by D. Gideon
Dotty considered him for a moment, then looked over the crowd. It had thinned some. She no longer saw Cathy, nor the man she’d last been talking to. A number of the women were gone, too. Perhaps some of them had gone home with the older couples. She hoped it would work out.
“Why aren’t you over there, where the townsfolk can meet and talk to you?”
Preacher gave a little snort. “I stood up there for hours. No one would even look at me, much less speak to me. Not that I expected any different.”
“Why not expect different?”
He gave her a look that questioned her sanity and pointed to himself. “Look at me.”
Dotty waved a hand. “What, that you’re big? That don’t make no never-mind. There’s lots of big men in this town,” she said. “Were you snarlin’ at them? Growlin’? Makin’ a mean face?”
“No,” he said slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“Well then, they shoulda talked to you,” she said, the note in her voice final.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, Dotty watching the people and Preacher looking down at his big hands. In that time, a number of people walked by them going in both directions. Since she was looking up, she could see how they’d walk in a straight line until they came close to Preacher—then they’d veer away, nearly brushing the dining tables to skirt around him. She frowned at them, but they’d just glance between her and the big man with expressions that clearly said they thought she must be senile, or they’d look away.
Dotty leaned forward and took the edges of the stiff patch Preacher had tapped in her fingers, turning it so she could see it. Preacher lifted his head, startled at the touch, but didn’t say anything. The embroidery on the patch was worn through, as if touching it had been an oft-repeated gesture. She couldn’t read the name of the motorcycle club or make out the symbol, but on the bottom of the patch she could just barely read the phrase “Charlotte N.C.”
Dotty sat back, tilting her head. “What was that man doing when you killed him?”
Preacher shook his head, looking back down at his clasped hands. “It’s not something to discuss with a lady. Doesn’t matter, anyway. What’s done is done.”
“It does matter. Killin’ a man is a serious thing. It’s the why that matters the most,” she said. “And you can discuss it with a lady if the lady asks…I’m askin’.”
He looked back up at her, frowning.
“Go on,” she said, eyebrows lifted.
Preacher blew out a breath. “We’d gone to a man’s house to settle a business dispute. Our contact wasn’t in the house; just his daughter was home. I went out back to check the guest cottage and left my brother with her to make sure she didn’t call anyone. When I came back in…he was raping her. She was just barely a teenager.”
“So you shot him?” she asked.
He shook his head and looked back down. “Killed him with my bare hands. Beat him to a bloody pulp.”
Dotty was quiet a moment, then nodded. “Was the girl okay?”
“Physically, probably…but mentally? A man…violated her, and then I killed him right in front of her. Seeing that…I probably messed her up for life,” he said, his voice soft.
“So why kill him? Why not just stop him?”
“Because he crossed a line. If he’d do it once, he’d do it again.” He looked back up, and his expression was fierce. “I wasn’t going to let him go on to do it to someone else.”
“I thought clubs like that had some kind of rules, a code,” Dotty said. “Stick together, that kind of thing.”
“We do. Your brothers are untouchable. They’re your blood, for life. Raise a hand against a brother and you’re risking death.”
“And you went against that?”
He nodded. “I don’t care who you are, blood or not. Rape is wrong. Messing with a man’s children is wrong. A man does you wrong, you take it to him. You settle it however it needs to be settled, because that man stepped up knowing what he was getting into. You leave kids out of it. Always. They didn’t choose that life.”
Dotty nodded again, then sighed and patted her hands on her legs.
“Well, that settles it,” she said, and stood up.
Preacher straightened and nodded. “I understand. I do appreciate you sitting and talking with me, though. Thank you, Dorothy.”
Dotty shook her head. “I’m not leaving, Preacher. Well, I am, but you’re coming with me. Come on, now. Let’s go home.”
Preacher blinked at her. “You’re not serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. Something’s been pushing at me all night and all morning, telling me I was needed at the church. Now I know why.” She thought on it for a moment, and nodded. It felt right. She’d made the decision, and just like that, the overbearing worry was gone.
