Back To Our Beginning (13 page)

“You okay?” Shanie asked Chris. She was shaking, she hadn’t known what she was thinking to challenge such a man; she could’ve easily found herself suspended next to Chris. Cord was definitely not a man to piss off.

“I’m fine,” Chris mumbled and managed to peel away from the wall.

When Shanie returned to the fire Clint was rubbing his thumb over her mother’s cheek. Her head cradled in his arms.

“She needs to be awake. I can’t give her liquids when she’s unconscious or she’ll choke. She needs to be warmed up on the inside.”

He slapped at Tansy’s face, he couldn’t rouse her, he couldn’t get a response and he was starting to feel panicky. He shot Cord a distressed look, seeking his guidance and help as he often had in the past.

Cord realized from Clint’s look he wanted him to take over, freeing his hands from his previous commitment of not interfering or causing trouble.

“Give me the kid,” Cord demanded of Emmy, indicating Michaela.

Distressed, Emmy looked at him like he’d grown another head and cuddled her sister closer.

Cord was running out of patience, he wasn’t used to people, female people especially, disobeying him.

“I said, give me the kid.” Cord reached over and took Michaela by the arms ripping her away from her sister. Michaela immediately offered a large howl of protest, punctuated and echoed by both of her irate sisters.

“Cord,” Clint said with frustration, he could only deal with one problem at a time; he needed Cord’s help. Cord usually ignored children; he’d hardly spared a glance at Bess, except to scowl at her when she cried.

Cord held the child and did nothing to calm her; it seemed to Clint he purposely antagonized her. Michaela shrieked at the top of her lungs, her little struggles in vain. Randy raced to grab Shanie who tried to come to her sister’s defense and wrapped an arm around her waist. Shanie struggled howling every foul expletive she’d ever heard, much to Randy’s amusement. He grabbed a flailing fist before it could connect with his nose as Shanie continued her tirade. Emmy sat with silent tears coursing down her cheeks, her gaze centered on Clint’s face, offering a silent plea for help.

Finally, to Clint’s relief, Tansy began to stir. It appeared to Clint that Cord’s methods, though heartless, were effective. As Tansy began to flail, Cord thrust the howling child at her equally howling sister. Randy released Shanie in time for her to catch Mike. Then laughed at the glaring face of the teenager who took Michaela to Emmy. Emmy handed the girl her rag doll to comfort the child. Emmy wrapped her once more in her arms, her knees drawn up.

Tansy woke disorientated, looking up into Clint’s relieved gaze. Her last thoughts had been of Shane, now he was gone. Realization returned, she found her daughters safe and sound, all looking upon her with worried expressions. Tansy realized her brush with the elements had almost proved fatal; she might have left her children alone to fend for themselves. Her tired body was too malnourished and exhausted to battle such extreme temperatures without caution. She’d need to remember that for the sake of her girls, they would fare little better under the circumstances.

They couldn’t possibly gather their things and leave until the storm passed. It was then she remembered her cast iron pot. The pot they boiled water in, cooked in, she needed to get it back. Tansy tried to rise but sank back down feeling lightheaded. Her eyes tried to focus then rested on Marge not too far from her, sitting or resting in a slouching position. Tansy blinked and wondered at the curious stare Marge returned, she seemed to be looking straight through her.

“Marge?”

At Tansy’s puzzled inquiry Clint looked over at the older woman and couldn’t help remembering he’d wondered at her inactivity during the confrontation involving her son, but dismissed it, he was too busy to ponder.

“Mom?” whispered Chris.

Chris crawled closer; he wondered at his mother’s lack of intervention and was nursing a wounded pride. He’d shot a scathing wounded glance to her silent figure after his confrontation with Cord but to his chagrin she ignored him. As he approached, he noticed Cord moving closer and met with indecision. Concern clashed with fear and won and Chris reached his mother’s side before anyone else.

“Mom?”

Marge’s eyes were wide but Chris received no response. His hand reached out to touch hers but stopped in midair. It was then he noticed a small trickle of blood, the flow now ceased, at her heart. Confused horror came to him as he looked up at Cord then back to his mother. Chris grabbed at his mother’s hand then grabbed her as she fell forward. The wall behind her was covered with her blood. Chris’ mouth opened and closed—a sinking feeling in his belly—he couldn’t be seeing what he was.

