I took the item from his trembling hands. Why my father’s messenger was so upset, so distraught, made me confused. Quite honestly, it made me feel ill. I never once felt that way about him, the man who had given me life. He was a troubled person with a legacy of odd debts, secrets, and a mouth that made my mother whimper. So I avoided him, and now he was haunting me again.

With a nod I turned from the messenger who was now wringing his hands together like a wet towel, using the tears flowing from his eyes. I walked back to my car and looked down at what my father left me.

A single skull, from his grave robbing legacy. A legacy that I intended to bury with my death.