“How about fishing?”
Bear gave him a scowl and it was Jackson this time who chuckled. He extended a hand outwards and open towards Bear.
“Thank you for everything,” Jackson said, “I really mean it.”
Bear stepped forward, spurning the hand, and grabbed Jackson with both arms, picking him up off the ground.
“Ah, no problem, Jackie boy,” Bear said jovially.
It suddenly dawned on Jackson how Bear had gotten his nickname. Gently, Bear returned him to the earth. Jackson flashed him another smile as he climbed into the Dodge pickup and fired it up.
“She sounds good, doesn’t she,” Bear said.
“She sounds great,” Jackson replied, “Thank you, again.”
Bear nodded. Jackson checked the mirror, looked the controls over once, and put the truck in gear.
“You headed back home,” Bear asked.
“Not just yet,” Jackson replied.
Bear looked at Jackson quizzically, who patted him on the shoulder as he answered.
“I have to see someone first.”
76
Jackson sat parked on Rockingham Drive a couple doors down from the Parker’s home. On a night just like this one a couple weeks ago, Jackson had found himself on the very same street, sitting in a truck, looking at the Parker’s house. Then, Sara Beth Parker had been missing for several weeks and the trail had gone cold. Tonight, he watched as three silhouettes sat around a table in their home.
Out front, the makeshift memorial had disappeared and the large wooden post that had held the ‘Have You Seen Me?’ sign was gone. In its place was a small patch of dirt covered by a layer of straw in an attempt to grow the grass back. In the end, that was all that was left for the Parkers to do. Cover up the scars of the past and do the best they could to move on with their lives.
In a different way, Jackson had done the same thing. In the wake of the same sort of pain, Jackson had found a way to move on. It had nearly led him down the wrong road, and it had nearly killed him, but it was ultimately through that journey that he found himself here, on this street, looking at a family reunited.
He watched as the silhouettes stood up from the table and disappeared from the window. Dinner must’ve ended. Jackson couldn’t imagine the nights Sara Beth’s parents must’ve sat at that table, probably eating in silence, wanting nothing more than their daughter to be home. And likewise, how many nights Sara Beth spent God knows where, wanting nothing more than to be home. It was the little things you don’t think about, Jackson thought. Sure, there are the hugs and kisses and tears when you are first reunited and the joy of finally being able to bring that missing loved one home. But eventually, all that fades and life resumes. Work and traffic and taxes. Vacations and holidays with the family. Laughs over bad jokes and fights about who used all the hot water. Eventually, there’s a return to normalcy. That’s what it meant to truly survive, Jackson thought.
A figure emerged from the side of the Parker’s house in their driveway. As she walked past the lamppost in the front yard, Jackson could see it was Sara Beth, pushing a wheeled trash can towards the street. Normalcy, Jackson thought again.
She pushed it to the curb, placing it just so, but paused before she turned back. She looked down the street at the black Dodge D100 parked there. Had they been actually able to see one another, Jackson and Sara Beth would be making eye contact. Instead, they looked at the shadows surrounding one another.
Sara Beth turned and walked up the driveway a ways before something compelled her to turn and look back once again. Now, standing by the lamppost, Jackson could see her face. It was not the face tattered with bruises and cuts under a mat of disheveled hair that he had seen on the mountain road. No, on this night, standing in her yard, Sara Beth Parker looked just as she had in countless school and family photos. There was no trace of the girl that had just endured unspeakable horrors. It was a testament to her resiliency.
Jackson feared perhaps he was making her nervous. That the out-of-place black truck sitting just down the road brought her back to the black van that had taken her and started all this. But Sara Beth didn’t look fearful or even nervous. He had seen that Sara Beth a hundred miles away under a hail of gunfire. No, this Sara Beth seemed almost calm. Content. Perhaps somehow, she knew it was him. The man, a finder of sorts, that had found her and brought her back from the edge of a darkness that would’ve swallowed her whole. Perhaps she knew now that man was watching over her once more. And should she ever need him, he would be there again.
She walked up her front walkway and back into the house.
Jackson fired up the truck and drove home.
Acknowledgments
This novel could not have been written without a small army at my back, all of whom have my most sincere gratitude. First and foremost, thank you to my wife, Meg, who continues to leave me in awe of her compassion, patience, and support. You are my dreamcatcher. Second, thank you to my close friends, Elizabeth Ellis and Madeline McMahon, who helped convince me to take that step off the ledge and begin this journey. Everyone should be so lucky as to have people like you in their corner. Third, thank you to my parents, Debbie Bleviss and Bill Lienesch, who were tremendously supportive as I took on this endeavor. I also want to thank everyone who lent their time and effort towards actually creating The Woodsman. This book was done on a shoestring budget and would not have been possible without these people volunteering themselves. There are dozens of friends and colleagues who I owe in this regard, and I wish I could mention them all here, but especially I want to thank my beta readers: Courtney Bumgardner, Leo Huynh, Rachel Lienesch, Emily Trautwein, and Austin Shirey, who gave their time and effort to this project, helping me craft this story and build this book. And last but certainly not least, thank you to Ursula Ellis, my copy editor, who took the chicken scratch I wrote and polished it into something resembling a novel.
About the Author
B. C. Lienesch is a former freelance writer and featured columnist and editor for GuysNation.com but has done everything from owning a bakery to selling fireworks out of a pair of shipping containers. Born in Washington, D.C. and raised in Northern Virginia, he now lives in the same area with his wife, Meg, their two dogs, Kaia and Aria, and two cats, Luna and Hitchcock. THE WOODSMAN is his first novel.
Visit www.bclnovels.com or @bclienesch on social media for more.
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 29