“Now, I’ve got a guest room, but it hasn’t been aired out in a while, and I can’t wash the dust out of the bedspread, so we’ll have to take that outside and shake it out-”
“What’s your husband going to say when you bring home someone like me?” Preacher asked, pointing at the ring on her finger.
Dotty held up her hand and smiled, moving the slim gold band back and forth in the light.
“Oh, Nate would kiss me on my forehead and tell me he loved my foolish heart, and if I thought you were alright, then that was fine by him.” She looked up, eyes glistening. “Then he’d ask you if you were an original Colts fan or not, and if you wanted to watch a game. Nate’s been gone for a while now, though. He passed away.”
“You don’t have any family?”
“Oh, I have family. There’s my two grandsons, my daughter off in the Navy, my neighbors that I claimed as family years ago, a girl that their daughter brought home from college last Christmas, our dog Jax…and now, you.”
He sat for a moment, taken aback. “I’m a killer, Dorothy. How can you trust me not to hurt you?”
“Because I do,” she said, shrugging. “Why, do you plan on hurting me or my people?”
“Of course not,” he said.
“Well alright then. We’re on the same page. We’ll get along just fine. So are you gettin’ up or do I have to pick you up and carry you?”
Preacher shook his head in wonder, and slowly stood up, unfolding himself from the small metal chair. He towered over her, and she looked up at him with an expression of disbelief that turned into a sly smile.
“My word. No wonder you ain’t got no hair. You done scraped it off on the doorways.”
He grinned back. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You ribbing me about being six-eight?”
“Well somebody’s got to,” Dotty said. “You’re like my grandson, Corey. If you keep growing, you’ll be rubbin’ your head on the ceiling. I ain’t got money to be repairing the plaster.”
He chuckled at that, and when he spoke, his voice was teasing. “How can you even see the ceiling from all the way down there?”
Dotty laughed and shook her finger at him. “See? Told ya we’d get along just fine.”
Chapter 44
Friday, September 7th
Salisbury, Maryland
We were sitting in the soft grass on the side of Route 12. Well, Marco and King were sitting. I was laying on my side, trying to get my head to stop pounding and making me feel like I was going to pass out.
I’d promised Marco I wouldn’t push anything, and I didn’t…I had walked at a normal pace. Apparently that was still too much for a body that had been beaten on, put through multiple adrenaline rushes, and was trying to fight off an infection. Maybe I should have stayed in the camper for another night, like he’d suggested. I really couldn’t see myself going any further today. Maybe not even tomorrow. Lesson learned.
Beneath the sound of the birds, who—to my head, at least—were making a racket to rival an outdoor concert, I heard a rumble in the distance. Marco rose to his knees, lifting one leg to set his foot in front of him in a kneeling shooter’s stance. He tossed the monocular onto my stomach and
pulled his pistol.
“There’s a truck coming, Ripley. Can you make it into the woods?”
I knew I couldn’t, but I tried anyway. I pushed myself up from my side and sat there blinking, feeling my stomach roll. The truck was moving fast. I could hear the strange singing noise from its all-terrain tires reverberating off of the trees lining the sides of the small county road. I couldn’t help but smile; I hadn’t heard that sound since I’d last been home for spring break. Most of the farmers out here where it was more rural had the beefy tires so they could make it from one side of their fields to the other. I pushed my hips up, getting my knees underneath of me, and lifted my head.
That was it. The world titled to the left and I fell back onto my side, gagging as my stomach tried to fight its way to sunlight. I put a hand to my neck, the acid burning in the back of my throat, and coughed spittle onto the grass.
“Shit,” Marco said, hiding the pistol behind his back. “Just stay down. Maybe they’ll keep going.”
The roar of the truck’s engine grew closer and I could hear it slowing down. It nearly made it past us, then the tires chirped as the driver slammed on the breaks and I heard the startled squawks of chickens. A door opened.
