Molly: House on Fire

by R. E. Bradshaw

  Molly let out a little laugh and under her breath said, “Well, it would be poetic to die here or go to prison for killing him again.”

  When the shadow reached the boundaries of Molly’s comfort zone, and the distance from which she was extremely accurate with the pistol, she raised the flashlight to the man’s face, blinding him to a stop. Molly needed to thank Rainey for the tactical light. It had the desired results. The man threw his arm up to shield his eyes and Molly became invisible behind the glare. She moved the light quickly, looking for weapons and intentions. It was time to meet the ghost.

  She called out, “Hey, why don’t you stop right there for now. Who are you and what do you want?”

  A familiar sounding voice shouted back, “Get that g’damn light out of my eyes.”

  If Molly had not known better, she would have sworn she was talking to Evan Branch. The voice was older and the timbre deeper, but it sent shivers down her spine. Just as an old song could bring a memory rushing forward, a voice from a childhood of terror did the same. She gripped the pistol tighter, not taking her eyes off the man, and lowered the light only slightly, keeping his hands in view.

  Molly warned, “Don’t come any closer. Just stay where you are. Now, what do you want?”

  Her finger slipped to the trigger with his next words. In a voice straight out of Molly’s nightmares, he said, “I know who you are and I know what you done.”

  The edge of the beam from her flashlight lit his face, casting shadows where his eyes should have been. There was no mistaking that jaw line and wicked sneer. Evan Branch was alive and standing in front of her. Her mouth went dry and the trembling turned to all out shaking. Her knees threatened to give way. The part of her mind not consumed by fear reminded her it was impossible that Evan Branch survived that fire. She saw them put what little remained of him in a black bag, twenty-nine years ago.

  Molly tried to control the adrenaline driven quivering in her voice, replying, “I’m sorry, I seem to be at a disadvantage here. You think you know who I am, but you’ve yet to introduce yourself.”

  The man growled out, “Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am, girlie, and don’t play like you ain’t that little bitch that helped kill my brother.”

  The information clicked through Molly’s mind like a Google search engine. She hit on an image of Evan with a man that looked like an exact replica, but younger. Molly saw him only once when he came by the house with his drunken brother. Evan took her momma in the house and Molly stayed outside.

  She learned the younger man’s name, when Evan yelled out, “Come on, Jarvis. I’ll make her do you too.”

  Jarvis called back, “Naw, you go on.” He paused and eyed Molly. “But I might have a go at this ’un.”

  Molly remembered running like hell, with Jarvis’s sadistic laughter trailing after her. She did not come home until she was sure they were both gone, only to find her mother passed out with a needle in her arm. Sarah taught Molly what to do if she found her like that. Molly removed the needle, made sure Sarah was breathing, and cleaned up the mess. Adult Molly could not believe some of the things she had done as a child. To this day, she could not bear the sight of a needle.

  Molly refocused on the man in the beam of her flashlight.

  “Jarvis Branch, what an unpleasant surprise.” She laughed to cover her nervousness.

  “You made a mistake comin’ here, Molly Harris. You can change your name, but that don’t change the facts. Your momma was a drunk whore. You cain’t trust them people to keep a secret. Why, the night she died, she told me how you two bashed my brother’s head in with a bat.”

  The revelation that her secret was not so secret did not disturb Molly as much as Jarvis being one of the last people to see her mother alive. Sarah Harris would not have given up that information unless she was under extreme duress, no matter how drunk she was. Armed with her secret, Molly was surprised that Jarvis had not already hauled her into court. If nothing else, Molly’s perjury, during the Grand Jury investigation into the death of Evan Branch, was enough to bring her up on charges and possible disciplinary action from the Bar. There was no statute of limitations on perjury in North Carolina, especially if it could be tied to a murder. She may have been ten at the time she lied in court, but she perpetuated that lie by not coming clean later, and concealing her true identity to the Bar.

