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…the note now crumpled is 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 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 need to offer an explanation. Addison’s declaration was true. We are family… of sorts. Still, I knew little of their lives.
Reviewing the note read aloud, “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 is 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, I was not interested in knowing or even seeking that person.”
They nod, settling in, waiting.
“Professionally, I was a teacher. Unfortunately, faltering institutions died, education, laws and cultural norms, values, 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, energetic, at the time working/managing a cafe in the village below. Two years later, our first daughter, Susan, then two more years Sandra, was born.”
“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. 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 realize furnishings were awry, strewn about. Shouted out when I realize Stacy’s body lying across the bed, abused… partially disrobed. The girls gone.”
Pausing, I looked 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, imaging the worst, hoping for the best. Alive on the outside, dying on the inside. Accepting the fact I would never find them.”
I could see they still had questions they wanted to ask, wanted to comfort me. We all know ‘sorry’ was not enough.
Shared memories stuffed within for months, …years. I heard the words still; it seemed as if another was telling this tale. I was just a bystander.
Brett, leaning forward, says, “If you’re willing, I need to know more. Details, I have questions.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s my thing, finding 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.”
I shrugged, interested… indifference?
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