“Shhiiit,” Cord drawled. He looked down at Chris incredulous. “Christ kid, you offed your own mother.”

“I didn’t...It was an accident, it wasn’t supposed to...Mom?” Chris stammered, rising and backing away terrified. He was consumed with guilt and stood shaking uncontrollably. His eyes darted left then right. Everywhere he looked it seemed accusing faces plagued him. “No, no, please Mom? Mommy?” he whimpered, his fist rose to press against his mouth stilling his whimpers so he could focus on his thoughts. He was all alone now. He was lost in this terrible hell of a new world. Who would take care of him? What would he do? Where could he go? His fear intensified then boiled over into an irrational terror.

Abruptly Chris stilled and rage replaced the guilt. “It was you!” he screamed at Cord, his face contorted into an agony of hatred and uncontrollable rage.

Chris lunged, arms outstretched, his eyes furious. Cord had been waiting for this, expecting the confrontation. As Chris flew at Cord his feet tangled within the jackets Marge had dropped when shot, setting him off balance. Cord balled a massive fist aiming for the young man’s jaw, wanting to teach him a lesson, at this distance the boy would be tossed onto his ass and would be nursing an ache for a day or so. Instead, Chris propelled forward faster, lower. Cord slammed his knuckles into Chris’ temple at a closer range, before he could pull his punch. Felling him like a stone, snapping his neck to one side, an ominous crack resounded into the stunned silence. Shanie yelled, up instantly. Tansy cried out in panic for her but Clint grabbed at Shanie’s ankle and yanked her down. Clint rolled her over and looked into Shanie’s furious face.

“No,” Clint growled.

Shaking, breathing rapidly with shallow breaths, full of fear and trepidation, Emmy passed Michaela to her mother and crept toward Chris’ prone form. Her wide eyes darting a foreboding look from his still form to Cord’s intimidating stance.

Emmy sought for a pulse on Chris’ neck then switched to his wrist. She lay her head on his chest and tried to calm her pounding heart long enough to hear his. She sat back on her heels. Her trepid eyes traveled up the length of Cord’s muscular body to settle for a brief moment onto his face.

She looked so devastated, Cord found his gaze shifting with uneasy understanding. He was supposed to have hardly hit the boy’s jaw, a tap, not slam his fist into his head. Emmy’s hands came up to cover her face and she sobbed a heart-wrenching cry, slumping over the boy’s prone figure, grasping his body to hers. Her face buried into his jacket muffling her agonized sobs.

“What?” Shanie squealed. She looked at Emmy, her eyes blinking in her confusion, her body heaving with pent up emotion. “What?”

Giving Clint a kick, forcing him to release her, Shanie scrambled forward and reached Chris’ motionless body. She discovered for herself what Emmy determined; her playmate of fifteen years, her best friend and archenemy was dead. A boy she played innocent discoveries with when she was four. A boy she had raced through the woods with, daring him to catch her, wanting him to catch her, at age nine. A boy she kissed at the age of twelve, her first special kiss. A boy who told her at the mature age of seven he was going to marry her and with a wide toothy grin had stuck a plastic ring on her finger from a gum ball machine declaring his eternal love. Gone...stolen in less than a heartbeat. It had taken years to make those priceless memories.

Shanie’s father’s death and her friend’s death collided overwhelming her. She couldn’t take any more loss. Wasn’t it enough everything had been stolen from them: their father, their home, their familiar safe way of living, and now another life? The unfairness masked then covered any thought to her personal safety, she was too enraged. Shanie looked Cord directly in the eyes without fear. Absolute all-encompassing hatred crashed throughout her being, thundering into her soul. She’d been unable to seek vengeance on her father’s killer, Chris’ wouldn’t be so lucky to escape her wrath.

“How could you? How could you!”

Shanie was up and at Cord’s throat, followed by Emmy who sought to defend her sister, whose obvious burning anger displaced any rational thought of fear for her wellbeing.

“No. Cord...please don’t hurt them,” Tansy screamed, putting Michaela to her side and writhing to free herself from Clint’s strong grasp, yanking on his arms, struggling wildly to reach her children.

When Shanie reached Cord, he grabbed her by the arms, spinning her and wrapped one arm around both of hers, pinning her back to his chest. He caught Emmy up similarly into his powerful embrace and lifted both of them into the air, feet flailing, both girls struggling. Shanie continued to scream her hatred of him and what she thought of his vile filth.

