Twisted Iron

by T. J. Loveless

  “Water.” She obliged, leaning forward and holding it steady while I sipped. I dropped back. “Why is the mayor’s son saying those things?”

  “Hero worship is my guess. The kid is seriously fucked up. You killed a half-brother, who’d sucked him into it by making the situation sound like a treasure hunt.” She returned to her former pose.

  “I haven’t dug up the gold, Karen. It’s still in the same place, and I don’t dare tell anyone where it is. What the hell am I going to do with it?”

  She put both feet on the ground, elbows on the chair arms and leaned forward, “What I’m going to suggest you’re not going to like. Just know I do it because I love you, Aiden. You’re the sibling I never had. I also think you’re finally over the crush you had on me.” Her blue eyes were serious, intense.

  “I’m not ready to hear it.” I looked out the open curtains of the room’s window, the sight of the mountains helping soothe.

  “Okay. I can’t stay long, I’m flying home tonight. But, Aiden?”

  I met her gaze.

  “Don’t turn away from Jillian. She is a better person than we could ever aspire to be, but every day must have a night.” She stood, kissed my forehead, and walked out.

  I wanted her to come back, but the reason changed. I didn’t know when. What I did know was Karen hit the nail on the head. She was my best friend, not a lost love. She understood things I had yet to figure out.

  *

  I wasn’t in but a few days, and returned home. Blaze was still loose, although a massive manhunt was in progress, and everything in the sheriff’s department was under investigation. When the media caught wind Karen Barnes was spotted, Dillon’s sleepy little town façade exploded onto the international scene.

  The people of the town resented it, and I couldn’t blame them.

  I hid at home. Part of me wanted to run, to make use of the worn out passports, and use one of the many identities I’d cultivated over the years. But every beat of my heart was a reminder of Jillian’s need for ongoing security. Blaze would understand perfectly how important she was.

  Several times, I grabbed a shovel and went into the barn. Only to turn around and walk out. Much of my emotions were in turmoil, and accessing the static foam became impossible. I needed it. Thinking in a straight line proved beyond my abilities.

  The phone rang, as I cleaned the kitchen, and grabbing the receiver, “Middleston.”

  “Squirrel?” the voice was rough, low, hesitant.

  “Where are you? I need to see you, Jilly Bean. Please.” I put a hand against the wall, leaning into the arm, one foot kicking the skirting boards. I left dents and black marks, as I squeezed the receiver to the point my fingers went numb and the plastic casing cracked.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I wanted … I needed to say goodbye.”

  I froze.

  “I have to leave Dillon, Aiden.” I could barely hear her.

  “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, Jillian. I’ll do anything you want, please, don’t leave me.” I blinked back tears.

  “That’s why I have to, Squirrel. You’re putting too much on me. I thought, well, I thought I was strong enough for your life, but I’m not. I can’t kill, nor can I stomach the thought I might have been responsible for Cornell’s place.”

  The static foam. The perfect place, no emotions, no more guilt or remorse, no more pain from losing Jillian because she was right. My past was too much, and my present was too dangerous.

  “Just know I love you.” I hung up and flung myself deep into the static foam.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  I took a pick axe and two shovels into the barn, digging ten feet until hitting something solid. Taking out the dirt around it, I found an old fashioned hope chest. Sweat poured, soaking the t-shirt and top of the jeans, while I managed to get it out of the one hundred plus years grave.

  I rigged a pulley system, and lifted the heavy trunk, swinging it to land next to me. With an appliance dolly, I rolled it inside.

  It’d been made of good Louisiana cypress, the leather straps barely recognizable. On the front was an old lock. I used the shovel to break it open. Squatting before the trunk, I slowly opened it. I gasped at what the trunk held.

  I’d expected gold, or money, maybe heirlooms. According to the letters, and legend, she’d stolen the Smythe family’s gold.

  I found a skeleton. From the size of the bones, I thought it was a grown male.