  Unless someone dug very deeply, it appeared that Molly Harris disappeared in 1983. The only record of her existence was buried within the folds of a dusty sealed file, somewhere in the bowels of the County Clerk’s archive. Molly Kincaid emerged that day, and she never again disclosed her humble beginnings outside of Carol and Donald’s home. If Jarvis made accusations, her reputation would be in question, even though no one would have prosecuted a child for what Molly did. She knew that now, but back then the adults seemed convinced they would all go to jail, if Molly told the truth. The perjury at ten probably would not be prosecutable or even draw a heavy sanction, but Molly knew the perception of wrongdoing and mendacity could bring her law career to a halt.

  Jarvis had to know that too. If he was bent on getting revenge, then why had he remained silent, until now? Molly had a sickening suspicion that she knew exactly why he had not let the cat out of the bag. He could not tell anyone he was with Sarah the night she died. Jarvis Branch had a secret of his own.

  “Interesting that you’ve kept that to yourself,” Molly began. “Both what my “drunk whore” mother, as you called her, told you, and that you were possibly the last person to see her alive. I see your quandary, Jarvis. You can’t afford to get tangled up in Sarah Harris’s murder.”

  “That bitch died drunk in a ditch, booze all over her. Ask anybody,” Jarvis snarled.

  Molly sneered back. “Oh, I am quite sure a thorough investigation into the death of a disposable woman received all the attention deemed necessary — none. I wonder what modern technology could find out now. It’s amazing what those guys in the lab can come up with these days.”

  Jarvis took a step closer, but stopped when he saw Molly’s arm move. He could not see the pistol, but she made it obvious with her body language that she was not gripping a key fob in her pocket. He glared at her.

  “That works both ways. I bet if they dug up my brother, that body would tell a diff’rent story than what was told in court.”

  Molly was about to reply, “What body,” when a police car bounced into view. She recognized the distinct headlights of a Ford Police Interceptor model, having seen them in her rearview mirror often enough. A few feet more and the emergency lights on top of the car became visible. They were not illuminated, thankfully. The people in the house probably called, thinking more illegal dumping was occurring. Molly loosened the grip on the pistol. When the officer stepped out of the county sheriff’s car and approached, Molly put her hands in the air.

  “Good evening, officer. I need to inform you that I am licensed to carry a concealed weapon and I am armed at this time. Please instruct me on how you want to handle this. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.”

  Before Molly finished speaking, the deputy put his hand on his own weapon. This was all Molly needed, some Barney Fife looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. The deputy then surprised Molly by stepping to the side and focusing on Jarvis.

  “What are you doing out here, Mr. Branch? This is a long way from your usual stomping grounds.”

  “She just told you she’s got a gun and you’re asking me what I’m doing here?”

  The deputy smiled. “She duly informed me of her possession and her license. I’ll deal with that in a minute. I’m more concerned with her feeling like she needed one.” He glanced at Molly. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “Yes, sir,” Molly answered. “Jarvis and I were just catching up on old times. I think he was just leaving.”

  “Is that so, Mr. Branch?” The deputy asked.

  Jarvis was seething. “She’s trespassing and carrying a gun during the commission of
a crime. Arrest her or I’ll have your badge.”

  “Mr. Branch, might I remind you that you are trespassing, as well, and if I know you at all, you’ve got a weapon stashed on you somewhere. I don’t recall your application for a concealed carry license ever comin’ through the sheriff’s department. But, I’ll call the owners if you want, ask them if they want to press charges.”

  Molly was starting to like this deputy more by the minute. She still had her hands up, but not quite as high. Jarvis, however, voiced his displeasure loudly.

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I beat your daddy blind. I’ll do the same for you.”

  Molly thought Jarvis was living up to his brother’s sadistic behavior model, and wondered if the deputy knew just what he was dealing with. She got her answer, watching in disbelief as the deputy relaxed his stance, smiled, and “good ol’ boy” drawled his way through his reply.

