I pull my eyes away from the window and dart across the lawn to catch up with the guys. More yells come from a couple of houses down, followed quickly by a gun shot. A man in dark fatigues stands on the porch with a gun pointed inside the house. A couple more men stand to his side with their own weapons drawn.
“Don’t move!” one of them yells before running inside.
All of us dart behind the trunk of a big oak and wait.
“I wonder if that was Mr. or Mrs. Sanders,” JW comments.
“Doesn’t matter. Either would be fine with me. Or better yet, both of them,” Judge mutters as he peeks around the tree. He keeps his hand raised, warding us off from moving. A moment later, he says, “It’s clear.”
We stay close to the back of the houses, stopping at the edge of each property to make sure no one is around. Red and blue lights flash in front of several houses. Luckily, when we make it to The Hill, it’s dark. A grey van sits behind the building facing away from us. At first it looks like no one is inside, but when we’re only a few feet away, a head pops up, and the sliding door opens just as we come to a stop.
“Get in, get in.” Mae hurriedly waves at us.
Once we’re situated inside the van, she slides the door closed, but not all the way. My guess is so it doesn’t make any noise and draw attention to us. We slowly creep along behind the building as Mae climbs to the front passenger seat. We come to a stop where we turn right back into town or left to leave town. Dale turns in his seat.
“Everybody okay?”
We all nod, our hearts racing with adrenaline. Dale keeps the lights off as he turns left.
“Where are we going?” Judge, always the level-headed one, asks Dale.
“Mae’s got a place up in Kentucky her great-aunt left her when she died.”
I turn in my seat and look out the back window. I can’t see the town anymore, but the many flashing red and blue lights still brighten up the sky.
Ten minutes later, Dale flips on the headlights. Another twenty minutes pass before we all start to breathe easily. The farther away we get from Sweet Haven, the bigger my hope gets that we’ve finally escaped our prison.
We may not know much about where we’re going or what’s going to happen, but anything is better than the hell we just escaped from.
TROUBLE
TWENTY-THREE YEARS LATER
I STAND IN FRONT OF THE window in my office, my arms tightly crossed over my chest, body tense, and my jaw cramping from grinding my teeth together. I watch as Sheriff Ward tugs Gary Watters out of the back of the cruiser. Seeing the wince on Watters face when the Sheriff wrenches his cuffed hands up his back a little higher than necessary does nothing for the violent rage forming in the pit of my stomach. I force myself to stay in place when I want nothing more than to storm across the street and end the sick bastard’s sorry life. It’s nothing less than what he deserves and more than what he would receive under normal circumstances.
It’s ironic, because in my line of work I save lives, but the man I see being marched up the steps to the Sheriff’s office is one who has no business walking this earth. He’s lower than dirt and needs to be put down.
Two days ago, ten-year-old Brittney Watters was in school when her teacher noticed her walking funny. When she pulled her aside to ask if her she was okay, the little girl became terrified. It took the guidance counselor, the principal, and her teacher forty minutes to calm her down enough to get the truth out of her. Gary Watters had raped his ten-year-old daughter the night before.
Once that dam broke, a whole flood of information came from Brittney. That night wasn’t the first time he had violated her little body. It was just one of the more brutal ones that she wasn’t able to hide. Brittney informed them that she thought it was normal for her daddy to touch her, that he had done it ever since she could remember, and that he told her it was how daddies showed their little girls that they loved them. He also told her that she couldn’t tell anyone because other girls might get jealous and try to steal him away from her and her little brother. Her brother, Jacob, was four-years-old, and yes, the sick fuck touched him too.
The Sheriff was called in immediately, and it was him who brought Brittney to my office to be examined. Malus, Texas is a small town with the biggest nearby city over sixty miles away. I’m the only physician around for just as many miles. Since the situation was delicate, and not wanting to terrify her even more so by a man examining her, I had my nurse practitioner, Susan, do it. Susan’s very soft-spoken with kids, so she was able to make the little girl comfortable enough to look her over and assess the extent of damage done to her.
The report sits on my desk, and every time my eyes light on it, I want to destroy something—namely the man who hurt her.
We do things differently in Malus. If this had happened anywhere else, the Texas State Police would have been brought in and they would have taken Watters into custody. Brittney and her brother would have also been taken by the State until another family member could be notified to care for them. If none came forward, they would be put in foster care.
In Malus, we take care of our own business, and fuck any outsiders. That’s why the crime rate here is damn near non-existent.
There’s a knock on my door and Susan peeks her head in, “Mrs. Tanner is here for her two o’clock.”
Without turning from the window, I inform her, “Put her in room two. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Already done. She should be ready for you in a moment.”
I grunt, then hear the door close as Susan leaves. I keep my eyes facing the window. Even though I can no longer see Watters, I still stare daggers at the small building across the street. Like I can kill him by simply looking through the brick structure. If only it were that simple. Actually, no. That’s too easy. The man deserves to suffer.
I turn away and walk over to my desk just as my cell phone rings. Taking a seat, I swipe my finger across the screen to accept the call, making sure to avoid looking at Brittney’s file.