PROLOGUE

 

 

 

Lance at 11

 

“Game over, Rogers. Ready to fold?” Slade Lambert chomped on his cigar, leering at the younger man who sat across from him at the heavy oak table.

“No, I’m no quitter.” Sweat pouring from his brow, Deke Rogers studied the bicycle cards clutched in his fist. Three aces. Surely, this was a winning hand. He lifted his eyes to Marcelle, hovering behind her husband, a look of calculating revenge shining in her eyes. Deke could remember a different expression on her face not too long ago, one of seduction when she’d propositioned him in his barn, with Audrey not fifty feet away. “Can you spot me, Hank?” he asked his old friend, the overweight owner of Griffith’s Feed and Seed.

Hank placed his cards on the table. “Nope, sorry, Deke. I’m drained dry.” He picked up his meager winnings and pushed his chair back, the legs scraping on the hardwood floor in protest. “This game is too rich for my blood. I’m just a working man.”

“What’s it going to be, Deke? No one left but you and me.” Slade leaned forward and surveyed the short stack of chips in front of his opponent. “I don’t think you have enough left there to stay in the game.”

“Wait!” Deke cut his eyes toward his son. Lance sat on an upended keg, drained of its contents several hours before. If he folded now, his family wouldn’t eat next week. He’d have to sell off some cattle just to make the note on his tractor. A helpless feeling of despair made breathing difficult. How could he let his family down?

“Dad?” Lance’s voice was nervous, uncertain. He’d seen his father play Texas Holdem many times. They even played together, Deke teaching his son all the tricks of his gambling trade. None of those times felt like this one, he didn’t like the fear he could see in his father’s face.

“You shouldn’t be here, Lance. Why don’t you go to the house?”

“I can’t. Mama sent me to bring you home. I can’t go without you.”

“Yea, Deke, you should fold. Cut your losses and be glad you’re leaving with your shirt still on your back.” Marcelle baited him with derision in her voice.

Instead of giving in, Deke seemed to rally. “Got a piece of paper?”

“What are you up to, Deke?” Slade Lambert asked, motioning for his wife to fetch a paper and pen.

Lance’s father didn’t answer. He could see the killer instinct in the Lambert’s eyes. Even though he’d known them well for some time, he was under no illusion they were anything but ruthless, blood-sucking predators. For a while, they were partners and best friends. Slade was his mentor, someone to advise Deke on the best way of doing things, the best bulls to buy, the proper grass to plant. All the guidance and goodwill ended the day Slade learned his pretty, young wife had set her sights on his young neighbor. Friendship morphed to malice. Instead of blaming Marcelle, Slade laid all the fault at Deke’s feet, claiming he’d tried to seduce her.

Marcelle brought the paper and pen, laying them next to Deke. “Here, whatever you write, be sure to sign your name in blood. I want to see you bleed.”

Scorned and humiliated by his rejection, she wanted nothing more than to see Deke Rogers destroyed.

Deke scribbled on the paper and pushed it toward Slade Lambert. “Here. I’m in. Hit me with one card.”

Slade picked up the sheet and read it. With a smile, he passed it to Marcelle. “You’re putting your ranch on the line?”

“Dad!” Lance couldn’t believe his ears. “Not Shenandoah!”

“Don’t worry, Son.” He had this, he had to have this.

The dealer pushed one card toward Deke, who picked it up and slid it into his hand next to the others. Even Lance could read his body language. His father was visibly relieved.

Lance held his breath, watching the scene play out before his eyes.

With a stoic face, Deke Rogers spread out his cards. Four aces shown like jewels. Lance’s eyes grew wide with amazement.

“Four aces, impressive,” Slade murmured.

Deke leaned forward to rake in his winnings, including the paper with the IOU.

“Not so fast. I haven’t shown my hand yet, Rogers.”

Deke’s hands froze in mid-air.

“I’m going to need you to move immediately, Deke. I have plans for your little ranch.”

Lance’s heart thudded in his chest as he stood to see the hand that Slade Lambert laid out for all to see. “A royal flush?”

Deke Rogers hung his head.

All was lost.

 

* * *

“Where are we going, Mama?”

“To the Lambert’s home, Lance. I have to try and do something to save us.”

Lance was afraid. His mother’s hands were shaking on the wheel of their old Chevrolet Camry. “Where’s Dad?” The windshield wipers beat a steady, fruitless rhythm against the pouring rain.

Audrey Rogers shook her head, lips thin with worry. “I don’t know. He didn’t come home last night.” He’d walked out of the house the morning after the card game, leaving his wife and son to deal with the bank and Lambert’s lawyers alone.

“What’s going to happen to us?”