“Don’t come any closer,” Marco warned. “We don’t want trouble.”
“Ripley?" a big voice said in wonder, then, “You either put that gun down or shoot me, because I know this girl and I am coming over there.”
I knew that voice. I tried to blink the water out of my eyes and coughed out another mouthful of stomach acid as my insides lurched again.
“Is she hurt? Oh god, look at her head! What did you do to her?” There were heavy footfalls across the pavement, Marco shouting instructions to stop or he’d shoot, King barking, the man yelling to back the fuck up.
Then a big, warm hand was supporting my head and a soft, worn bandana was wiping the spittle from my face.
“How do you know her name?” Marco asked, a few feet away now. King was growling and coughing, and I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t attacked.
“Because I know her,” the big voice said. “Jennifer Miller. Lives next to Miss Dotty. She’s been out to my farm a lot over the years. I sold her my old Bug.” His voice turned sharp. “You’d best keep a good grip on that dog. I don’t know you, and I don’t appreciate you holding that gun on me. Men have died for doing that.”
“The only reason you’re still alive is because you said her name,” Marco said.
“The only reason you’re still alive is because I didn’t see her face until I was nearly past her. Otherwise I’d have taken you out from 400 yards down the road when I glassed you. If you’ve done this…” the big man let the sentence hang, mountains of threat in his tone.
“Stop it,” I rasped, still not opening my eyes. “John, Marco. Marco, Farmer John.” I put a little effort into my voice. “King…friend. Friend.”
King stopped growling, and I heard a metallic click and the slide of metal on cloth.
“Ripley,” Farmer John rumbled. “I’m gonna take you home. My truck’s full of chickens, but I’ll drop them off and be back in ten minutes. Will you be okay with this guy for ten more minutes?”
“He’s my friend. He saved my life,” I said.
“That’s not true,” Marco said, coming closer. “She saved her own life. I just helped take out the trash.”
Farmer John blew out a breath and he laid my head down on the grass. “We’ve had to do a lot of that lately. You two sit tight. I’m going right down the road to the Farmer’s Market, and then I’ll come back and load you guys up. I’ll be quick as I can.”
I heard him jog to his truck, and the engine roared and tires chirped again as he sped off.
“Ripley? Do we run, or can we trust him?” Marco asked, kneeling down and putting a hand on my hip.
“Trust,” I said, rolling onto my back and covering my eyes with my arm. “John’s good people. Ex-military. He’ll get us home safe.”
Marco snorted and rustled around in the trailer, then I felt him sit down beside me.
“He said they’ve had to do a lot of that lately, taking out the trash,” he said, pressing a bottle of water into my hand. “Home doesn’t sound very safe.”
No, it sure didn’t. My heart pounded, and I had the urge to start crawling, just to get there sooner. Farmer John hadn’t mentioned my parents, or whether Grams was okay. Another half hour at the most, and I’d be able to see for myself.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’ll make it safe.”
I thought about how weak I felt, and hoped that was a promise I could keep.
Chapter 45
Friday, September 7th
Snow Hill, Maryland
The Sheriff’s department had a roadblock set up on the little bridge spanning the Pocomoke River, but a Deputy waved John through without questioning us. I clung to the dash as we drove through the historic district, anxious to see how Snow Hill had fared. I could just see the steeple of Father Bill’s church peeking over the buildings when John turned right onto Willow Street.
“Wait, where are you going? My house is right up Washington!”
“I’m taking you straight to the med center,” John said, accelerating quickly past the little shops. Besides the unusual number of cars lining the sidewalk, the street was deserted. “Doc Butcher needs to look at you-”
“I need to go home, Mr. John. I need to see if my parents are okay, if Grams is okay.”
He barely slowed for a stop sign and hit the gas again. “They’re fine. I saw your parents last night, and Miss Dotty was working with me all morning. I’ll drop you at the med center and go get them.” He swung around the turn onto Church Street fast enough to make the tires squeal.
