Kindle Notes & Highlights
I drive down the empty street until I reach a corner. I take a guess and turn left. I drive a few blocks until there is a large bar with a glowing sign in front of it. The parking lot is practically filled with cars, and I wonder how bad a town has to be for so many people to be drinking this early in the morning.
"Be careful. Your father made a lot of enemies. The people in this town … they don't forget, and they definitely don't forgive. They are holding grudges from years ago and won't think twice about taking it out on you." "I can't blame them." I hold my jaw as it throbs slightly. "But I will be careful."
Small-town Hate
"They killed my grandson. Both of those demented fools. Don Carter was in on it too." He spits my father's name like it has a bad taste. I sit up in my seat and follow my inclination to ask more questions.
"How are you so sure? Didn't the police ever look into it?" I ask knowing fully that my father was and is capable of that and so much more. "HA! The police are all on their payroll. They basically told us to get on with our lives and forget about it," he scoffs. "When we pressed the matter, they alleged my grandson was into drugs and they had reason to believe we were too."
Talk about a small town. I don't know whether to be impressed or frustrated at their ability to band together.
I quickly make sense of the situation before I floor it. The sound of bullets and screeching tires fills the air. When my car swerves out of control, I know it's because the tires have been punctured.
My finger slams down on the end call icon before redialing the number. I try to suppress my anxiety as I dial his number again, but it grips my heart. No answer. Is he avoiding me? Or has something happened?
The challenge of returning to a place where I'm hated is daunting, but if I were to lose another child, I don't think I could ever forgive myself.
I open the duffle bag in the passenger's seat. My plan is simple and open to interpretation. I am going to do whatever is necessary to protect my son. I can only hope that I make it out of this alive.
I'm about to bite on the stubs I have for fingernails but decide against it. Creating this new letter is a lot of work. How do you write when you know you could have sent someone to their death? I have my pen poised and ready but can't seem to think of the right thing to write. My mind reels and I can't help but wonder if my last letter will mark the start of his life ending.
"You're lucky I need to wait for my uncle to kill you." He looms over me.