“Simmer down little girls or you might get hurt. I can hit real hard,” he warned unnecessarily. His grip tightened on Shanie until her breath caught and her screaming subsided.

She gasped for air then held still, her reasoning returned. Though her heart felt indestructible with anger she was powerless against someone so much larger. A physical confrontation wasn’t the best way to settle her outrage. It was best to bide her time.

Sensing the girl was returning to her senses, Cord loosened his firm grip. Cord dropped them down beside Tansy who was trying to struggle to her feet, trying to take in what was happening. Tansy felt strong arms tighten around her and she knew Clint wouldn’t let go, she was too weak to struggle anymore. With the safe return of her girls Tansy slumped in his embrace. She accepted the drink Clint held to her lips. It was warm and the water was sweet. Tansy soon had Michaela, who had once more crawled onto her lap, begging for a taste. Then Tansy remembered this all started because she needed water for them.

Was she responsible for the tragic chain of events leading to the destruction of two lives? She felt the blood drain from her face, her friend, a good one who had grown closer, was gone; a boy whose diapers she had changed ceased to exist in a moment. Could a man really hit once so powerfully as to kill someone? With a frightening thought she reminded herself Chris had been bigger than her and her girls, if he was felled with only one heated blow....

Cord watched the byplay of emotions on Tansy’s face; he saw it go from bewilderment to guilt, sadness and then fear. He knew eventually it would be acceptance. Cord stood staring at each person individually for a moment, his gaze landed on Shanie; she was inching toward the rifle. Cord was unconcerned, knowing the weapon would need to be reloaded. He leaned down and retrieved a handgun secured in his sock under his pant leg. He opened the barrel, made a point of snapping it into place then used it to motion Shanie away from the weapon. Cord sauntered over and picked up the rifle. Studying it for a moment, he collected his thoughts.

“Fine-looking rifle,” Cord said then cradled it next to his chest.

“It belonged to my husband.”

“Well you can have it back later,” Cord said and thought,
Much later.
Cord gestured to Randy. “Help me take them outside.” He pointed at the bodies.

Still holding the rifle, Cord picked up Chris’ body and threw him over his shoulder. Randy did the same with Marge.

“Don’t go away.” Randy chuckled, as they headed up the basement stairs.

Too afraid to voice any resistance, the two older girls crept closer to their mother, who struggled out of Clint’s hold. She held out her arms and the four of them pressed together. They watched as Clint paced back and forth. The two other men returned shortly and to Tansy’s surprise, her cast iron pot was dropped at her feet. It was still full of snow.

“Now, we mean to take care of you,” Cord began in a reasonable tone.

“Like you took care of Chris?” Shanie spat, her seething eyes flashed up at him with unveiled loathing.

“You need to learn a little respect for your elder, girl,” Cord snarled, narrowing his eyes. He sauntered closer, his approach sinister.

Tansy held her daughters tighter. “Please, she’s just lost her friend; we’ve suffered a great loss. Don’t hurt us more than you already have.”

“I think it’s best you learn who’s in charge,” Cord said assessing Tansy. He directed his words to her knowing if she obeyed so would her children.

“Winter’s here. Hell, honey, you just about died today. If it wasn’t for ole Clint here,” he leaned in conspiratorially and added, “I think he’s got a thing for you—you’d be outside with your friends. Now, honey,” Cord squatted down and looked into Tansy’s eyes. “You wouldn’t want to die and leave these three pretty little girls all alone would you?”

The underlying threat was crystal clear to Tansy, he would kill her and he could do it easily. His cold merciless gaze held hers intensely for a moment.

“Now,” Cord said loudly, moving back making all four jump in panic. “Like I said, we mean to take care of you, and you can take care of us.”

“What does that entail?” Tansy asked. The shock of what had occurred was lessening; her muddled reasoning was clearing as each moment passed. She realized her thoughts needed to center on her and her girls if they were to survive.

“The usual woman things, cooking and cleaning, mending.”

“Sleeping with you,” Tansy ground out coldly.

“Well, since you brought it out into the open,” Cord said. “We’ll be gracious and wait of course, seeing as though you just suffered a tragic loss and all.”

“How magnanimous of you.” Tansy narrowed her eyes. There were a great many other words she would’ve liked to spit at him, in fact she would just like to spit at him. Common sense held her tongue in check. “Do we have a choice?”