Just as he’d predicted, long after twenty-four hours had passed, the FBI still didn’t know who the hell Beau was. He resisted the urge to canvass the city and ask questions for himself, though he didn’t know how much longer he’d hold off.
He yawned and decided to try and rest. The house was rather quiet, and he’d worked overtime, the perfect recipe for some decent sleep. Or at least he hoped. Sleep had eluded him as of late. He had strange dreams and occasional nightmares. He stayed up often now, until the wee hours. He’d taken melatonin, which didn’t help at all. Ever since he found out what happened to Chad, his nights were restless, his mind troubled, and his heart crushed beyond repair.
I taught my boy to always do the right thing. He did, and it got him killed…
Outside of Kim and Walt, the only other person he’d shared the new information with was Askuwheteau. He, too, didn’t know who Beau was.
Jack fixed himself a glass of ice water, then made his way up the steps with it. After getting settled in bed, he turned on his old shortwave radio that had belonged to his mother, and heard Stevie Nicks singing her song, ‘Stand Back.’ Fleetwood Mac had been his mother’s favorite group. He tried to not read too much into it but found comfort in the thought all the same. After a while, he lowered the volume of the music, turned off the lights with the remote, and attempted to go to sleep. He went in and out of consciousness, drifting away, only to be jarred awake by his own racing mind.
After sitting up to take a sip of water, he began to get drowsy all over again. He placed the water down and fell asleep.
BANG!
BANG! BANG!
His eyes shot open. He immediately reached for one of his guns that he kept in the nightstand drawer. Diesel was going mad with his barking. Clutching his revolver, he dashed out of bed. He kept the lights off, so his eyes had to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, he opened his bedroom door.
BANG!
Someone was trying to bash the front door in. He quickly descended the steps, his adrenaline rushing, heart pumping, but by the time he got to the door, nobody was there. He hightailed it through the kitchen towards the back, and his eyes bucked in horror. A tall, shadowy figure was racing away towards the wilderness, with Diesel hot on his trail. They disappeared behind a cluster of trees, and he heard a horrible noise. A scream so loud that it rattled him to his core. He opened the back door, and the two were back in sight. He wished to shoot, but Diesel was in the way, so he refused to chance it. In frustration, he gave chase, shooting in the air, the wind catching in his lungs as his bare feet sprinted across the cold grass.
He heard the sound of a roaring engine, then the noise grew fainter and fainter.
“Diesel!” he hollered out several times, until finally, the wolf returned to him—with the menace nowhere in sight. When the wolf drew closer, he realized the animal’s mouth was covered in blood. His heart pounded as he practically tackled the animal, fearful he’d been shot in the throat or face.
“Diesel…” His voice cracked as a sad whimper escaped the dog’s mouth, and his companion dropped to the ground. Jack ran his fingers all over Diesel’s face and neck, trying to find an entry point, but to his relief, there was none.
But then he stretched the animal’s mouth wide open and cursed… Reaching towards the back of the beast’s throat, he pulled out what appeared to be bits of flesh. “Jesus, Diesel.”
The wolf pulled away, licking his chops, swallowing whatever was left.
Standing to his feet, Jack went in the direction the man had escaped, Diesel at his side. They walked and walked, and all he wished was to put a hole in the intruder’s head. Was that too much to ask? He must’ve gone on for at least ten minutes before he spotted pieces of green and black fabric. Perhaps part of a jacket or pants, soaked in blood. He picked up a piece and showed it to Diesel. He sniffed it hard, and licked it.
“Find him!”
Off they went in the night, his legs and feet throbbing from contact with the brush and twigs. He chased after Diesel, hopeful the wolf would find where the bastard had taken off to, but then, the trail went cold.
“Shit! You son of a bitch! Run away, coward!” he hollered into the air before reluctantly turning around and heading back to the house.
The guy must have had a car waiting for him, possibly with a driver, or maybe he’d acted alone. That was the only way to explain Diesel suddenly stopping the chase and coming back. There were tire marks in the clearing where a vehicle had rolled out. Either way, the bastard was hurt pretty damn bad. There was far too much blood loss for him not to be. Diesel got that pound of flesh he’d desired after all, and that was worth a celebration within itself.