  “Holy shit, Corrine. What the hell?” I had no idea what to do next. First instinct was to call Jillian. But she’d left and nobody knew to where. I wasn’t going to bother Karen. Calling anyone in Dillon was a bad idea.

  Barry. He’d gone into hiding, but I still had the encrypted cell phone, and he was never without his equipment.

  Four days and uncounted voicemails later, he picked up. “What the fuck are you calling me for?”

  I explained. He laughed and hung up.

  I stared at the phone. “What’d I say?”

  *

  Barry showed up two days later in a small RV, drove around back, parked it, stalked to the barn and the trunk. I stood out of the way and waited. He had a scanner with a light blue light, and it beeped going over the bones several times. He put hairs into a small bag, closed the trunk and smiled at me.

  “Seriously, Barry, what’s so funny?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Because I couldn’t leave it alone. Something was wrong with the accepted story. Corrine’s family was well off, and the Smythes were supposedly wealthy. But why such a long distance arrangement? And why did the Smythes have a heart attack when they couldn’t get their hands on Corrine? Why are they after you now? Well, I figured it out. I found some old documents in Charleston.” He straightened and jogged to the RV. As he mounted the steps he turned and looked at me. “Well? Come on. I got my grubby paws on some interesting shit.” He disappeared.

  Nodding, I followed. Inside, the RV was set up much like his house had been, the bunk over the cab super neat and clean, electronics bolted down and taking up most of the cabin. He tapped on the keyboard, images whipping by in a slideshow on the computer screen. It stopped on a scanned copy of an old document, dated a week before Corrine’s arrival. He pointed at two figures on the screen.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered.

  “The Smythes were broke. I mean fixing to lose everything broke. They needed Corrine’s dowry in a bad way.” More tapping on the keyboard, and another slideshow. “Look. In today’s terms, they were pretty close to having to walk away from everything. Ralph screwed it up by raping her, probably thinking he’d shame her. According to,” he whipped through a few more images, “this journal entry, your great-great-grandmother had a reputation for being headstrong. Or in today’s terms, she was independent and thought for herself. Anyway, it had the opposite effect. I’m going to verify, because I have something else I managed to acquire, but I think Ralph Beaumont Smythe is in the trunk.”

  “What have you got?” A little spark of pride burrowed through the foam. I squashed it.

  “It was not unusual to keep hair, teeth, nails, et cetera, of children. Sometimes parents of means would have it incorporated in a doll. Unlike today, boys had dolls in the Victorian age. I won it at an auction, verified to be from the Smythe collection. Bastards were hailed as heroes of the Civil War, a lot of their stuff in a museum. Plus the legend of the missing gold.” He nodded and went to the back of the RV, returning with a sealed box. Setting it on the tiny kitchen counter, he unlocked it and gently flipped the lid open. Inside lay a tiny male doll, with real hair sporting light brown curls and a jumpsuit popular at the time.

  “That’s something else, Barry. But how are you going to do a DNA analysis?” I glanced at him.

  He grinned, “You have your contacts, I have mine. Give me a week, my friend. Oh, and you need to contact Jessup Tasken. He’s looking for you. Now get out. I’ll call you. Hide the damn body.” He pushed on my back, shoving me out of the RV. I saw his
shadow move about the cabin, settle in the driver’s seat and leave.

  “Well, damn. I don’t have Jessup’s phone number.” The encrypted phone vibrated. I pulled it out, and found a text message from Barry: As if I’d forget to give you the information. You need allies, dickhead. Call Jessup.

  Shaking my head, I went inside to do as I was told.

  *

  The phone rang several times, without a voicemail. On the verge of trying later, a voice answered.

  “About time you called. Barry sent you the text message four hours ago.” Jessup’s voice, average and without accent, belied the man himself.

  “I had a few things to do.”

  “I bet. Listen, word has made it through the grapevine. Did you really bomb some rancher’s house?” He moved within a small space, the sounds echoing and making their way through the phone lines.