  “Now, Mr. Branch, that was over thirty years ago and I remember your brother held him down, while you pistol whipped him in front of my momma. He ain’t blind though. He’s still got one good eye. Heck, he’s a better shot than me.”

  The deputy laughed and just as suddenly, his expression darkened, but he retained his relaxed body language. He was not making any threatening movements. Smart cop, Molly thought.

  His voice lower and not as friendly as before, the deputy continued, “The law’s changed a lot since back then. The way you go about threatening people, well, if they find you dead one day, I’m sure a good lawyer could make a case for self-defense. Men like you don’t run this county anymore, haven’t for a long time. The law’s caught up to you, Jarvis Branch. Your kind is a dying breed. You’d do best to keep that in mind.”

  “What I’ll keep in mind is that being a deputy out on these old back roads is a lonely job,” Jarvis threatened, but he was backing toward his truck. He turned to Molly. “And you gonna rue the day you stepped foot back in Dobbs County. I’ll get my pound of flesh.”

  The deputy stepped in front of Molly. He did not seem concerned that she was armed. She lowered her arms and let the deputy do his job.

  “If that’s a threat of bodily harm, then I’ll have to arrest you, and testify that I heard it.”

  Jarvis kept backing up, but he was not done with insulting Molly. “You’re wasting your time protecting that one. She’s a dyke. She evidently don’t love dick the way her whore momma did.”

  Molly took a step forward. She did not know what she was going to do, but standing still for that was not an option. The deputy felt her move. He put a hand behind him to stop her.

  He whispered, “Molly, let me handle this,” then raised his voice to Jarvis, “Do I need to get on the radio and call for backup, so I can arrest you for being the son-of-a-bitch you are, or are you gonna get back in that truck and go on? Your choice, Branch. I’ve been waiting for this day all my life.”

  Molly saw the deputy’s hand move to his holster. It barely registered that he had called her by name. She was too intent on not winding up in a gun battle. He took a step forward and pulled his radio from his belt. That was all Jarvis needed to send him on his way. Molly wanted to hug the deputy. He was her new best friend. They both watched until Jarvis’s taillights disappeared around the curve, neither speaking. Molly could see the tightening jaw muscles in the deputy’s profile and knew his loathing for the Branch brothers was close, if not equal to hers. Once he was sure Jarvis was gone, he turned to Molly.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see that carry license, just to make this all legal.”

  Molly started to reach in her pocket, but stopped. “Um, my wallet is in my jacket. My weapon is in my jacket. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, Molly, I doubt you’re going to shoot me.” He smiled, easing her mind.

  Molly reached in her pocket, retrieving the small leather wallet where she kept only essentials, driver’s license, carry license, anodized titanium “Black” credit card, and her Bar license. Removing her ID and carry license, she handed them to the deputy.

  Molly asked, “How do you know my name?”

  “Ran your plates at the hospital, while I was waiting for Leslie. Came up Molly Kincaid. Leslie told me why you were here. When I got this call and saw your car, I had a hunch. I’d know that smirk you were giving Branch anywhere. I saw it right before you punched me in the nose in fourth grade, when I tried to kiss you. You’re Molly Harris.”

  Molly smiled broadly. “Brad Dawson, is that you?”

  Her mind could not correlate her memory of skinny little Brad, the kid that followed her all over the playground, with the handsome, buffed out, confident man in front of her.

  “Still picking fights with the boys, I see.” Brad smiled and handed back her credentials. “What in the hell are you doing out here with Jarvis Branch, Molly? You know how dangerous he is.”

  Molly returned her wallet to her pocket. “I wasn’t with him. He just appeared. Hey, do you mind if I reach in my pocket and put the safety back on my pistol?”

  “Go ahead, but don’t accidently shoot me. I got over the nose. Not sure how I’d feel about a bullet, though.”

  Molly laughed. She reached in her pocket and clicked the safety on. “Brad, I believe I owe you a cup of coffee. Know anywhere we could make that happen?”

  “Follow me, but leave your piece in the car and keep it down on the speed. You came out of the hospital a little hot.”

