Page 132 of Jensen

“Lot’s changed,” he says.

“Yeah, you could say that again,” I say. “Listen, thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll get moving now.”

Henods, lifting a hand as I walk back to the truck. I’m not feeling anything at all as I get back on the road and drive the few blocks to the corner. The willow comes into view, and that man was right. It’s split right down the middle. I pull off and get out, walking down the slope. Beyond the remaining half of the tree sits what’s left of a trailer. There’s a single piece of tape across the front door, rippling in the breeze.

My chest seizes, and I’m right back where I never wanted to be.

BEFORE

I’m so scared, I keep choking on my dry tongue. It’s twelve-ten by the clock on my dash. I’m in my clothes from last night, flecked with blood. Brothers’ voice, ordering me not to leave the mansion, is still ringing in my ears. But I went anyway. I burst through the gates and drove straight to Byway without slowing down for a minute.

My heart is pounding so hard, I might throw up.

I screech off the road and hit the brakes, leaving my door hanging open as I run across the yard. The front door is wide open. It’s always a bad sign when a front door is hanging open like that. I catch a flash of the knob, splintered, as I surge through.

The hallway is empty. I reel, turning the corner into the kitchen, and stop short.

God, no.

My entire body feels like nothing, just the faint tingling sense of doom, like the whine of a bomb dropping.

Cherry sits in her chair, the landline belly up on the table. Her ash tray is cold. There’s a cigarette beside it. It’s the brand she used to smoke, Camels—the same as Holly smoked. Her head is back, hanging loosely. She’s got a bullet hole in her temple, right by her dyed red hair.

I take a step, and my foot hits something.

No. No. No.

It’s Kyle, on his belly. I drop down and push him on his side, but his blue eyes have departed. This is my first time seeing him since hewent to Lexington. I never visited him after moving in with Brothers, the guilt too much. He grew a beard. It’s not a great one, but it qualifies as the real thing. I’m staring into his eyes when I realize who comes next.

She’s halfway in the hall, halfway in the kitchen, on her back, still in her white nightgown.

All her beautiful hair is matted in blood.

My stomach heaves as I rise, turning in circles, trying to soak in all the death around me. The air is thick, smelling like the inside of Pat Pretty’s trailer, like fatal wounds. I stumble through the kitchen, up the hall, and burst out onto the porch. The yard is empty, but I see tire marks. Somebody left in a hurry.

Crossing it, I fall against the chicken wire fence and empty my stomach.

I did this.

I got involved in things I didn’t understand, and now, everyone I ever loved has paid the price for it. The most obvious thing to do is run back to Brothers Boyd and let him do as he promised—protect me from the Caudills. The problem is…I can’t remember, but I have this sick feeling Brothers has blood on his hands as well.

There’s a vague memory of something happening, more like a feeling, of an argument. Then, something so horrifying, I’ve blocked it out.

I sink into the front seat of my truck. There’s nobody here for me but the man who made me a criminal. Now, I never thought I would be the damn president, but I did think I’d at least have a nice little handyman business, a wife, some kids. I worked hard, and I had a fighting chance. But Brothers stepped in and took that.

He did that.

That sinks in for the first time.

And with it, comes a hell of a rage.

NOW

I blink, Cherry’s trailer swimming into focus. After we fought and she threw me out, we didn’t speak again. The next time I saw her was dead at her kitchen table. It’s a small consolation she doesn’t have to feel what I feel when I think about the past.

She was rough, a little mean, but she meant something to me. Cherry was my only blood left, a good woman.

I know now she was trying to protect me. She just did a shit job at it.