San Diego, California

October, 1975

Thirty-year-old Jerry Collins stepped out of the shower, slipping on his bathroom floor. The phone was ringing in the living room of his small San Diego apartment. He raced across the burnt-orange, shag carpet, wrapping his towel around his hips and securing it with a thumb and fist. He didn't get many phone calls. It had to be his girlfriend, Peggy, ... or her husband, Phil.

"Yeah?" he said, hoping it was Peggy.

"Hi, Jer."

It was his brother. Disappointment mingled with relief. He didn't want to talk to Phil. He really didn't want to talk to Phil.

"Jimmy." He took a deep, long breath. "So what's wrong? You never call me."

"Nothing much. I just wanted to tell you that the old man...." Jimmy stopped, and Jerry waited for his brother to continue, his voice deep and calm, icy cold.

"The old man is dead. It was mysterious circumstances."

Jerry couldn't believe it. He'd waited forever to hear those words. He dropped his towel and raised his fisted left hand victoriously in the air.

"Dead? Mysterious circumstances?"

"Yeah."

"What was mysterious about his death? Did someone finally kill him? Did you?"

"The mystery is, he didn't die years ago. And no one killed him."

Jerry knew exactly what Jimmy meant. It was a miracle that no one had murdered his dad. He had more enemies than a mob boss. Before Jerry could find words, his brother let out a shrill laugh. It cut right through Jerry's brain like a long, thin filet knife. He could feel the cold blade dragging down his throat, as his brother's laugh echoed in his ears and came out of his own mouth. Yeah, he and Jimmy had a lot of pent-up passion for their father, and it was not love.

There were no more words. They'd said all there was to say about their father. "How's Mom?"

"She's Mom. She'll be fine. She'll be better now."

"Yeah," Jerry said. "We'll all be better off."

"Can you make it to the funeral?"

"Sure. Wouldn't miss it. I'll get a plane ticket tomorrow. Be home by Wednesday."

"Okay. Mom will be glad."

"I'll call and let you know what time."

"See you then, Jer."

"Yeah. See you in a couple days, Jimmy."

His brother hung up, but Jerry held the phone for a long, silent moment. He was holding on to the best news he'd had in years. He could breathe again. He finally hung up the phone and started across the room, his towel across his shoulder, his back relaxed. The pain from his childhood beatings and humiliation dripped from his shoulders to his chest, to his thighs, to his knees, to a puddle of bitterness on the floor at his feet. He felt taller and stronger as he walked back into his steaming shower. He felt like a man for the first time in his life.

Now he could make plans. He'd never dared to take control of his life before, but he had just been given his freedom. He felt giddy as he stepped back into the shower, and started to hum, random notes at first, looking for just the right tune. The song that suddenly came to him was the "Deliverance" theme. He could hear the dueling banjos in his mind, as clearly as if he were hearing the song on the radio. Back in the shower, water pelted the tiles, banging out a percussion accompaniment. He put words to the melody. "See you in hell, you stupid old man," he sang over and over again to the tune of his chosen song.

As he towel dried and got ready to go out for the evening, he continued to sing, working himself into a frenzy. He'd dreamed of killing his father so often, he almost felt guilty that the old man was dead. And then he felt disappointment wash over him, that he'd never actually realized the dream. He wished he had just a few minutes face to face with the evil that was his father, to tell him and show him how powerful his hatred was. Maybe he'd get the chance when he stared down into the open coffin at the lifeless form that had been his tormentor. Maybe he'd break the old man's nose like the old man had broken his so many times before. Who would know? It would be sweet revenge.

Pine Falls, Iowa

October, 1975

"What did Jerry say?" Debbie Collins asked her husband, Jimmy, when he hung up the phone. "Is he coming for the funeral?"

Jimmy stood facing the staircase and didn't answer at first. Debbie could barely hear him when he spoke, his voice almost a whisper. "We ran up and down those steps like jackrabbits every day, Deb. Mostly to jump at Dad's beckoning or run away from one of the bastard's beatings." Jimmy's eyes were glazed over, as if he were watching the scene play out. "Jer got the worst of it."

"Jimmy," Debbie asked louder. "Is Jerry coming?"

Jimmy turned toward Debbie, nodding. "Yeah, he's coming. Said he wouldn't miss it. He's going to call me with his flight schedule." Jimmy finally looked at Debbie. "Mom still insisting she's moving?"

"Yes," Debbie said. "I think she's looking forward to being in town, now that Big Jim is gone."

Jimmy grunted. "Yeah, I bet she was fearing the old man moving close to any respectable people." He shook his head and grimaced. "She'd a been mortified most of the time. Like Jerry said, this is the best of all possibilities for Mom. For all of us."

Debbie nodded, lifting the avocado-green, floral pillows from the threadbare harvest-gold sofa and fluffing them up. "I'm surprised that Jerry thought of that. He's right. She'd have been too embarrassed to enjoy church circle with her friends. Of course, most of them knew Big Jim. They just didn't know how cruel he is ... was to her."

Jimmy glared at Debbie. "Well, she's staying here until after the funeral, and that's settled. I got enough on my plate right now. I don't have time to add any new jobs in the next few days."

"I'll help her. I know she wants to move as soon as possible, and really, Jimmy, I want that, too. I can't seem to please her at all." Debbie punched each pillow.

"You just got raised like a princess, always wearing those pretty clothes and taking dance lessons and piano lessons. That's not the real world, Deb," Jimmy said, waving his arms around the living room. "This is. The cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the kids. Working hard is the real world. Working your fingers to the bone is the real world. Not all that ballet and painting nonsense."

Jimmy followed Debbie into the kitchen and sat down at the big oak table. "Any leftovers? I know it's late, but talking to Jerry made me hungry. Get me a piece of that chocolate cake and maybe a glass of milk."

Debbie uncovered the cake pan and lifted out a double slice of the two-layer chocolate cake. She poured a large glass of cold milk and set it in front of Jimmy, then sat down beside him. He scooped up a big forkful of cake and shoved it into his mouth, drinking the milk before the cake was swallowed. He left a ring of chocolate goo on the rim of the glass.

"What else did Jerry say?"

"I think he was relieved." Jimmy chewed and thought. "He said he'd been meaning to come back and see Mom." He scooped up another big bite of cake. "Jer said his life was pretty busy, but he thought he'd be able to get away from work for a few days." Jimmy looked at Debbie with a smile, his teeth covered in chocolate. "Jerry kept saying, 'So Big Jim is really dead?' as if he thought I was playing a joke on him."

"Well, you might have tried that, if you'd thought of it."

Jimmy laughed a quick, grunting laugh. "Yeah. Why didn't I? I wish I had thought of it when we were...