CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Florence stared at her weak pathetic husband and the equally weak and pathetic man beside him. They’d returned without Jeremiah and with no explanation.
“He couldn’t have run off far,” she frowned.
“There were footprints,” said George. “We think the fire service was out there to investigate the houses being on fire. They must have let him go.”
“You think? Thinking isn’t good enough, George!” she yelled.
The other adults were standing around, all nervously moving from one foot to the other, not daring to look the woman in the face.
“Well, too fucking bad, Florence ,” he sneered. “We tried and he was gone. Had we stayed any longer someone might have returned for us. For all we know he could be dead. Next time, move your fat ass and go get your wayward sons.”
Her face flamed red and Mike took a step backward as her fists clenched beside her wide body. She smelled of smoke, gasoline, and abundant body odor. It was plain she hadn’t showered in the two days since their return.
“Careful, George. You might find yourself without a home soon,” she said with an evil grin.
“Fuck you, Florence. I’ll tell everyone right now.
We’re leaving. We’ll be packing our things tomorrow and leaving and so help me God, if you come near my home, I will shoot you between those beady eyes of yours because getting through all that lard around your middle would be a chore for any gun. ”
George turned and walked away, his wife still standing there.
“Are you coming, Maggie?” She just stared at him, then turned to stare at Florence and Mike. She looked at the others, mostly the wives and then turned back to George.
“No. This is my home.”
“Fair. I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight and get my things in the morning. As you can tell,” he smiled, “I’m real broke up about this.”
George walked away from them all, half expecting someone to shoot him in the back. Florence would be the most likely, or she would order her cowardly husband to do it.
Either way, he was done and he wasn’t going to return. When daylight came, he’d back his belongings and leave the way he’d come in, driving his own vehicle.
He heard the door open and close about an hour later. He waited, listening for the sounds of more than one set of footsteps but there was only one and they were light.
There was a shadow at the door and he sat up in the spare bed.
“What do you want, Maggie?”
“You shouldn’t have angered her,” she said. “She’s not going to let you leave in the morning.”
“Then I guess I’ll leave tonight,” he said standing up.
“What happened, George? This was our dream. What we came here for. We’re making more money than imaginable and we have more land than we ever thought possible. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” he asked staring at her. “We are taking orders from an overweight, narcissistic woman who gets joy in harming her sons. Beating them until they can barely breathe. She takes delight in knowing that animals and humans alike are being hunted for profit.
“This is not what I signed up for. We were going to do hunts, yes. But not humans and not endangered species.”
“When did you develop a conscience?” she sneered. “You agreed to all of this, George. We agreed when we sold our business. We agreed when we took Saylor in.”
“We didn’t take her in! We stole her. We kidnapped that little girl from her mother. A single mother with nothing else! We took her and then Mike raped her mother and beat her, leaving her for more hunters. She is not our daughter!”
His wife stood there staring at him. Her face was unrecognizable to him. She’d changed over the years becoming closer with some of the wives, the wives that were closest to Florence. He didn’t trust her and he didn’t want her anywhere near him.
“I’m leaving. Tonight. Don’t try to stop me,” he said.
“I won’t. I’ll be happy that you’re gone.”
She turned and went downstairs, listening as he went to their bedroom, gathering his things. When he got to the bottom step, she noticed he carried a shotgun and had two other gun cases. No doubt, he had handguns in his bag.
“You’ll die here, Maggie.”
She watched him leave, tossing his things in the back of the pick-up truck. When he slammed the door to the truck, she stared at him.
“So will you.”
George knew the moment he hit the ignition that his life was over. The poof of air, and the hiss of something lighting told him he’d been set up. Mike. Mike and Maggie had done this.
In the milliseconds it took for his life to be gone, he’d pieced it all together. At least now he’d be away from them. Whether it was heaven or hell didn’t matter to him. He’d lived in hell. He’d do it again if it meant being away from them.