“Anything?” Jess asked.
“No tracks past the creek.” David said, his lips set, “It looks like only one guy, but we aren’t 100% sure. Todd thinks he might have headed north, but I’m not convinced. I think we need to keep a sharp eye out, keep everyone close.”
Chris nodded, “Me, too.”
Dinner was a muted affair and Chris looked tense and on edge. Danger was lurking, far too close to home for anyone’s comfort.
The Truth of the Matter
“Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest thing in the world - stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death?” – Henry Van Dyke
Chris was angry, uncharacteristically so. Perhaps it was the fear of raiders in the area. The Franklin family, not more than a mile away, all dead—it brought back all too familiar memories. Dead, staring eyes, the violation of the women, and the stench of death. Would he ever escape this endless cycle of death? Would he ever be able to unsee the terrible sights he had been witness to?
The boy hadn’t said or done much of anything, just made a joke, and Chris had strode off into the house, unable to think, to speak, past the blinding hatred he felt rising up inside of him. What had Jess been thinking? Keeping a reminder like that near her all of these years. Jacob was a carbon copy of the man, except for his crayon-blue eyes, of what had come to be the main character in his worst nightmares. He fought for control. Carrie didn’t understand, Jess didn’t, none of them did.
God, how many times had he dreamed of Jess, dead by that monster’s hand? Finding her alive, realizing that he had his sister back, that she had been here for years, rebuilding her life even as the ghosts from their previous life haunted her. How could she stand to look at that boy? How could she force those words, “I love you,” out of her mouth?
He heard a soft tread behind him and Jess’s hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “He didn’t mean to make you angry, Chris. He’s just a boy.”
“He’s rude,” Chris ground the words out, “A real smartass.”
Even saying the words, he knew they weren’t true. He knew his emotions were colored by the past, by what was long gone. He had tried so hard to close off this anger, to recognize that the boy wasn’t to blame, but it was all too much. The way the kid’s lips had twisted, almost in a snarl, reminded him of blood and death and darkness, months of it, and the years of grief that had followed. How could he look at that boy and see anything else but that?
Jess couldn’t understand where all of this anger was coming from. Chris had never been like this; he’d been kind and patient. Why did her brother hold such animosity towards Jacob? Above all she wanted peace. They were all family, all together now, for the first time in years, underneath one roof, an impossible and beautiful thing. Why was he being this way?
“Chris,” Jess fought to keep her tone even, “please understand.”
“Understand what, sis? That that raping bastard is his father? That damned Lieutenant Scott Cooper destroyed your life? That Jacob was born because an evil man, who raped and murdered countless women, put his seed into you?”
Jess stood in shock, “You...know?”
Chris practically snarled, “How could I not know? Looking at him is like seeing that bastard’s face over and over and over again. It makes me sick, seeing what he did to you, knowing what you went through.”
Her tongue felt heavy, unwieldy, and she couldn’t form the words to explain that Jacob was nothing like Scott Cooper, that he was good, that she loved him more than she had ever loved anything else, more than life itself.
“Chris, you don’t know what it’s like. Jacob is my son. I love him. He’s not like that...that monster. He isn’t.”
Her brother stared at her, his mouth turned down at the edges, “For Christ’ sake, Jess, how could you stand to keep him? After what happened to you? Knowing who his father was...hell, still is for all we know. We never caught him. How can you stand to look at him knowing what Jacob is?”
There was a small sound behind them, a soft scuff of shoes on the worn floorboards, and Chris and Jess turned to see Jacob, his eyes round, full of anguish and betrayal.
Jess gasped in horror; the very thing she had dreaded happening had occurred. She had told no one, not even Sarah Turner. David hadn’t even known who it was, although he had sussed out the overall idea of it all long ago.
“Jacob! Oh baby, no, no, no! Listen to me, I...”
The boy was already backpedaling out the door. “You told me my dad had died. You said he...” overwhelmed by the sheer horror of his origins, he turned and fled, quickly disappearing into the dark night.
Jess screamed after him, “Please Jacob, please wait! I can explain!” She turned back to Chris, her face chalk-white, “How could you, Chris? How could you? He’s my son. It doesn’t matter who his father is. It doesn’t matter, because he’s my son and I love him. That’s all we have ever needed...love...oh, how could you possibly understand?”
And she ran then, shoving past him, running blindly into the night.
Chris took a step to the doorway to follow her, to try and help, as Carrie arrived. She had heard everything. She reached out a hand, firmly grasping his arm. Her face was hard, tight with anger.
“Let them go, Chris, you’ve done enough, don’t you think?”
“Carrie, I...I didn’t mean for him to hear,” he said, taken aback by her fury.
Seeing her face made him realize how his dislike of the boy must look to the others. They couldn’t understand, they didn’t see him like that, they didn’t see Scott Cooper sneering out at him through that face. What Carrie and the others saw was his unreasonable disgust and contempt for his sister’s only biological child, a boy who had done nothing to him. Jacob didn’t deserve this.
Chris watched her go, a sickness rising up inside him. What had he done?