  “Something like that. Who knows?” Not good when the remainder of us knows.

  “All of us. Just because you left and went home doesn’t mean all of us had a home to go to. We also heard a certain law enforcement individual, with a high profile football background, was free.” Papers rustled.

  “Bloody hell, Jess, what all do you guys know? Where are you?”

  “At the Colonel’s place in Colorado. You know the one not far from Black Hawk? He left it to all of us in his will. Seems he knew we’d need a place.” A muffled voice spoke in the background. “I also happen to know where your girlfriend went.”

  Fear shattered the static foam. “How?”

  “She’s using her credit card. Jason is on her, watching. But the good sheriff is trailing her. We think he believes she’s with you.” Muffled conversation. “We’re coming, whether you like it or not, Middy. And prepare for an ass kicking. Should have called us sooner.”

  The line went dead.

  “Fuck me running.” I slammed down the receiver, the emotions blazing. Pacing, taking deep breaths, I rebuilt the one place I could safely hide.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I cleaned, called the grocery store and put in an order to be picked up. They’d only allow me to pick it up from the back. I wasn’t insulted, they were doing it for my safety. It seemed the entire town of Dillon sided with me.

  Waiting for the arrival of six beefy, trained men, I sat in the office, going documents. It still didn’t make sense. I understood greed, it caused many men to go off their rockers. But it had the feel of something personal, vengeance. It went beyond not asking for water for dying cattle in a drought, or killing for gold.

  More papers, more files and handwritten letters. I wrote a lot of notes, going so far as to create a diagram.Under Cornell and Blaze’s names were question marks. I couldn’t find the connection.

  The phone vibrated in my back pocket. Taking it out, I found another text from Barry: Need to change how you think, and the people missing.

  I stared, wondering how in the world he knew what I was thinking. Wait, people missing?

  Creaky wheels turned inside my brain, and I pulled the folder with the words “Family Tree” on the tab. Ralph was probably killed by Corrine, so who’d taken his place? Was it important? I wasn’t sure. I pulled out a birth certificate, the one for Corrine’s first born, my great-uncle, missing at the age of twenty.

  I slumped in the office chair, letting it sink in. A theory formed, one I couldn’t prove. All the evidence circumstantial.

  Shaking my head, I stood and headed into town, taking the back roads. The little grocery store stood on the edge of town, indicative of a lost era. I parked and knocked on the door used primarily for delivery. An older woman peeked around the door and smiled.

  We loaded the groceries, and I handed her the cash. She kissed my cheek. “Aiden Middleston, not all of us stood against your daddy.” She went inside.

  I stared at the door, glanced at the camera near the roofline, nodded once, and left.

  I spent a few hours preparing. I knew what was coming, locusts in the guise of men. The phone rang. Picking it up, “Yeah.”

  “It’s Jason. You have three minutes.” The phone line went dead.

  “What is with people hanging up on me?” I asked the receiver. Placing it in the cradle, I went back to organizing the food. The front door opened and I stomped into the living room. “Jason, what did …”

  Standing in the living room, Jillian stared at me, terror written in every line of her face. “Help me.”

  I ran to her, grabbing her close, and looking out the front door. Nothing moved, and I pushed hard on the front door. “Is Blaze far behind you?”

  She shook her head, as tremors ran up and down her form, “I … I don’t think so.”

  “I have reinforcements coming, but Blaze won’t be far behind.” I led her into the kitchen, food strewn around the counters.

  “He has a lot of people with him. So many. They tried … they tried …” her voice so low I couldn’t hear. “I can’t live like you, Aiden.”

  “I know.” If they’d tried to harm her, she’d fought back and won. It likely played hell with her healer soul. “Come on, I want you to lie down for a bit. I’ll keep you safe.” I hope I can.

  She pushed hard. “I’m not some simpering female! I just want it to stop. You are the reason, Aiden. What do they want?” she screamed in my face.