“I know I look bad, but I oof.” The seatbelt caught me as he slammed on the brakes at Market Street, did a quick glance, and shot through the intersection.
“She’s taking antibiotics,” Marco said quickly, hand wrapped tight around the “oh shit” bar behind the driver’s seat. “It’s all surface wounds. She just needs rest.”
“Mr. John, I’m okay. I just overdid it walking today.”
He flew through the intersection of Federal Street without even bothering to look and shook his head. “Miss Dotty will have a heart attack if she sees you like this. We at least gotta get you cleaned up-”
“Stop,” I barked. “Stop the truck or I’m jumping out.” It was a lie, there was no way I was going to willingly throw myself down from this high onto the asphalt.
He slammed on the brakes, throwing me forward against the seat belt again, and the jolt made my body scream in pain. I bit back a curse and turned to see him looking at me with wide eyes.
“I swear to you, I’m okay,” I said. “I’m just sick. I’ve got an infection and I’m taking medicine.” I waved a hand at my face. “This is all just bruising, and Marco’s right. The rest is surface wounds. They’re not deep enough to need stitches, and I’ve had them too long, anyway. It hurts like hell, but I just need to rest.”
We were sitting at the little curve where Church met Martin Street. The power lines here had burned and broken apart. One side of the cables lay partway across the street. The other side were just scorch marks on the ground, leading to the remains of a blackened power pole.
I pointed out the window past him. “Just take me home, Mr. John. Please. Please.”
John stared at me for a moment longer, and his expression turned doubtful. “What kind of doctor would’ve given you antibiotics and left you all torn up like that?”
I hastily pulled the bottle of Fish Mox from my thigh pocket and sat it on the console between us. “The veterinarian kind?” I reminded him, and pointed a finger at my chest.
He looked down at the bottle and blew out a breath. “I forgot. I just saw…that,” he gestured at me, “and the only thing going through my head was I need a medic.”
He turned the wheel and started driving—slower, this time—towards my house. “
Okay. I’ll take you home. But I swear to god if you end up in the med center all hooked up to IVs and shit, you will never hear the end of it, young lady. I will haunt you ‘till your dying day.”
I managed a smile and tried to slip the bottle back into my pocket. The flap was half in and half out, and it took both hands to straighten it and get the velcro flat.
“Ripley,” Marco said softly, “you might want to look up.”
I raised my head. We were pulling up in front of my house. The back end of my Bug was jacked up, with a pair of long legs sticking out from under it. Sitting on a wooden stool next to those legs, holding a long wrench in one hand and rubbing Jax’s head with the other, was Mel.
“Oh my god!” I had the door open before the truck had even stopped. “Mel! Corey! Oh my god!”
I tried to push out of the seat, but the belt grabbed me and jerked me back. I clawed at it, not able to find the button in my excitement and cussing up a storm. Finally it let go, and I spun just in time for Mel to slam into me.
We were a squealing, crying tangle of arms and legs, with Mel standing on the running boards of the truck and Corey right behind her, his arms around both of us. Jax was barking and whining, trying to squeeze around them and climb into the cab.
“Easy, easy,” I heard John say. “She’s all banged up.”
It was Marco that finally pulled us apart, and John lifted me out of the truck and set me down gently. His big hands held onto my waist, as if he was sure I’d crumple as soon as he let go.
“I was trying to hurry and get the clutch put in your Bug so we could head back out and look for you two,” Corey said as he wrapped Marco in a hug.
I looked past my dad’s truck and didn’t understand why no one was coming out. Surely they must have heard us. “Mom?” I called. “Dad?”
“They’re not here,” Mel said. “We’ve been here for hours and no one’s here. The kitchen cabinets are all cleaned out, a bunch of Grams’ pictures are gone…no note or anything.” Her eyes were wide, and her voice broke. “I think she’s gone, Rip.”