Collision
“Life is a series of collisions with the future; it is not the sum of what we have been, but what we yearn to be.” – Jose Ortega y Gasset
Jacob suddenly remembered being five and hiding from his mom.
“Come and find me!” he had called while huddled under the blankets.
He had heard his mother’s steps on the floor, she stood for a moment by the bed and then reached out and patted him, her voice had a playful lilt as she said, “Ah, there you are, kiddo!”
“How do you always know where to find me?” Jacob had demanded.
Jess had smiled and had hugged him and said, “I just do.” Her smile faltered for a moment, her eyes far away, caught in a dark memory, “I’ll always find you. I’ll always come for you. You can depend on that.”
How many times through the years had she told him that? Not just when he was playing hide and seek, but when he had gotten separated from her at the town picnic a year later, or when he had wandered off in the woods when they had been hunting for morels? She had always found him. And when she did, she would wrap her arms around him, kiss the top of his head, and say the same thing, “I’ll always find you, Jacob, how could I not?”
His head was aching painfully. The man had hit him hard on the head, stunning him, and then dragged him inside of the dark house. Jacob felt tears coursing down his cheeks.
He closed his eyes, repeating silently, over and over, “Please come find me, Mom. Please.”
His father was a rapist. A murderer. Someone his Uncle Chris obviously hated and probably his mom too. He had run away into the night, his eyes burning and his stomach heaving. He had run, without direction, without purpose, everything he had understood about his life turned upside down, even as he heard his mom’s voice in the distance calling his name. He ran, fast, and before too long her calls faded into the distance. How could she have lied to him like that?
Jacob felt as if something dark and unclean had occupied his body. He had asked a handful of times about his dad. Mom had always looked so sad, so haunted, that he had backed off and accepted the short, unsatisfactory answers she ha
d given.
“Your father, he, lots of people died, Jacob. Lots of people died.”
He had figured that she must have loved his father a lot, and that it hurt to talk about him, so he had stopped. But now, to realize that his father probably hadn’t died, wasn’t someone his mom had loved, and worse, was a rapist, seemed overwhelming. His footsteps slowed, his heart pounding in his chest, and he looked around for the first time.
The moon was out, and its bright sliver of light added enough illumination for him to see where he was. Over the rise, the herd of cattle gave off little noise, their nightly routine barely affected by the boy so nearby. To his right, Jacob saw Mr. Banks’s house. A dim light glowed from one window. And Jacob, not knowing who to turn to, approached the house to see if old Mr. Banks was still awake. The old man was like a grandfather to him. Since Chris and Carrie had come, the normal routine of having him for dinner each Sunday had fallen by the wayside.
And if there was anything that could be done about the strange and disturbing situation at hand, Mr. Banks would be the person to know what to do. Jacob crossed the yard, realizing for the first time that he had run off without shoes as his feet encountered a mostly dry cow pie.
When he knocked on front door, there was no response. It wasn’t that late, but Jacob wondered if the old man was all right. He hadn’t been feeling well last month...and Mr. Banks was getting up there in years; what if he had slipped and fallen and was lying on the floor of his bathroom? What if he had suffered a heart attack?
These questions and concerns emboldened Jacob to try the front door. It was locked.
He knocked, called out to the old man, “Mr. Banks? It’s Jacob...I...uh...Mr. Banks, are you all right? Can I come in?”
Jacob missed Mr. Banks. He wasn’t much of a talker, and he would retreat into silence when there were more than a handful of people in the room. Like most of the residents of Belton, he had seen great loss.
In the outbreak of war, he had lost his wife, along with his only son and grandson. His grandson Allen had died before Jacob was born, but since Chris had returned he had heard more details about him, and his death.
Jacob stopped in his tracks. Chris had said that Lieutenant Cooper had killed Allen. And just a few minutes ago he had said his name again.
“That damned Lieutenant Scott Cooper destroyed your life! Jacob was born because an evil man, who raped and murdered countless women, put his seed into you...looking at him is like seeing that bastard’s face over and over again.”
He could hear those words repeating in his head.
Cooper was his father. And he had murdered Mr. Banks’s grandson Allen. Perhaps, upon hearing the news, Mr. Banks wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Jacob faltered, uncertain, fearful. He was about to turn away when he heard a creak on the floorboards inside. Jacob turned back toward the door in time to see it quickly open and a man who was definitely not Mr. Banks step into the doorway. Everything moved too suddenly. Jacob was still trying to puzzle out who this man was when the man’s right hand lashed out and clocked him hard on the side of the head. Jacob slumped to the ground.
Scott Cooper stared at the unconscious boy at his feet and contemplated whether or not he should kill him now. The boy was dark-haired, thin but wiry, and looked to be around twelve or thirteen. He wouldn’t pose a problem to Cooper, and he might actually come in handy.
He looked out into the night filled with dim moonlight. No one else in sight. The kid might have some information. He might know if that family out on Kentucky Road had been found yet. He probably also knew about militia watch schedules. He was old enough to participate, by the looks of him. And it was time that Cooper was moving on.
