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Just another day, another muggy morning, like yesterday, and the day before. A slight breeze waifs from the stable, carrying an unpleasant scent. Looking around the table, feeling agitated, wondering where…Addison was. Pause, taking a deep breath, realizing too late that was a mistake. Choking on the stench. My eyes water. The first mistake of the day.
I need to focus. Today may be my last, or a brand-new beginning or, most likely, the status quo. Met at the table, everyone except Addison. “Anyone seen Addison this morning?” Shoulder shrugs all around. We engaged in a casual conversation to pass the time, consciously avoiding the obvious issue. Standing, “it’s time.”
A long time since I last stood in the same space with my daughters. Their innocence taken away from them years ago, now adults, angry. Stories constructed around lies. Will Sandra be receptive? Will they trust? Forgive. Can you actually change a deeply held belief and replace it with another?
Goodbyes are expressed… time to go. What do I say? Later, goodbye, hasta la vista? Appreciate all you have done, your friendship, support. I’m sure this will work out! In my head I sounded brave, but the truth be know… funny there’s that word again truth, for now feel panicky.
“You sure this is how you want to handle this… we can still go,” Brett said?
Ignored the comment. I know they will all be there. Incognito. Like most days, I woke up this morning feeling stiff, groaning slightly, with a nagging backache. Now dragging myself to the stable, eyes down, having wished all a good day. Cord tagging along. Our rides are ready. “Let’s do this.”
Trigger snorts, shakes her head, pulls back. Could this be an omen? Once in town, Cord and I find our way into the building as directed, avoiding detection. Crawled through an unsecured vent. Locate a closet space next to the dining area. Sat in the corner, in the dark, hidden and wait, listen to muffled kitchen noises, inhale, exhale, relax. Trust a paid worker to knock once Sandra and Susan are seated. My head pounding, adrenaline flowing, breathing feels constricted in this confined space.
Time to go, we stand, open the door met by a ray of light, every increasing as the door widens, and then quietly we enter the main dining room, dim as usual, in the haze I see Sandra, I assume, it’s been years. Plumped up, looking tired and angry. Her body language is tense. The back of Susan, her voice tense, we approach, walking a path, trying to keep Susan out of the line of fire. Halfway across the room, her bodyguard appears from a darkened corner. A hired gun spots us, stands tall, adjusting his rifle. The motion alerts Sandra, surprised, hesitates, jumps up, overturning her chair. Susan yells, STOP. again STOP. There was not supposed to be a bodyguard in the room. Was this a part of trap? We freeze, both without a weapon.
Sandra yells, “You bitch!”
Susan again louder, “STOP
Sandra reaches for her weapon.
“Kill him,” Sandra, pointing, commands!
The hired gun aims. At that moment, his head snaps back. A single shot echoes from the kitchen, another bodyguard stumbles in the front door, his knees buckle, and he drops, two shots echo outside. Sandra, hand on her weapon, frozen, mortified, looks at Susan in disbelief. Then at Addison, quickly realizing her predicament precarious.
“STOP, STOP, STOP,” as Susan falls back into her chair. Slams her hands on the table. One final STOP!
Several are now dead. The smell of gunpowder fills the air.
Addison approaches, cocked pistol steady, aimed, at my side now, declared to all, “A boatload of truth does not guarantee trust, …and trust is an elusive critter. Your weapon, Sandra, on the table. Please, sit, and listen.” Looking at Susan, “You have ten minutes to tell your story. At the end there will be seven horses waiting, one each, with supplies. We’ll be heading north to find Max, his ranch, cruel men, broken women, like you both filled with pain, memories, hatred needing release, for some revenge.”
“You screwed everything up,” Susan yells.
“Plan B, nine minutes,” announces Addison.
This is all unexpected, ticked I am but, knowing me, would have done the same thing.
Addison announces, “He was clueless, along for the ride. Sandra, keep both hands on the table and listen.”
“Eight minutes,” Addison restates.
Susan swiftly narrates the tale, as if she had practiced the retelling repeatedly, until she reaches the end.
Times-up. Addison clearly in charge, “We’re leaving, Sandra, stay or go, your choice, but don’t be a hero, Susan, likewise, stay or go, Jesse stay or go, FYI, I’m leaving, the teams leaving, one final thought, better friends nearby than a estranged family, physically or emotionally. So, choose.”
Immovable, as if I had forgotten how to walk. My life flashes before my minds-eye, a nightmare. I feel incapable of rational thought. One plus one no longer equals two. Nothing makes sense, unable to discern between right and wrong, truth and trust, families, kinsfolk and tribalism, love and infatuation. I feel as if I’ve stood here for an eternity. Everyone slowly vacating the dining room. Clouds pass over the building; the room darkens as candles flicker.
“Sandra?” I asked.
“I will hunt you all down, even if it takes forever.”
“Susan?”
“She is my sister. Kin, family. You have Kith, friends, connections.”
Addison inquires, “Susan?”
Exiting the building. Sandra, seething, and Susan crushed, both fettered to their seats. We entered an empty street without comment, mount and galloped away. For now, I just follow the crowd, head down. Mind a buzz, realizing this was a waste. Two dead, Sandra and Susan hating me, hating each other. Nothing changed. Still a wanted man, a member of a rogue band. Then a final gunshot. Brett never misses.
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