Jessie hopped on his ATV and had one of the kids get on the back. He took him about five minutes down the road. When he swerved onto Timber Lane, a small crowd had gathered, locals only. No cops. No Stricklands. He got this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, an overwhelming sense of doom. Faces turned his way, and that’s when he saw Hazel crouched beside a blanket covering someone.
At first, he thought it was one of his brothers or his uncle, but as he got off the ATV and made his way through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea, his eyes widened. He hadn’t seen her battered face, only clothes strewn in the bushes. Jessie immediately recognized them.
“No. No. NO!” he bellowed as he dropped to his knees beside her.
“I told your mother something like this would happen,” Hazel said. “She wouldn’t listen. She never listens. Well, now she will.” Hazel sobbed, holding Miriam’s limp head.
“Is she…?”
“No. She’s alive. We need to get her to a hospital.”
“A hospital? No. We can’t do that. I’m taking her home.”
“Jessie,” Hazel grabbed his arm. “What have you done?”
“Me?”
His aunt had a way of knowing. She’d grown up in the crap of feuding. There was very little that got past her.
A wave of guilt hit him. Flashbacks of pulling that trigger and killing Edgar and Jared. It all played out in his mind, taunting him. Luke’s words returned — “You won’t get away with this.” He reminded himself that their deaths were warranted. They’d killed his father. They deserved to die. Still, it didn’t help. It didn’t relieve him of feeling that his actions had led to this. Jessie crouched and slipped his arms beneath his sister’s body and lifted her.
Hazel touched his arm. “Jessie.”
“No, I’m taking her home. The cops will ask too many questions.”
“You don’t think they already know? Someone went to get them.”
“Even more reason to leave now. Let me go. LET ME GO!” he yelled at her, frustration getting the better of him. Those around watched, saying nothing. They knew better.
Now, back at the farm, his mother scooped her up, still asking questions.
“Who touched my baby? Who did this, Jessie?”
“I don’t know.”
The house became a hive of activity as Martha bellowed out orders to get a medical kit, get towels, water, blankets. All around him his brothers and sisters hurried into action, each one tackling a task. He stood there gaping, staring, overwhelmed. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore, and stepped outside, took a seat on the porch swing, and pulled out his cigarettes.
Time passed in the blink of an eye.
Minutes. Hours. He had no idea.
Zeke was the first to approach.
“She’s stable, Jess.” A pause. “Hey,” he said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and offering a small bottle of bourbon. Jessie raised his eyes and took it. Zeke took a seat across from him. None of them knew about the death of the three Stricklands. He’d always been able to talk to his brothers but with the fear of blame inching closer, he wasn’t sure he was ready, or able to tell them.
But he knew they’d eventually find out.
“Were the Stricklands there?” Zeke asked.
“No.”
“Then it could be anyone who did this. Until she wakes up we won’t know.”
He nodded, unable to say much. Guilt ate away at the back of his mind, the could-haves, and should-haves tormented him.
“I think it’s obvious who did this,” Lincoln said, coming out of the house followed by Dylan. “I say we go into town and find one of their sisters.”
“No!” Jessie spat.
“Wow. I thought you’d be the first to be up for it. What’s the matter?”
“This. Our response. It has to stop.”
Lincoln leaned against the porch railing. “Stop?”
“The bloodshed. An eye for an eye. We take out one of theirs, they take out one of ours. It will continue until we are all in the ground.”
There was a long stretch of silence. Zeke puffed away on a joint. “I don’t get it. Even if they think we killed Ryland. They got justice killing father. Why this?”
He couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Luke is dead.” He lifted his eyes.
“What?”
“Luke, Edgar, and Jared. They’re dead.”
His words lingered as each of them processed it. He knew eventually they would probe. Dylan was the first. “Did you have something to do with it?”
Lying had never been his strong suit. Besides, eventually, it would catch up with him. There were few things they accepted in their family, and lying wasn’t one. The truth came out as a nod. There was no judgment as he assumed there would be. Killing a Strickland after the taking of their father’s life was warranted in all their eyes, and yet he knew they were contemplating what it meant. Three for three. They hadn’t killed Miriam, no, they had done something far worse. At least that’s the way it was made to look. They’d beaten her, stripped her, and humiliated her. Hopefully, that was where the nightmare ended. Though he had to believe it wasn’t.
“When?” Lincoln asked.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure his mother wasn’t listening. That she wasn’t nearby. He saw her through the window, hurrying around the house, frantic.
“The night we collected the supplies and brought them up.”
He outlined it for them.
There was silence.
“It could have happened, regardless,” Zeke said, coming to his defense. Zeke was always like that, seeing the bigger picture. It was the truth. How were they to know that the Stricklands would stop with the death of their father?
“She needs to know,” Dylan added. He was referring to their mother. “You told Alby what to do. You told him to hide the bodies. He ignored it. That’s on him. That’s why we’re here. That’s why Miriam is unconscious. She needs to know.”
“No.”
“Jess. If you don’t tell her, I will.”
“Dylan.” Zeke tried to intervene but his words couldn’t reach him either. While they all protected Miriam, and looked out for her, Dylan was closer