  I took two steps back, hands on hips, and looking at the floor. “Revenge, I think. An old legend says my ancestor stole their gold, and they are now determined to take everything.”

  “But Blaze, he was a good man.” She sat on the sofa, face buried in her hands, elbows on knees. She’d lost weight. The hat she wore was skewed and I could see the large scar the bullet left.

  “No, he was a man on a mission with a good idea how to use his looks and charm.” I sucked on my teeth, released a breath, “I was fooled, too. Thought he was a friend. He was in high school as we started junior high, remember? The football star, a hero in our tiny town.”

  “So?” She glared at me through her fingers.

  “I think it was to get funds. The Smythes have a ton of land, but no money. Something else is not computing, but I haven’t figured it out. I only have a working theory. Barry is working on the rest.” I turned to get her a bottle of water.

  “What theory?” she asked as I handed her a cold bottle.

  I explained the history, and what we knew. Her eyes narrowed, but she listened.

  “What is your theory?” She took a long swig.

  “I think, but have no proof, Blaze and Cornell are the grandsons of my missing uncle. So they might feel entitled to everything.”

  “Give it to them. Why continue with the war?” Her gaze turned hard.

  “Because this my family’s ranch. Alistair and Corinne lived and died here, my grandparents lived and diedhere, my father lived and died here, and damn it, I want to die here!” I spread my arms wide. “My family’s history, and my dreams are on the ranch. All I want is to get away from the constant battles. I just have to defeat Blaze.”

  “At what cost? Me? You? Your friends? What is it all worth to you, Squirrel?” She stood and stomped to the spare bedroom, slamming the door shut.

  I had no answers to her questions.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  The big RV pulled in front of the house, and I allowed a little happiness to slip around the static foam. The six men filed out, wearing the dark blue BDUs we often wore when on a mission. They varied in height and size, ethnicities, and ages. The smallest of the bunch, Kurt, walked in front. Of Japanese descent, he looked tiny compared to the other men, but none of us would mess with him. He’d kick our ass and not breathe hard. His brown eyes met mine, and gave one nod.

  The only brothers I’d ever known walked in step to the kitchen, taking the table and barstools. Kurt simply sat on the island counter, legs spread, hands tapping an unknown rhythm on the granite.

  “Dude, you find the most fucked up situations, you know that?” He grinned. It transformed his face, and the reason women
flocked to be near him.

  “No shit,” I grinned, grabbing his hand, pulling him off the counter and hugging him. I smacked his back hard, causing him to laugh. I went to each of them, one by one, handshake and a hug. I stopped at Jessup. “Why are you guys here?”

  Jessup, the youngest at thirty-two, formed a lop-sided grin, “I always keep up with my brothers, man. And the fact you didn’t call us months ago is damned insulting.” He was the All American Boy Next Door in looks, yet one of the best at creative torture. If anyone of them went serial killer, Jessup was my bet. I looked at all the scarred faces, my brothers in some of the worst wars, and knew they were the ones who had to be at my back.

  Jillian walked around the corner and stopped. Hair still mussed from sleeping, her face a little puffy, the scar showing, she looked at each man, nodded once. Fear filled her face.

  “Jillian, come meet everyone.” I held out a hand. “They’re here to help me.”

  “I want no part of it.” She shook her head.

  Jessup sidled closer, keeping his side to her. “Ms. Jillian, you’ve been safe for a few days. One of our friends has been keeping an eye on you.” He stared at his feet, arms loose, hands in a neutral position. He slumped a little, and I watched Jillian relax a tiny bit.

  Each of them did the same thing, taking submissive poses, talking in low, soothing voices. It was what I loved most. When it came to the innocent, they became extremely protective, while letting the innocent know they weren’t in danger. Jillian stood a little taller, and smiled a couple of times. It was an improvement.

  She retained a lost look, and I could do nothing. Like Karen, I could only be there for her when needed. Somethings I just couldn’t solve.