9. Jackson
Jackson
“ W hat the hell?” I groan as I stop mid-push up, sweat dripping from my neck, and stand up to look at my phone on my dresser to see why my music isn’t playing. It’s an incoming call from Indy. What could she want? Rising from the floor, I answer the call.
“Hey, Ind?—”
“Jackson!”
My whole body locks up. Her voice isn’t playful or teasing—it’s full-blown panic. My gut clenches. “What happened? Is Derek?—”
“No. Listen to me—Ozzy. I think she’s having a flashback.”
“Flashback?”
“She has PTSD! Goddamn it, Jackson! You need to find her— now . Check her room. Or outside. I don’t know, just— please , Jackson, go to her.”
I’m already moving. My feet slam against the floor as I push open my door, Indy’s voice still ringing in my ears.
“Flashback?” I mutter again, still trying to piece it together. I’ve heard of PTSD. Pops had issues with it when he came back from the war. But Ozzy? She never mentioned anything.
I’m about to ask her to explain what she’s talking about when I see the front door is wide open. Fuck.
“I’ll find her and call you back,” I snap, cutting the call. My hand grabs the flashlight by instinct. I yank on my boots without socks and I’m out the door into the dark.
The silence outside isn’t calm—it’s wrong . Too still, too heavy. Like the storm left something behind.
“Ozzy!” I yell into the dark while looking for any sign of her. I start to call her name again, but a blood-curdling scream stops me.
“ NO! STOP! ”
The scream rips through the trees like a gunshot, and I’m running before my brain even catches up.
Branches whip at my arms. Mud sucks at my boots.
I don’t care. I won't stop. The flashlight shakes in my grip as I sweep the beam through the trees, my heart hammering in my throat.
I hear rustling and stop to shine my light toward the sound, finally finding her.
Christ.
She’s twisted up in a root, thrashing, feral—like some terrified animal caught in a snare. She’s covered in mud and leaves, soaked to the bone, her hair hanging like a curtain over her face.
“Ozzy . ” I say her name soft, gentle, like approaching a spooked horse. “What are you doing out here?” She stares at me, but she’s not really seeing me. Her pupils are blown wide and her body trembles violently.
“ Get. Back. ” she croaks, one trembling hand raised in warning.
Jesus Christ. She’s terrified of me.
I kneel carefully, keeping my flashlight low. “Tink, it’s me. Jackson. I just want to get you back inside, alright? Just let me?—”
She lashes out, her nails raking across my lip, splitting the skin.
“Fuck!” I hiss out in pain.
“I’ll die a thousand times before I let you take me back there! Shoot me now, Patrick!” she screams, pointing to her forehead. “DO IT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
Patrick? Who the fuck is Patrick?
Ozzy’s not seeing me. She’s gone—locked in some other time, some other place, and I’m the enemy in her head. But fuck me, watching her like this? It’s like being gutted alive.
“Ozzy!” I bark, not in anger—just trying to cut through. “Baby.” My voice is desperate, frantic. “Please, look at me. It’s Jackson. Whatever you're seeing, it’s not real. Breathe with me, sweet girl. Please.”
She’s hyperventilating; her whole body vibrating with fear.
“Come on, Tink. In through your nose… that’s it. Just like me.”
I breathe for her, willing her to follow. One breath. Another.
She starts copying me, her breaths jagged and raw. Tears mix with the mud on her cheeks.
After a few agonizing minutes, she blinks—and this time, she really sees me.
“J-Jackson?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Yeah, Tink,” I wheeze, relief cracking through my chest. “It’s me.”
Her eyes dart around, frantic. “He was here. Jackson, I swear, h-he was chasing me.” There’s so much certainty in her voice it steals my breath. But I know the truth.
“Can I touch you to get your foot untangled?” I ask, and she nods slowly. As soon as her foot is freed, she bolts up and looks around.
“Tink, it’s alright. You and I are the only ones out here.”
“No… I saw the flashlight in my room!” she snaps, eyes wild again. “I thought… I thought he was—” Her voice breaks.
I take a careful step forward, then stop when I notice her shift. “Okay, okay. You think you saw something? I’ll look. I’ll check every fucking acre of this land if it’ll make you feel safe.”
She looks at me with the most shattering expression and I feel a lump forming in my throat.“Y-You will?”
“Yes, Tink, I will always make sure you’re safe. But Ozzy… Indy called me and said you might be having a flashback?” Her eyes flinch at the words like it physically hurts.
“Tink,” I whisper, helpless. “You don’t have to explain anything alright? Just…” Fuck, I feel so useless right now. “Please, tell me how to help?”
She looks from my face to my hands. She’s battling something deep within herself, and just as I’m about to ask her what’s happening, she startles me by holding out her dirty, shaking hands.“C-Can you hold my hand?”
Fuck. My throat tightens and I feel as though my heart is in a vise.
I extend my hand, palm up, letting her be in control. “Of course, baby, always.” Her fingers brush mine, and when her whole hand lands in mine, I swear I forget how to breathe. Her hand is small. Trembling. Soft in a way that makes me feel like I shouldn’t even be allowed to touch her.
“I don’t…” She swallows, voice shaking. “I can’t stay in that room anymore Jackson.”
I don’t ask why. I don’t need to.
I nod once. “Then you won’t. We’ll set you up in another room. Let’s get you warm and cleaned up first, and then we’ll move you to the main floor. Sound good?” She gives me a weak nod as she holds my hand like it’s a lifeline while we walk from the tree line, back into the pasture.
