Ghosts were following Lachlan, taunting him with every step he took. He’d hoped that the distance between him and his childhood would lessen the sting of reality, but the wounds were festering with each forgotten memory he’d found since returning to Lewis. He kicked at stones lying in the road as he made his way away from his father’s house, trying to leave the truth of his mother’s hatred and his father’s lies behind him.
A horn blared, sending sheep scrambling from their perches. Lachlan moved to the side of the road. The horn blasted again. He stepped into the grass to make room for the vehicle to pass. The shriek of the horn came a third time, pulsing in Lachlan’s blood as it rang through the air. He turned, the middle finger on his left hand already extended and raised in the air as he did.