Cooper reached down and grabbed the boy’s arms and dragged him inside.
The Reckoning
“Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.” – Henry Miller
The roads were empty and Jess couldn’t hear anything but the distant lowing of the town’s cattle. They had been moved to one of the eastern paddocks the day before. Jacob could be anywhere. The night sky was free of clouds, allowing the sliver of moon to light it well. Well enough that Jess didn’t need a lantern to see, although she occasionally stumbled on debris.
Her heart ached in her chest at the memory of her son’s face. He had looked so bereft, so betrayed and horrified. She had never wanted that for him, never wanted him to know the darkness that had helped make him. She had tried so hard to forget.
Jess’s hand strayed to her stomach, to the small bump of the unborn child was already pushing its way out, making itself known. She hadn’t told David yet. In fact, no one knew except for her and Carrie, and she knew her sister-in-law was waiting for her to say something, for her and David to announce the news.
Jess couldn’t help but make comparisons. Her first pregnancy had been filled with such horror, such disgust; she winced at the memory of wanting her unborn child dead. The condition had been forced on her, and she had hated every moment of it, as her body was taken over by another’s, distended, changed, slowed down, and exhausted. She had been frightened, terrified the soldiers would find her again and kill her or, worse, take her back there.
This pregnancy was different, and how often had she reminded herself of that? And yet, the memories she had of being pregnant with Jacob gnawed at her—filling her with guilt and sadness. She felt she was somehow betraying him if she allowed herself to be happy with this child, one created in love and passion instead of fear and pain.
She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind her. She whirled around, “Jacob?”
The gloom resolved into a taller shape, “No, it’s me.” It was David, he reached out and hugged her to him. “I’m so sorry he had to find out like this.” Jess let him hold her for a moment, took a small measure of comfort from his embrace.
“You knew?”
“I didn’t know his name. But I knew something terrible had happened to you. That was obvious.” He kissed the top of her head, “You are one of the bravest people I know. Jacob is lucky to have you and he is a great kid. Chris just needs time to see that.”
“I don’t really want to talk about Chris right now.” She could feel the anger building inside her. How could he judge her? How could he judge Jacob? He hadn’t been there when Jacob was born, when her friend Erin had died, or Madge, or...she knew that David was right, that Chris needed time, but her son had deserved better than to find out like this.
“I know you don’t. Carrie made sure he stayed there at the house and didn’t come after you.” He hugged her, “Come on, let’s find our son.”
“Our son?”
David put his face close to hers, “Yeah...our son.”
David could just barely make out her smile in the dim light of the moon.
“Okay. Jacob first and then, then I need to tell you something.” She looked around at the empty street. To the east were a couple of homes and families to the west was Mr. Banks’s property—Jacob could be at either, and she wasn’t sure who to target first.
“What do you want to tell me?” His arms were still around her and he leaned in to kiss her neck.
“After,” Jess insisted, wiggling away, “you take the Stevens’s and Devonly’s houses to the east. I’ll check in on Mr. Banks.”
“Okay,” Dave said, and released her, his hand lingering on her arm, “I’ll meet you back at the house in half an hour. Just in case he heads back in that direction.”
He turned away and walked toward the two nearest occupied homes. Jess watched him go for a moment before turning and heading tow
ard Mr. Banks’s small home two streets over. She nearly fell twice, thanks to the cracked concrete and various sticks and rubbish strewn over the roadway after the creek flooded last month during a heavy rain.
It wasn’t long before she was knocking on the door of the darkened house. It was probably past ten at night by now. And Jess felt rude for knocking on the door and possibly waking the old man. Mr. Banks had been feeling under the weather, a late summer cold, and she had been so busy with having Chris back in her life that his inclusion in their day-to-day lives had fallen off dramatically in the past few weeks.
There was a muted sound coming from inside. Jess stopped knocking and leaned close to the door, trying to tell if the old man was coming toward the door.
“Mr. Banks?” she called softly, “It’s Jess. I’m sorry to bother you, but has Jacob come by here tonight?”
There was no answer, but there was another sound coming from within the house, a thumping of some kind, a muffled yell.
Jess felt a small panic. Had the old man fallen? Was he hurt and unable to come to the door on his own? She tried the doorknob and knocked louder, calling to him, “Mr. Banks? Are you okay?”
More thumps came from inside and she turned the doorknob in her hand. It was unlocked. She gave the door a shove, and half fell through it when it opened suddenly. The living room was dark. Mr. Banks had to be in his bedroom or the bathroom, and probably hurt if he wasn’t answering. She stepped inside the house, her eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom. She never noticed the tall man step out from behind the open door and reach out for her until it was too late.
The blow he delivered stunned her. She had had a nanosecond to react. A soft creak of the floorboard and a rush of air as he closed the distance between them had been her only warning. She spun through the air, fell to the floor, the air whooshing from her lungs with the abrupt contact with the floor and Cooper on top of her in a tangle of limbs.
A Brave New World: War's End, #2 Page 23