Castles Burning

By Keith Wayne McCoy

Wil Warner is a tormented son tossed about by the waves of both parents. His father is a beautiful but simple father and husband, and his mother is a narcissistic woman obsessed with the art of acquisition and the relentless climb to the top of society. After his father’s death, an adult Wil is left to face the ultimate horror of his mother’s mental illness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Oct 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781370912940

Book preview

Champagne Books Presents

Castles Burning

By

Keith Wayne McCoy

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Books

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2014 by Keith McCoy

October 2014

Cover Art by Ellie Smith

Produced in Canada

Champagne Book Group

19-3 Avenue SE

High River, AB T1V 1G3

Canada

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Smashwords Edition

Other Books By Keith Wayne McCoy

The Travelers

Dedication

For Courtney and Becky, who championed this piece from their first reading.

Chapter One

Manhattan is home. I never felt I had a home until my wife Anne and I settled here after our marriage. There is a peace in the towering corridors and living boulevards we now navigate with ease and purpose. Our apartment suits our mutual disdain for the pretentious and coolly elegant. Together, we have created a warm, inviting excursion into simplicity for our guests but, even more so, for ourselves.

Our children, we are determined, will be raised in a household void of materialism and superiority. A larger apartment will probably be necessary if and when we bring children into this world. It will be a household with the same bare comfort and contentment we enjoy now but with more square footage.

The bright sunshine of morning is a promise of productivity and accomplishment for the day ahead as it splashes down the hall to the bedroom and bathroom. We crisscross each other through the golden rays in the frenzied rush of dressing and brushing hair.

The phone rings.

Can you get that? Anne calls from the walk-in closet.

When I don’t respond and the phone rings again, she steps out in irritation and tosses a look at me in the bathroom while buttoning her blouse. I shrug at her with a toothbrush in my mouth and foam spilling over my lips. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she marches for the nightstand.

I hear a crisp, hurried Hello? followed by the stiff response, I’m fine. How are you?

Moving into the doorway, her expression thunderstruck, she finds my gaze and disregards her half-buttoned blouse. Just a moment. Let me see where he is. Bringing the phone to her chest, she whispers, "It is on the phone. Do you want me to tell her you’ve already left?"

My heart races. We stare at each other in consternation until I spit into the sink and reply from some indeterminate reasoning within me, No. I should take it.

Why? Anne mouths with arched brows.

I am so nervous I have forgotten to rinse, and suds run down my mouth and drip from my chin.

Mom? I say into the phone.

A moment of quiet dominates, and then my mother’s voice breaks the spell. Wil, she begins with reticence. I know I am probably the last person you want to hear from, but please acknowledge I am making a first move. Whatever you hold against me for the past, accept my apologies.

I do not respond.

"Your father would not have liked this distance between us, you know. Can’t we at least have an adult relationship? We don’t know each other