The Last Seat(pg.11)

     I loved Big Al like a brother too he always protected me and Rusty whenever there were bigger bullies in school, but I noticed he was tired and sleepy, so I asked, "Hey Al, did Rusty's girlfriend or parents come by to gather Rusty's possessions yet?" 
    "No, not yet," he said quickly.
     "Hey, do you care if I gather one souvenir because you know Rusty's death has been living hell on me," I said almost in tears.
    "No problem Tim, help yourself, his room is down the hall and the last door on the right," Al said with a lump in his throat.
     "Thanks," I said knowing Big Al would be understanding. 
     I came in the room, and it was filled with so many memories, pictures of us hung on the walls, and his pretty tanned girlfriend too, but I wanted to know one thing as I went through his personal belongings like a thief, where was that damn book? I looked it over with a fine tooth and comb, under his bed, under dressers, and under coffee tables too; where is it? I then searched in the closet and finally under endless shoeboxes of pictures and memorabilia I found it laid under a wrapped towel. I shook like a scared dog who seen a ghost. But, I had to get this out of the house so his girlfriend or worse his parents saw it, and I kept it in the towel and walked out of that sad room and down the hall into the living room where Big Al was already sound asleep on the couch, so I never bothered him, and snuck out with this cursed book. 
     I got into my car still shaking, for this book had so much gravity and influence, for whoever touched it felt its presence and power. I had to find out more about this book, why was it found in the middle of a farm in Kentucky? I got home and walked down the stairs to our basement, I wanted to be alone, I wanted no one to see this book in my possession-no one! I pondered, am I this book's next victim?  A scary thought indeed, even though my Latin was strong, some of this was broken English too, written in some medieval grimoire language. Many of the references were from some obscure man named Liber Juratus, but I heard noises upstairs and hid it quickly in the closet under other magazines. 
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