason for their beliefs and no stuck-up, eggheaded mainland city slicker would change them.

On the day her mother died, Eunice had an omen of her own. Being ten, she expected that turning eleven would be awesome. Every birthday, she planned to make it the best year ever. What she did not expect was that her mother would die a month before that once wonderful day. Before turning eleven, it was the worst year of her life. As girls were beginning to hit puberty, they started to delve more into girly things, leaving Eunice in the dust. She knew she was rougher and more tomboyish than most her age, but she had never noticed a divide cutting her off from the others. Once the makeup and nail polish became more important, she realized a chasm separated her from girls she thought she knew. Few wanted to be anywhere around her and those that did had one particular motivation.

When one becomes a social pariah, it is only a matter of time before the bullying starts. Girls giggled when she walked by, glaring at her with each laugh. Eunice did not know what they found so funny, but she had her suspicions. Fake love notes were laid on her desk or slipped into her locker, hoping to trick her into embarrassing herself in front of the boys. Someone might accidentally bump into or trip her, causing her to get well acquainted with the ground. None of it was big enough for teachers to notice, so this was Eunice’s new normal for quite some time. She couldn’t recall how many days she fell on her bed and cried after school. There were a handful of times where her tears appeared at school, heaping more scorn from her bullies.

If everything was fine at home, she could endure those days with a little more grace. She was not that lucky. It was not that her father was terrible or abusive. It was just the opposite. Her father tried his best to be a loving dad. In many ways, their life was the same. They went hunting as often as they could. The woods were a second home. He continued teaching her outdoor skills. They even went to the beach when the day was warm enough. She was still his little buddy, following him around whenever she could, but something was different. There was an iciness about his mannerisms that he lacked while her mother was still alive. Though she was right next to her father, it was as if he were a million miles away. For the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to be truly alone.

Today, she felt that same loneliness. Moving through Tech Duinn as if it were his old childhood playground, her father darted through the cemetery. The graveyard rested amongst several hills, creating rises and dips. Many men her father’s age would reach the top of one, heaving for fresh air. He raced around the headstones and plaques, ready to put a hole between someone’s eyes. Eunice felt an unsettling surge swirl around in her guts as she recognized the warning signs of a condition her father spoke of many times. If you get frustrated, go take a breather, his calm, loving voice said, reverberating through her memories. Whenever you’ve had a bad day, relax before picking up the gun. If your mood is sour because you keep missing your targets, take a moment to mellow out. Refusing to put the gun down is a mistake. You’ll enter Warrior Fever. Eunice had no idea what the condition’s name was, but she knew the signs. Whoever entered the fevered state refused to stop. They did not listen to reason. All that mattered was whatever goal they felt needed to be accomplished. As a result, they were a danger to everyone around them.

What if someone else starts acting that way? she had asked.

Her father had mulled this idea over for a little while. He hadn’t expected a young girl to ask such a poignant question, but it made him smile. It pleased him when his daughter proved how smart she was. Get as far away from them as you can.

“Not gonna happen,” she muttered to herself. No matter how far he ran, regardless of her breakneck pace, Eunice stayed a few steps behind him. Led by the wrist, Jeannie staggered along, struggling to keep up. The poor woman groaned and cried with every step. A small part of Eunice wanted to leave her behind, but that was too big a risk. If they were close to finding Ray’s killer, someone could jump out and get them at any moment. Her father paid no attention to either of them. His eyes stayed ahead, looking for the receiver of his vengeance.

Some days Eunice wondered if her mother’s last breath was a curse against her daughter. She knew that every half-decent parent said they loved their children, but she wondered how many meant it. Kids were easily lied to. As they grew older, they started to see through certain deceptions like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. How many attempted to test their parents’ love? Were they brave enough to risk finding an answer that would rip their heart in two and shatter the pieces into so many fragments that would make Humpty Dumpty look like a kiddy puzzle?

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Her mother had often repeated that powerful three-word spell that ensnared the heart: I love you. It was capable of making a bleak, gray day seem clear and sunny. Still, a wise soul once said, “Talk is cheap.” If one wanted to see the validity of one’s words, they had to watch the one that said them. Did the walk match the talk? Despite how often Eunice had the simple three-word spell, was that love reflected in her mother’s actions?

