He turned onto a dirt road that had iron gates sitting wide open. The house in the distance wasn’t quite what she’d expected on a farm, unless that farm was in the 1800’s.
It was the perfect little hiding place for someone like her.
“This is unexpected,” she said.
The large three-story home was in the style she’d only ever seen in houses that were most likely haunted. The front porch looked picturesque, with a couple rocking chairs and one of those old-timey swings. The massive fields and yards were well maintained. A red barn stood in the distance; its doors shut.
“Welcome to your new home,” Oscar said, parking the truck in front of the house. “Don’t let that old swing on the porch fool you. The house only looks like something your great-great grandparents built, but everything inside is up to date and state-of-the art.”
Her shoulders relaxed. Her father wouldn’t find her here, and neither would anyone else. They’d think she was crazy walking into a house probably populated with all kinds of ghosts.
“How much salt do you have?”
“Plenty, but if you desire more, I can get it,” he said. “This land and house go back generations. And legend has it that a witch owed the owner for a rendered service and repaid it by putting a spell around the house,” Oscar said as he parked and stared up at home.
“A witch? And you believe in witches?” She asked.
Oscar opened his door and climbed out. He waited for her to reach the front of the truck before answering. “Some might say, witches, psychics, and others among the occult are cut from the same cloth.”
He knew her secret. It had all been but blurted out in the diner. “Where did you learn that? Do you have witches in your family tree?”
He grinned and opened the door. “No, but it’s my job to know everything about you.”
She laughed and clutched her side. “I can assure you if there are witches in my family tree, I’m unaware of them.”
“Really?” He gestured her inside.
The place was perfect. Plush furnishings filled the living room. A large dining room table that looked as though it could host a large family gathering. The furnishings were nice and big, like everything in the house.
“I can see why Mr. Wilson liked it here,” she whispered.
“Let me show you around.”
He gestured down the hall, and she followed. He slid a set of double doors open, and she grinned to find a vast office and library inside. Books lined the floor-to-ceiling shelves. There was no clutter on dark mahogany desk, and not a speck of dust. There was a couch to sit and read in the corner, and next to that was a smart board.
Her heart momentarily stopped. Ryley’s real family tree was sitting on three pedestals with a picture of Ryley as the main relative.
She stepped closer and spotted her and her brother’s real name from before Witness Protection, and then her father’s. “How did you get this?”
“I put it together. I’m very resourceful in my research. But you have no cause to worry. Your secret life in the Witness Protection is safe with me.”
“What did you do?” Her head spun, her stomach churned. Her whole life on display like this was an assault to her senses. Anyone could find out. Her father could find out!
“Part of my job is research in helping the distributor. In this case, you will be the next.”
“You mean the Farmer?” She asked.
He grinned. “Yes, well. You have much left to see. It’s my job to find any viable threats that could hinder your job and mine. Threats we know about can be handled and dealt with until no threats remain at all.”
She shook her head and pointed to her father’s name. “You don’t know him. If he finds me…”
Her words trailed off.
“He is your concern, which makes him mine,” Oscar said.
“Trust me. You need to forget his name. He’s evil incarnate.”
“If he finds you, we’ll deal with it, as we have for all the generations of our Farmers. Or if you prefer, we can find him and deal with it.”
“And how is that?” she growled.
“It’s late. We can discuss this in detail tomorrow at brunch, and you can enlighten me on what really happened in the bar’s basement.”
Her head pounded like Thor was driving nails. She gestured to the couch. “If it’s okay, I’m just going to lay down here. I don’t even need a pillow.”
“Nonsense,” he said and gestured to the door. “We have plenty of empty rooms to choose from, with beds that are much more comfortable than that couch. Please, if you’ll follow me.”
She followed him out the door and down the hall. He stopped at the door next to the library, “If this isn’t to your liking for the night, there are three more rooms in the back of the house.”
She stepped inside and put her bag of clothes on the floor. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
He gestured to the door. “The bathroom and shower are fully stocked with supplies if you’d like to shower.”
“Oh, yes. I’d like,” she said, and headed in that direction.
“I’ll bring in some spare clothes and lay them on the bed.” He picked up the plastic bag. “I’ll have these laundered for you by morning.”
She stopped just at the bathroom door. “Is your job to take care of the Farmer?”
“No.” He smiled. “My job is to help distribute, but I was once like you and needed a stranger’s help. This is me, helping you with a small act of kindness. I have no doubt you’ll pay it forward one day and carry on the tradition, regardless if you carry on Wilson’s legacy.”
Oscar went toward the door.
“Hey Oscar, can I give you a piece of advice?”
He paused with a hand on the doorknob. “Certainly.”
“Never bet on me. That way, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Let me return the favor with a piece of advice of my own,” Oscar said and smiled. “The sins of our fathers are not
