Chapter 27: Jackson

The rambling bungalow sat at the end of a long gravel driveway, entirely hidden from the road. A manicured lawn surrounded the large rural property, geraniums hanging from the rustic wooden porch roof, shadowy in the darkness. Brady lit the way with a dim handheld flashlight. Sarah concentrated intently on where she placed her feet in the wan wavering beam, futilely attempting to avoid sharp stone. The pain intensified behind her eyes; her feet complained; butterflies chased one another in her stomach.

The wooden slats of the porch felt rough, but much smoother than gravel, beneath her feet as they climbed to the front door. She allowed herself a soft sigh of relief; neither man noticed. Brady held her hand and illuminated the doorknob as Ivan knelt at the doorsill. Ivan fumbled with the lock with thin serrated tools until Sarah heard an audible click and slide after a deep sigh of satisfaction from the kneeling man. Ivan climbed to his feet grinning.

“Your portal is open,” he announced quietly, turning the unlocked knob with an unnecessary flair. The door creaked open. A neat shadowy foyer appeared. Ivan stepped inside. Brady motioned Sarah in. Her feet passed silently from wooden slats, to a rough welcome mat, to cool tiles. Brady followed, latching the door quietly behind him.

Sarah glanced around. A clean small kitchen expanded immediately beyond the small foyer. A compact carpeted living room sat to their left. The house reminded her of the home where she’d been raised, but subtle differences in both the floor layout and the decor betrayed that this home was a happier one. Or at least it was happier before the three of them had illicitly entered.

Beyond the kitchen and living room, a dim nightlight revealed a hallway extending towards the rear of the bungalow, closed doors obscuring the rest of the home. No interior light appeared under any of the closed doors. Sarah wondered who lived here. She also pondered why her small group might be here, beyond the vagueness of redemption and armageddon. Brady motioned Ivan ahead of them. Ivan pulled the Glock from his waistband and advanced slowly, each foot placed carefully, his movement very military. Sarah could hear his harsh breath as he stepped forward. A floorboard creaked softly as he moved.

As he moved past the first door towards the last door straight ahead, the first door opened suddenly. Surprised, Ivan whirled in the darkness, pistol raised. A large man appeared in the doorway, a bear, little more than a shadow, a hazy object clutched in his hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man asked calmly.

Brady’s hand squeezed Sarah’s fingers so tightly she winced in discomfort. She yelped quietly, both in surprise and in pain. The man stepped out into the hallway raising whatever rested in his right arm, pointing it at Ivan. He either didn’t hear Sarah, or chose to concentrate on the intruder in front of him. Sarah could no longer see Ivan’s shadow with the bear standing between them. She sensed Brady raise his right hand across from her, dull metal glinting.

Ivan’s voice floated down the hallway.

“Easy, man. We just want to talk to her,” he said, remarkably calmly.

“Fucking bastard,” the man spat. “She said you’d come eventually.”

“We just want to talk. Nobody has to get hurt here.”

“The fuck, you say,” the bear murmured.

At that point, any semblance of control or diplomacy evaporated.

The shotgun sounded like thunder in the enclosed space. Before her hearing muted, she heard Ivan grunt and the wet sound of the impact of a large slug colliding with soft flesh. Simultaneously, she heard a slightly quieter discharge, muffled by the bear standing between her and Ivan. The big man stumbled backward. A moment after that, she could no longer hear, but her vision exploded with a flash from Brady’s right. Her head exploded in pain, and for a moment, Sarah wondered if she was hit by crossfire. She pulled her hand from Brady’s clutching fingers, and raised her palms to her ears. The sketchbook dropped with a thud to the carpet. Dimly she was aware that a scream emerged from her throat, but she was unable to hear it. The large man’s head flung forward simultaneously with the flare to her right, and he collapsed in an unmoving heap in the middle of the hallway, his gun spinning across the carpet, its smoking barrel eventually stopping aimed directly at Sarah’s toes.