His mother sniffed, giving him a wan smile. “It’ll be all right, Lance. These people will listen. They’re human beings like we are. What would they need Shenandoah for?” She pointed out her window to the opulent gate leading to the North-Star ranch. “They’re rich as sin.”

“I don’t know.” Lance shrugged, chafing his palms on the knees of his jeans. At eleven, there were many things Lance did not understand. Greed was one of them. Hate was another.

A few minutes later, he began to get the picture. As he watched his mother cry and beg on her knees in front of the proud and haughty Marcelle Lambert, Lance felt his heart burn with white-hot rage. How could this woman be so heartless?

“Please, please, don’t do this, Mrs. Lambert. We have nowhere to go. Shenandoah is all we have.”

“Your husband should’ve thought about that before he wagered the deed. This was his choice, his decision. A bet is a bet and we will collect what we’re owed.” She raised her arm and pointed toward the door. “Now, get your poor white trash ass out of my house and take your sniveling brat with you.”

Lance ran at the woman, his small fists raised, his breath coming in harsh pants. “I hate you! I hate you! You’re a cruel woman to be so mean to my mama!”

Marcelle backed up behind the ornate mahogany desk, while Audrey ran to gather her screaming child into her arms. “It’s okay, Lance, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. It would never be okay again.

Two days later, Lance’s father was dead. He was killed in a car crash, a head-on collision with the concrete embankment underneath the overpass on Route 4.

Some said it was on purpose. Some said Deke couldn’t face what he’d done.

At the funeral, Lance stood over his father’s grave with his mother by his side, vowing that the Lambert’s would pay for what they did to him and his family.

Someday.

Payday, someday.

 

 

Tricia at 11

 

“Why doesn’t Daddy live with us, Mommy?” Tricia asked as she played with a jigsaw puzzle at the kitchen table.

“He couldn’t, sweetheart. The apron strings he’s tied to aren’t long enough for him to reach us. Besides, it doesn’t matter, you have a new Daddy now.” Trudy Yeager touched up her husband’s shirt with a hot iron. “We’re better off here in Louisiana, as far from your grandparents as we can get.”

Tricia didn’t understand about the apron strings. “I don’t remember much about Grandma and Grandpa, what are they like?” The only vision in Tricia’s mind was angry faces and loud voices.

“Don’t try to remember, we’re better off without them.” She removed the white dress shirt from the ironing board and hung it on a rack. “All you need to worry about is your school work and staying calm.”

Staying calm. Tricia didn’t understand what that meant. She tried to be good. She tried to stay out of trouble. No matter what she did, sometimes the spells just came. “I’m sorry, Mama.” Tricia knew her mother was disappointed in her. She wished she was like the other kids. “I took my medicine.”

“I know.” Trudy gave her a sad smile. “This isn’t your fault, it’s just the way you were born.”

Tricia hung her head. If it wasn’t her fault, then whose fault was it?

“I don’t want to go back to school,” she announced, her lips pressed together in a sullen line. “The kids are mean to me.”

Trudy walked past her to hang up the shirt in her husband’s closet. “Tough. You don’t have a choice. You’re going to have to deal with it. This is your life, you can’t hide in a cave to escape the world.”

Tricia frowned, remembering what happened at recess the day before.

“Look at her! Look at the freak!”

Tricia lay on the ground, her eyes unfocused. She was aware of the clouds overhead, she could also see the ring of shouting and laughing kids who encircled her, pointing at her writhing body as she jerked helplessly on the ground.

“Get back, get back, give her some room.” The teacher came and so did the school nurse. They helped Tricia up and when she could walk, they led her to the infirmary. When she was able, she returned to class. The whispered snickers and jibes continued for the rest of the day.

If this were a one-time thing, Tricia could deal with it, but it wasn’t.

The torture continued year after year.

Adults called her afflicted. Disabled. Handicapped.

And those were the nice words.

The kids whispered crazy, retard, monster.

Like hungry animals, they stalked her. Like predators, they would pounce on her without warning. Once when she was having a spell, two boys kicked her in the face and broke her nose.

No amount of explaining seemed to help. Bullying was a sport. Being mean to the different kid was cool. They dragged her purse through the mud and stole her coat. One teacher shut her in a closet, then peeped at her through a hole, trying to see if her seizure was real or put-on. Her classmates made her life hell, even telling Tricia she should just die.

To survive, she learned to isolate herself. Become invisible.

Things should’ve improved when the doctor found a medication that worked. The seizures slowed down, grew progressively less frequent and less intense.

But no one would let her forget. No one would let her be normal.

She vowed to escape as soon as she could. To move where no one would know, no one would remember.