“Do you want me to carry you?” I ask softly, remembering her bare, battered feet.
“No,” she says quickly and squeezes my hand. “This is the most I’ve…no, thank you.”
I don’t press her. I simply slip my boots off and set them in front of her.“Humor me then, let me play Superman a little longer.” I joke softly.
She gives me the weakest, most tragic laugh.
“Thank you.”
Nothing.
There ain’t a goddamn thing out here. I shine the flashlight into every dark corner of the property, shotgun slung over my shoulder while Rocky and Bear continue to help me scan the area.
My boots are soaked, my hands are frozen, and I haven’t slept.
But I need to be one hundred percent sure before I go back inside.
I promised her. The way she looked at me before…
like she thought I was whoever that man was, and she was ready to die…
I’ll see that look in my nightmares for the rest of my life.
“Hey, son,” Mama greets while handing me a plate as I slowly heave my tired body into the kitchen.
“Morning, Mama,” I mutter, voice scratchy and weary. I take the sandwich with a grateful nod and sink into the chair like every muscle in me has given up.
“You find what you were looking for?”
“No, Mama.” I sigh. “Ain’t nothing out there to find,” I say around a bite of the roast beef sandwich.
She nods before glancing up at the stairs.“She’s been with your father all morning. She’s having a rough start today. The poor thing dropped a glass and started crying. I tried to tell her it wasn’t a big deal, but she was inconsolable.”
That ache behind my ribs pulses again. A quiet pain I try to rub away as my mother walks outside to tend to the chickens. After I’m sure she’s gone, I jump up from my chair, despite my body’s protest and run up the stairs.
I don't even mean to eavesdrop. I tell myself I’m just checking in—but I can see the door is cracked open slightly, and I hear Ozzy let out a laugh, though it sounds tired.
“Morris, you better stop flirting with me,” Her voice is lighter, like she’s forcing brightness into it. “You know how the people around here like to gossip.”
I press my back against the wall by the door as I hear my father’s weak laugh.
“Girlie, I wouldn’t flirt with you even if it’d cure my cancer.
Ain’t falling into your web.” He sounds different.
I hear his sarcastic tone, but he sounds weak; like talking is a chore for him.
Like breathing itself is becoming too much of a task.
I slide down the wall, sitting on the floor as I listen to them talk.
“How are you feeling?” Ozzy asks, and Pops lets out a dry chuckle.
“Like I’m dying,”
“Shut up, asshole.” She sighs, and I hear the clicking of her shoes hitting the hardwood.
“You know I meant with meds. I wanna make sure I only gotta do this once.” Pops laughs, and I’m disturbed by their shared morbid humor.
Though, it’s kind of endearing. They’re very similar in personalities.
Pops has never taken to anyone outside of us, and even then, things were different.
He’s a great father, and I’ve never doubted that he loves me or any of us, but I know that he and I could never sit in the same room and bust each other’s balls for hours like they are.
“You gonna tell me why you’re limping?” Pops’ question grabs my attention. I hear Ozzy sigh as she sits back down.
“Hurt it doing all this work for you. Think I could claim a workplace injury?”
“Ah, deflection, my favorite,” he muses, and I can almost see Ozzy’s pretty brown eyes rolling. I have to roll my own eyes at that thought. You just had to add pretty in there, didn’t you, Rowe?
But it’s true—she is pretty. At first, it was a physical attraction, and I mean…fuck, it still is. The woman is traffic-stopping, but now? Ater the storm, the truck ride, last night, and listening to her bicker and laugh with my father in a way no one ever could?
Fuck…she’s beautiful.
“I had a flashback last night,” I hear her confess. “Jackson found me in the woods. My ankle got messed up.”
“That bad?” Pops’ voice is soft and sincere.
I hear her shaking intake of air, like she’s steadying herself to answer. “I swear he was there, Morris,” she whispers desperately. “I-I know he wasn’t, he couldn’t be. But I… I could feel him, smell him. I was wrong, and then Jackson was there, and, god, I was… am so embarrassed.”
I want to walk in and tell her not to be embarrassed, but I can’t. If Ozzy knew I was eavesdropping on their conversation, I would never hear the end of it.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Pops says firmly. “You can’t control it. Now what you should be embarrassed about is having your ugly ass bare feet up here on my bed.”
I crack a grin at his comment and Ozzy’s loud laugh that follows.“You know, old man, there are people out there that would pay me mad dollars for pictures of these bad boys, and here I am, bestowing them upon you free of charge. You should be grateful.”
“And you could use an odor eater, but I don’t think either is happening anytime soon.”
I can’t sit here anymore. If I do, they’re gonna hear me laughing. Standing up, I cover my mouth until I’m down the hall and in my room. I let out a breathy chuckle while removing my dirty clothes and tossing them into the hamper.
My mind is still on Ozzy as I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
Not that it’s out of the ordinary; it seems like my mind often steers right back to her.
Or some part of her. This time is different, though.
I’m not thinking about her body. I’m thinking about her laugh, how fresh and bright it sounds.
My gut twists as I think about how sure she was. How real it seemed to have felt to her. I want to talk to her, tell her she doesn’t need to be ashamed. That she’s not alone. But I can’t, because I know if I try, she’ll shut down.
I’m a coward, because I’m terrified talking to her will lead her to shut me out. And I’ve never wanted to be someone’s safe place so bad in my whole damn life.