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The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner Read Online (FREE)

The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner Read Online

Read The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner online free here.

Chapter 1: Dill

Chapter 2: Lydia

Chapter 3: Dill

Chapter 4: Travis

Chapter 5: Dill

Chapter 6: Lydia

Chapter 7: Dill

Chapter 8: Travis

Chapter 9: Dill

Chapter 10: Lydia

Chapter 11: Dill

Chapter 12: Travis

Chapter 13: Dill

Chapter 14: Lydia

Chapter 15: Dill

Chapter 16: Travis

Chapter 17: Dill

Chapter 18: Lydia

Chapter 19: Dill

Chapter 20: Travis

Chapter 21: Dill

Chapter 22: Lydia

Chapter 23: Dill

Chapter 24: Travis

Chapter 25: Dill

Chapter 26: Lydia

Chapter 27: Dill

Chapter 28: Travis

Chapter 29: Dill

Chapter 30: Lydia

Chapter 31: Dill

Chapter 32: Lydia

Chapter 33: Dill

Chapter 34: Lydia

Chapter 35: Dill

Chapter 36: Lydia

Chapter 37: Dill

Chapter 38: Lydia

Chapter 39: Dill

Chapter 40: Lydia

Chapter 41: Dill

Chapter 42: Lydia

Chapter 43: Dill

Chapter 44: Lydia

Chapter 45: Dill

Chapter 46: Lydia

Chapter 47: Dill

Chapter 48: Lydia

Chapter 49: Dill

Chapter 50: Lydia

Chapter 51: Dill

Chapter 52: Lydia

Chapter 53: Dill

 

 

 

There were things Dillard Wayne Early Jr. dreaded more than the start of school at Forrestville High. Not many, but a few. Thinking about the future was one of them. Dill didn’t enjoy doing that. He didn’t much care for talking about religion with his mother. That never left him feeling happy or saved. He loathed the flash of recognition that usually passed across people’s faces when they learned his name. That rarely resulted in a conversation he enjoyed.

And he really didn’t enjoy visiting his father, Pastor Dillard Early Sr., at Riverbend Prison. His trip to Nashville that day wasn’t to visit his father, but he still had a nagging sense of unformed dread and he didn’t know why. It might have been because school was starting the next day, but this felt different somehow than in years past.

 

It would have been worse except for the excitement of seeing Lydia. The worst days spent with her were better than the best days spent without her.

Dill stopped strumming his guitar, leaned forward, and wrote in the dollar-store composition book open on the floor in front of him. The decrepit window air conditioner wheezed, losing the battle against the mugginess of his living room.

The thudding of a wasp at the window caught his attention over the laboring of the air conditioner. He rose from the ripped sofa and walked to the window, which he jimmied until it screeched open.

Dill swatted the wasp toward the crack. “You don’t want to stay in here,” he murmured. “This house is no place to die. Go on. Get.”

It alighted on the sill, considered the house one more time, and flew free. Dill shut the window, almost having to hang from it to close it all the way.

His mother walked in wearing her motel maid’s uniform. She looked tired. She always did, which made her seem much older than her thirty-five years. “What were you doing with the window open and the AC on? Electricity’s not free.”