Growing up, she always felt that she consistently disappointed the woman that birthed her. A mother’s love was many things: powerful, comforting, giving, but did it have conditions? I love you. She thought back to her mother’s eyes whenever that sentence exited her lips, searching for a lie buried underneath a guise of love. Did she mean it or was she trying to convince herself? Why am I thinking about this now? she wondered, shocked at her mind’s worrisome nature.

“Hey you,” her father shouted. She snapped back to the moment at hand. He stood at the top of a hill, leveling his rifle at some figure below them. In the early morning light, it was impossible to make out who was down there. This curious figure knelt before a gravestone. It paid her father no mind, continuing whatever it was doing. “Hands up,” he shouted, but the stranger refused to move.

Without warning, her father squeezed off a shot. The noise reverberated through the hills, chilling the blood. Behind her, Jeannie dropped to the ground in terror. All Eunice could do was stare at the old man in shocked horror. She searched his face for the rational man with dozens of words of wisdom. He was nowhere to be found. All that remained was this hate-filled husk wearing his skin. He desired revenge, aching for the loss of a friend and yearning for the death of his enemy. Whether this was their man or not was a pointless fact to him now. What do I do? she asked, knowing that she had to stop him. No answer. Guts churning, she was certain she was going to be sick. Her entire body shook as she watched him begin to march down the hill. Behind her, she heard Jeannie whimper. Without thinking, her hands released her grip on the grieving widow. This was no time for the faint of heart. And do you have any business being here? a voice asked. She ignored it.

“Daddy, wait,” Eunice pleaded, hand reaching for his shoulder. “He might not be the one.” It was too late. Shrugging off her comforting touch, he stormed down the hill, shouting in mounting fury. Before she had the chance to react, he towered over the misty figure. His rifle rested against the misty figure’s head. “Stop,” she shouted, charging down the hill after him.

Jeannie remained huddled on the ground, covering her ears. In a choked whisper, she muttered, “Our Judgment Day has come. None shall escape. The dragon has risen. The dragon. The dragon.”

Down the hill, Eunice got a good look at the stranger in the cemetery. He wore a dark cloak similar to those in medieval movies. At once, the girl figured out who they found. He’s one of those weirdos that keeps pretending he’s Aragorn at the Prancing Pony. She could not understand the appeal of anyone dressing up like a tough guy. In her opinion, all he needed was to learn how to shoot a deer and he’d be a real man. Weird, but not a crime, she concluded.

“What do you want?” the stranger asked in an odd tone. Eunice detected an attempt at sounding normal, but there was a forced strain in it. She remembered it from school. It was the voice of a kid struggling to hide his mischief. That sent an uncomfortable prickle straight across her arms, forcing each hair on end. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, Eunice was sure they needed to leave now. “I was in the middle of something. Go stick that thing in someone else’s face.”

“You’re in no place to give order, murderer,” her father spat. Quick as a flash, he knocked the stranger to the ground with a savage kick. “I’m the one calling the shots here.” To accent his point, he delivered another fierce kick, sending the stranger rolling farther down the hill.

Eunice wanted to shout, “This isn’t right,” but she knew they had crossed the line between right and wrong some time ago. Her heart ached over Ray’s death. It was all she could do to not drop to her knees, grip her stomach, and wail like a madwoman. However, a growing sense of fear drove her to want to get as far from the graveyard as possible. Besides, if this went on, her father would lose control and end up behind bars. There were laws against this level of brutality.

Taking a step forward, she knew she had to do something to convince her father to stop but a sudden crunching made her freeze. Glancing down at her shoe, she found a bloody chicken bone beneath her foot. What? she thought. What’s that doing out here? It was not uncommon for dogs or wolves to get in the island hen houses. They’d feast on their prey anywhere, but she couldn’t recall cemeteries being a usual spot.

Her eyes widened when she realized that the bone was not alone. All around her feet were the maimed remnants of a least a dozen chickens. Bloody feathers and bones were scattered every which way, staining gravestones and grass. The sight left her feeling queasy, which was almost impossible to do nowadays. She had seen her fair share of deer skinned and gutted. Worse than that, she felt her nerve fading quickly. Something’s really wrong here.

“Dad,” she called. “Let’s go. We can tell the cops everything about Ray.”

Unfortunately, her words could not reach him.