Kill the Possum

Dylan saw Cartwright do it with his own eyes when he blundered into Kirsty’s house on that first Sunday. On the second Sunday he saw only the carnage the man had left behind, but that was enough. By the third Sunday, he’d decided to kill him. What else can he do when the lives of the people he cares about are at stake? Look at Kirsty’s brother, Tim, the way he punishes himself, hates himself, wishes he was dead. And their mother — already an empty shell, she can’t hold out much longer. The courts won’t stop Cartwright and he’s got the police in his pocket. Only Kirsty seems able to stand up to him, despite what the monster did to her years before when he was her father. Dylan knows about fathers and the way they let you down. He’s not going to let Cartwright destroy this family, even if the solution seems unthinkable? But how do you stare into the face of a living creature and snuff out the light you see in those eyes? How do you know you can do it? Kill the possum. If you can’t do that to a ball of fur, you’ll never take a man’s life, no matter how much you hate him, no matter how much it has to be done. Tim can’t kill the possum. Can Dylan? What starts in the white heat of anger becomes an obsession. It will end in heart-wrenching tragedy.