Chapter 2 - The Texas Executioner
The back door creaked open.
The heat hit me like a physical blow.
It was 102 degrees in the shade.
The Texas sun was a relentless, blinding eye in the sky.
Garrick was standing by the shed, leaning on the handle of the old push-mower.
Miriam was sitting on the porch, a tall glass of iced tea in her hand.
She wore a wide-brimmed hat.
She looked like a queen surveying her kingdom.
"About time," Garrick spat.
He didn't look at my surgical drains.
He didn't look at the way I was hunched over to protect my incisions.
"The grass is six inches high," he said.
"It’s a disgrace to the neighborhood."
"Garrick, please," I whispered. "I can't breathe out here."
"The doctor said no physical activity for six weeks."
Miriam clinked the ice in her glass.
"Doctors worship science, Elena. We worship the Lord."
"And the Lord says the idle mind is the devil’s workshop."
"Start the mower."
I looked at the pull-cord.
It required a violent, jerking motion of the chest muscles.
My muscles had been sliced open fourteen days ago.
If I pulled that cord, I would tear my stitches.
I would bleed out in the dirt.
"Do it," Garrick ordered.
He stepped closer, his shadow looming over me.
"Or so help me, I’ll call the church elders and tell them you’re a closeted addict."
"I’ll have you cast out."
"You’ll have nothing."
I looked toward the street.
A black SUV with tinted windows was idling at the end of the block.
It wasn't Julian. He was too far away.
But it was someone.
One of his men.
Watching.
Recording.
I reached for the cord.
I closed my eyes and prayed for the pain to be a wall I could climb.
I pulled.
Agony exploded in my chest.
It felt like a hot iron was being pressed into my ribs.
The mower sputtered and died.
"Again!" Miriam shouted from the porch.
"Harder!"
I pulled again.
I felt something warm and wet spread across my white t-shirt.
Blood.
My incisions were opening.
I fell to my knees in the dry, yellow grass.
Garrick didn't move to help me.
He reached down and grabbed my arm, jerking me upward.
"Don't you be dramatic," he hissed.
"Get up!"
Suddenly, the idling SUV at the end of the block roared.
The tires screeched as it tore toward the house.
It didn't stop at the curb.
It jumped the sidewalk and plowed through Miriam’s prized rose bushes.
It slammed to a halt inches from where Garrick stood.
The doors flew open.
Two men in black tactical gear stepped out.
They didn't say a word.
One held a camera.
The other held a medical kit.
Garrick backed away, his face turning the color of ash.
"Who are you?" he stammered.
"Private property! Get off my lawn!"
The man with the camera ignored him.
He zoomed in on my bloody shirt.
The man with the medical kit knelt beside me.
"Mrs. Harrington," he said softly.
"Your brother sends his regards."
"He’s ten minutes out."
I looked at Miriam.
She had dropped her iced tea.
The glass shattered on the porch steps.
The tea looked like a stain of amber on the wood.
"What is this?" she shrieked.
"Garrick! Call the police!"
The man with the medical kit looked up at her.
He smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
"We are the police, lady," he said.
"And the feds."
"And the nightmare you’ve been dreaming about."
I felt the darkness tugging at the corners of my vision.
The heat was too much.
The pain was too much.
But then, I heard a sound in the sky.
The rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of a helicopter.
A black chopper marked with a silver wolf logo appeared over the trees.
It descended onto the empty lot next door.
The wind from the blades whipped the grass into a frenzy.
The dust swirled around us.
And out of the dust stepped Julian.
He looked like a god of war.
He was wearing a suit that cost more than Garrick’s house.
He was holding a crowbar in one hand.
He didn't look at the men.
He didn't look at the house.
He looked at me.
And when he saw the blood on my shirt, his face went perfectly still.
That was the scariest thing of all.
May you like
Because when Julian goes still, people die.
***