  Molly walked beside Brad toward their vehicles. She asked, “Were you following me?”

  “Not exactly. I wasn’t sure who you were, yet, and Leslie’s description was a flippant, ‘She looks like a younger Jodie Foster.’ What’d you say to her, by the way? I don’t think she likes you too much.”

  Molly cringed at the Jodie Foster remark. She heard that her whole life. It was not a bad thing, just old. In reality, Molly respected Jodie and the way she handled her personal life. Unlike some that demanded Ms. Foster make a public coming out address, she thought Jodie’s simple thank you to her partner was classy. She was probably as tired of being the “lesbian iconic actress,” as Molly was of being the “well-known lesbian attorney” that resembled her.

  She and Brad tromped through the grass, while Molly answered his question. “I told her I wouldn’t take Joe’s grandson’s case. She didn’t seem too happy about that.”

  Brad stopped walking and took out his radio. Molly stopped too, looking around to see if Jarvis had come back.

  She heard Brad say, “Dispatch, this is two-seven. I’ll be out of service for about an hour.”

  Molly turned back to Brad in time to hear a female squawk back, “Two-seven, dispatch. Roger that. Two-seven out of service.”

  Brad looked hard at Molly. “This is going to take longer than a cup of coffee.”

  #

  Molly followed Brad to a fast food restaurant. They bought coffees inside and then sat in the parking lot in Brad’s patrol car. Molly saw the box Leslie had taken from Joe’s hospital room in the backseat.

  “You’ve been gone a long time,” Brad began. “A lot has changed since then, but some things remain the same, like Jarvis Branch is still an asshole. Got worse, if you can imagine that, when Old Man Branch died about thirty years ago. Been skirting the law ever since.”

  Molly thought about the gold coin the old man gave her, now resting in her pocket. She sipped her coffee, wondering what Brad knew, letting him talk. Brad turned in his seat to face her.

  “I’ve kept a log of Branch’s activities. I watch him wheel and deal, intimidate folks out of their hard-earned possessions, but he’s always just outside of my grasp. He kept Old Man Stovall tied up in lawsuits until he gave up and sold him his farm for pennies on the acre. Nothin’ illegal about that, but it damn sure stinks.”

  Molly had to say something to let him know she was listening, but she offered no more than an observation. “Unfortunately, there is no statute addressing the existence of major assholes.”

  “So, little Molly gr
ew up to be a high-profile defense attorney. I would have pegged you for a prosecutor, considering what you went through as a child. I imagined you would want to put the bad guys away, not defend them.”

  Molly let a grin creep into one corner of her mouth. “Innocent until proven guilty. I think that’s how it goes.” She paused and then asked, “How do you know so much about how I grew up? We were just children. You couldn’t possibly know what my life was like at home. No one did.”

  “Joe did,” Brad answered, softly. “He beat himself up every day for letting you live like that.”

  “How do you know? What did he tell you? More importantly, why would he tell you?” Molly was fishing for information.

  “Joe took me under his wing when I took this job. I joined the Marines right out of high school. I came back here in ’97, took some law enforcement classes, before signing on with the Sherriff’s department in ’99. Joe Webb taught me everything I know. He was a good man.”

  Her past hurts rising to the surface, Molly smirked. “A lot of ‘good men’ stood by while Evan Branch beat the hell out of my mother for years.”

  Brad pleaded Joe’s case. “His hands were tied by the law back then, Molly. You know that. He couldn’t do anything if your mother wouldn’t press charges. I won’t get into why victims won’t cooperate with the police. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to come to your own conclusions about why your mother took the abuse.”

  Molly sipped her coffee and stared straight ahead. She had come to her own conclusions. Her mother was sick before she ever met Evan Branch. She was predisposed to falling for the rich farmer’s boy, because her own existence was so dire. Sarah Harris grew up the abused child of an abused woman. The cycle just continued with Sarah. Molly was determined from a very young age to break it.