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Cord, sitting back, arms crossed, shared his meeting with Susan. Wondering what to expect. Imagining the worst. I sit, feeling immobilized, waiting, struggling with the updated reality. The team looking at me, expecting what, some intelligent insight? The silence was painful, hoping someone would fill the void. Surely Frank had something profound to share. Silence was not his companion.
Addison spoke first. “I’m sure it was a lot to take in, and replacing one paradigm with another is a process, especially one deeply embedded in her very soul.”
“Does this story ring true?” Brett asks.
Silence.
“How does it make you feel?” Diana asks.
“Nauseated.”
“Find them!” Frank states.
“And we find them. Then what?” Joshua muses.
“He dies,” Addison states.
“Justice” I ask.
“Retribution.” Addison states. “No man should treat women like objects, and I assure you I will gladly dispose of the predator without a second thought.”
We need to approach the regional governor. Rather, I need to approach Sandra. She is putting the squeeze on this community and I’m the cause. Odd how often we have used the term family and true we are, we are here, drawn together, my source of comfort, but my actual family has become my source of pain.
“I’ll be approaching the governors’ encampment. Meet with Sandra.”
“Why,” Brett asks, “we all know who she is and what she wants, and ultimately the result of any meeting.”
“There are options,” Cord says.
“I’m tired of running,” Joshua adds. “Been doing that for years.”
“Cord, you seem to have made a connection, sparked a flame.” Addison says. “Perhaps you could reach out again?”
“Guess we’re about to find out.” Pointing. We all turn to look. Could it be, frozen in time, not knowing what to expect, to say, to even feel, sat dumbfounded? The world went quiet. Footsteps trudged in the gravel, draw closer. A visitor approaching, Susan? Thirty steps, twenty, ten, stopped at the table’s edge. Diana greets her, “Good morning. You must be Susan?”
Cord stood, removing his hat. “So let me introduce the crew. You have likely heard their names, seen their faces on poorly drawn wanted posters. First, we have Frank chatty, sometimes annoying, next Joshua, quiet yet capable, then Brett, a tracker, Addison, our decisive, independent leader, Diana, our medical staff, and Jesse, who is the camp’s cook. This is Susan. Jesse’s daughter, and I’m Cord, for the moment the teller of tales.…”
“Morning, I’ve heard your names, stories, tall tales, adventures, and exploits, and now can connect names and faces, although Diana, a new name, nice to meet you.” Susan declares.
Looking at me, “I thought Jesse was the leader.”
And there I sat, looking for words, something clever, meaningful to break the silence. “Yes, more like a cook’s assistant.” Serious, how inane, banal, lacking any words, stand and step toward her. Raising her hands and voice, “Stop.” Her eyes cold, her body language distant.
“Please sit here.” Frank, offering his seat leaves to retrieve another.
“I listened to Cord’s version, replayed his story, my sister’s version, Mr. Eldridge, gossip, and struggle to know what truth is. All I know is what I experienced. Never understanding why you stopped looking for us. Diana, whose story would you believe?”
“I… cannot answer that question for you. The answer will have to come from within, you…”
“I’m here today to hear the truth, but more importantly, wanting to believe… the truth, to feel the truth, eliminate all doubt. Convinced beyond a…,” shaking, “grappling with, grasping the impossible. To believe Cord means I need to erase what I have accepted as truth for years.” Susan says.
“Truth cannot be fully conveyed in words alone, rather revealed in actions. It’s more than words,” Addison shared. “You cannot flick your past, your beliefs like a light switch on and off. There is no way anyone can fully understand another’s reality. But I know my past haunts me and the best I can do is look around this table and trust. This is my reality. This is my family… until it’s not.”
“You’re quiet? Wish to add to the narrative,” Brett says.
Avoiding eye contact, “Thoughts of that night are bitter, cutting to the quick. I remember riding home, silver in my pockets, a saddlebag of recently butchered meat, hyper-aware of my surroundings and the dangers that existed at every turn. Pulling up to our room behind the cafe felt as if something was off. The window dark, the door ajar. I tied the reins to a post, and with pace, approached the entrance. Push the door open. Flipped a switch on a solar light that slowly lit the room. No voices. Chairs, table scattered, then a figure spread, partially covered, lying on the bed, motionless. The next moments, but a blur. I called out to a void. Shock ensured. The feelings, even now, are inexpressible. Guilt, anger, who would do this, why? Thinking, I will find the bastard, and they will die. This I promised.”
“Days that followed overlapped, now clouded by time. For the next six months I searched, followed up on every clue, rumor, relived the moment every time I closed my eyes. Finally found my way here to escape, to compartmentalize feelings, never forgetting. And yes, bury my capacity to feel. Until.”
“Emily. A voice, a nobody, a distraction, white noise late at night, peace. Until. Until her husband called her out and I watch as he abused her. My thoughts returned to that night as I stood before my wife, beaten, bruised, my daughters, wondering their fate, and then with no remorse, I killed Earl. That night, my life changed. Now I am what you see on posters. Formed by society, innuendo. Those seated here, bound by circumstance. I consider them friends. Associates seeking justice in a damaged world. This is who I am, truth,” shared Jesse. “But understand, every day I wonder, what if…”
The sun peeked through the clouds as a calming breeze touched the moment. Everyone in their personal space, contemplating. Truth cautiously placed forward, but spoken truth is rarely truthful. Just words offered by the speaker. Someone’s version. Words accepted or rejected by the listener.
“I cannot speak for all but having been a member of this band, I believe, watching Jesse, working with Jesse, he has never forgotten his past, he indeed carries with him a desire to reconcile. It will take time. It will come with good days, filled with moments of doubt. Susan, your life has been tragic, horrendous to say the least, but to my amazement, Cord is correct. The next steps are yours. This, I promise, I will abide by your decision,” concludes Addison.
“Sandra and I vowed that whoever spotted you first would be the one to take your life.”
From under her vest, she pulled a gun, cocked it and aimed. Her middle, ring and pinky fingers wrapped around the grip. Everyone pulls back. Her index finger resting on the trigger. Waiting for her to pull the trigger. I watched, taking a deep breath, hands clutching the table’s edge. Could see down the barrel. Her hand was steady. My heart, pounding. Her index finger engaging ever so slightly.
“I’ve waited for this day. I visualized this moment. And every time, every single time, I pulled the trigger!”
Was this how it would end? Life flashing by, visions of joy, struggles endured, and regret. Would she, could she? Her eye glazed over, sweat trickling down my neck. In the distance, kitchen staff in cleanup mode… I wait.
Lowering the gun declares, “Remember this, I hate you.”
Standing, stepping away, making eye contact with Cord, “Follow me.”
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