Dystopia Chapter 34: Dying On the Inside

…the note, now crumpled, still haunting me. I pulled it out and read, “Mr. Jesse Tucker, I know who you are; I know where you are; I knew your wife; you are a dead man. Sincerely.”

This leaves me wondering, what about my daughters?

Looking up, I realized each team member focused on me, silently, anticipating what was to come next. Opening up was not on my bucket list, but there was an unspoken understanding: if I expected these ‘friends’ consideration, I needed to offer an explanation. Addison’s declaration was true. We are family… of sorts. Still, I knew little of their lives.

Folding the note, I shared, “Jesse Tucker is correct. And from what I can tell, someone is aggressively seeking my demise. I do not know who or why. It had become advertised — there’s a bounty on my head. Probably on all of us. By whom, the regional governor? Someone living in the shadows? Identifying that person is difficult. The problem is, I was no longer interested in knowing or even seeking that person.”

They nodded, settling in.

“Once I was a teacher. Eventually, a faltering institution died: educational restraints, shifting laws and cultural norms, values, finally trust, technology, social decay like a virus, consuming society.”

“Ended up working odd jobs, restaurant jobs, and tutoring for the well to do.”

“Met Stacy and eventually, at twenty-four, married… Another institution that over time dissolved. She was so caring and energetic, at the time managing a cafe in the village below. Two years later, Susan was born; two years after that, Sandra.”

“I left that fateful afternoon to tutor Mr. Eldridge’s three children. Two sons and a daughter. I promised to be home early. When I returned, the sun was setting, the air damp, looking forward to a meal together… family time. I bedded the horse down for the night. Entered our residence, finding it dark. Something was wrong. Perhaps they were already in the cafe. Lit a candle on the table and quickly realized the furnishings were awry, strewn about. Shouted out when I found Stacy’s body lying across the bed, abused… partially disrobed. The girls were gone.”

Pausing, I looked around the table at each member, each mute. Looking away, returned to the story. “Stood there… I know not how long, in shock.”

“I spent over two years searching, following rumors, gossip — nothing. Searched until I finally ended here, at the Well. Memories, imagining the worst, hoping for the best. Alive on the outside, dying on the inside. Accepting the fact — or trying to — that I would never find them.”

My eyes drifted to Diana. I often wonder how her father felt leaving her with me. As the sun sets each night, is she on his mind? Does he regret his choice?

I could see they still had questions they wanted to ask, wanted to comfort me. We all know ‘sorry’ was not enough.

Memories stuffed away for months — years. I heard the words still; it seemed as if someone else was telling this tale. I was just a bystander.

Brett, leaning forward, said, “If you’re willing, I need to know more. Details.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s what I did: find people. I just need a few more details. With Cord’s help, if interested, we might check around, find a lead, information, perhaps find your daughters. Or maybe the attackers or answers.”

I shrugged, feigning indifference?

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