WILLOW #3
Dad walks to the box and turns on the device that Gig made himself.
Gig wanted to create something that could detect explosives that every one of the soldiers could always keep on them during missions.
Sometimes, I forget that he’s a genius—he doesn’t broadcast it, and instead uses it for the needs of the family and Vital.
Dad scans the box, and it doesn’t set off the alarm on the device, but to make sure, he scans it three more times before he motions that it’s safe for us to approach.
When we all gather around the box, Dad grabs the knife from his belt and cuts through the tape at the top.
He looks up at all of us and makes quick eye contact to make sure that we are all ready.
When we all nod, he opens the box and we look in, taking a second to process what we are seeing.
“Shit,” is all that I hear, but I’m not sure who said it, because I’m internally freaking the fuck out. Inside the box, I see what has to be hundreds of pictures of me, all separated in bags, like they were organized by the day they were taken.
Wonderful. I have a stalker with OCD.
Dad reaches in and grabs a few of the smaller, clear bags, and pulls them out.
We look at them through the bags, not wanting to touch the contents inside of them before we can process them to see if we can find prints.
One stack is me talking to the soldiers at Vital, another is of me going to the grocery store, and one looks like the meeting that I had with Jackson at the coffee house.
There are at least twenty other bags remaining in the box.
I reach down to move them to see if there is anything else, and at the bottom of the box, I can see writing.
I pick it up and dump out the contents, ignoring the protests of everyone around me. When it’s empty, I turn the box right side up and start to read the words written on the bottom.
My Wandering Willow:
You have been running from death for far too long.
The question is, should I drag you back to the underworld with me?
Or should we dance around the barren plain together, relishing in the fact that we are death’s true masters?
You are my match, and whatever path I choose, we will be together, as Hell’s scorching flames brush our skin.
I will be in the wings, waiting for you, my love.
“Fuck!” is all I can say when I finish reading the creepiest message that I have ever received. All I wanted was to come home and shower! Now I have to deal with a discount Edgar Allen Poe stalker.
I look up at my family, and I have never seen them look this pissed. We all jump as we hear the notification on my phone from the front gate sensor, looking up together to see John’s Jeep coming up my driveway.
When he pulls up, the two front doors open.
John comes out of the driver’s seat, and unfortunately, Grey hops out of the passenger side.
John must have gone back to Vital since he figured out that Dad and the idiots were here.
Why didn’t he leave Grey’s ass there and come see what was happening with us?
“What are you doing here?” my dad asks John as he makes his way to where we’re standing. Looking at the box and its contents on the ground next to it, he takes a moment to take it in before looking at my dad with an offended look.
“Boy, if you think I still don’t know when something is going on with my family, maybe you’re losing your touch and should be the one retired, not me,” he says in a dark tone that I have only heard a few times in my entire life.
He steps up to me and gives me a hug. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.
We got this,” he says in a reassuring voice as he rubs my back.
He thinks I’m freaking out, when in reality, I am fucking seething! Whoever did this shit will be dying slowly. I’ll talk to John about that after they clear my house so I can finally take a shower.
“Since you all are standing around, not doing shit, I guess I will take the lead. Gig, you check out the security system and then go back to your cave at the base. Tell, Ben, and Grey, I want this entire place checked before we go inside to grab Will’s things so she can stay on base until we figure this out.
Do not make a fuckin’ mess, and take your damned shoes off before hitting the house.
She already has enough going on. Michael, you stay with your daughter.
” I look at the men around me, and out of all of them, Grey is the only one that looks thrown off that John is giving everyone orders.
He doesn’t understand that John is the only one that could get away with taking control of the situation.
He is another father figure to my dad, and that will always make him our grandpa.
“If you boys aren’t going to follow fuckin’ orders, you can leave, and I can get a different team over here in fifteen minutes.
Get your heads out of your asses and fuckin’ move!
” That snaps them out of their fog, and they all start to move to complete their tasks.
John and I shake our heads and both mumble “Idiots,” and even with this fucked up homecoming, we make eye contact, smile, and huff out a laugh.