[Chapter 3 - "On the Edge of the Better Town" ]
He could never do it all of his own despite how many times he declared that he could. If he had been successful in any form of that declaration then his son would have grown to be a decent human being. When he was younger he had hopes for him—even dreams, but as he began to grow taller and his mouth bigger, he knew he was quickly getting away from him.
It was never that he couldn't see himself in his son. It was just that everything that had belonged to him that he could see had been intensified so that the evilness inside of him thrived, causing the good in him to cower away in the dark depths of his existence. He hadn't planned on raising him that way, but like many things in life—things just happened.
So when she still hung low to the ground and hid herself as best as she could in the dark corners of his home after a week of her arrival—not making a single sound, he knew he had to find someone whom he could trust—or someone who would keep their mouths shut with the force of his iron fist, so he could find the answers he was obsessively trying to seek.
At the edge of town where the land ran its driest lived a man and woman with their only living child. He went by the name of Harry Holt, his wife Margaret, and his eight year old son by the name of Clayton. They weren't considered part of the dark town though they lived on the very edge of it; using its land, but never taking anything else from it as the next town over held a certain warmth and glow that hadn't resided in Dolarhyde's land for quite sometime. To them, 'home was where the heart is' and anyone who had thought differently certainly hadn't made their opinions change; life was what they made it. It was as simple as that.
The last thing he wanted to do was bother them. He had met them on a solo ride he went on with his best horse a decade and some odd years ago. Cattle he demanded be transferred to his land had come from the better land. A few of them went astray and he had lost his head; swearing to kill anyone in his path when he would find his missing cattle, but when he stood there facing the man and his family, he could see no evil in their kind eyes. He had also spotted his cattle, roaming free. He remembered how he tipped his hat at them before explaining who he was and what he had come for. Within seconds of his story, the man had offered to herd his cattle to its proper location, completely free of charge. Of course upon feeling his plump wife he assured him that he would get his own men to come the next morning to do a days work.
He had reminded himself to check in on them from time to time, but he never did. He had always been too busy stretching the limbs of men who had done him wrong. Men who had taken the jobs he had given them lightly. Men who had tried to target his son knowing perfectly well that he knew of their frustrations, but that there was no way in hell he would make his son pay for his wrongdoings like a worthless piece of garbage.
Sighing, he hopped off his horse and planted his boots firmly on the ground. Fixing his hat, he soaked in the burning sun. Seven hours of riding with only a couple of stops was far too little on such a hot day. When he reached the front door he used his knuckle to knock firmly. There he stood waiting; hoping that the silence meant they were catching a nap or that they were working somewhere on the land. The last thing, however, that he wanted, was to discover that they had crossed into the next town.
He hadn't been allowed there since his wife was alive. His control meant nothing to them so the fear that pulsed within belonged to him alone. He wouldn't dare wander into the lions den in fear of never returning to the dark world he called home.