Jack
For such a ridiculous fucking cold snap, in the middle of an especially brutal winter, the birds sure seem upbeat today. Normally, I’d find their nonstop singing to be a distraction when I’m working on something outside.
However, their chirpy melodies sound okay right now. They even sound kind of nice, traveling through the frosty air as I work on this poor, departed bear skin.
I feel like I could write a poem about it. Wouldn’t that be something. I could be a modern day fucking Wordsworth or something, writing about nature.
With the right inspiration, you’d be surprised at what you can accomplish.
I can tell this creature didn’t live the happiest life, but after the way things had to go down, I’m gonna do my best to make the most of this situation.
It’s getting colder and windier than it’s been in quite a while, which is impressive considering what this winter’s been like.
I don’t stop working, though. I don’t even consider it―if the songbirds can stick it out, there’s no reason that I can’t as well. I’m also well-prepared for a day-long session of outdoor work…as always.
The birds keep chirping, I keep working. Even after what feels like an eternal time out here in the wilderness. I don’t usually feel this close to nature, or this in rhythm.
The windiness, the bursts of chill―I use it as much as I use the bird songs and the rustling of trees as inspiration for this project. It’s beginning to feel like my life’s work.
Avery’s waiting for it, and I’m beginning to be certain that she’s my life’s work, too.
When it’s finished, it needs to be worth the wait.
It’s strange, working harder than I ever have―and still losing my sense of time. It’s even stranger that I don’t care. I realize that this is not about time.
I’m not worried about daylight hours wasting away. I’m not worried about it getting even colder. I’m just worried about getting this done while I’m feeling the inspiration and the energy.
On the other hand, I’d like to save some of that energy for later. Like I said, I’ve never felt this connected with nature―and my natural urges are strong as they’ve ever been these past few days.
Then again, I never seem to lack energy when it comes to fucking my Avery.
I get into what some of my old colleagues used to call the ‘flow of things’, when you almost forget where you are, what time it is, or how long you’ve been doing what you’re doing.
All that matters is the task at hand.
I stay that way for a few minutes―or an hour. I don’t know. I’ve completely lost track of time.
I keep working until I start to strongly feel the cold and the wind. At my body heat, that’s easier said than done.
The sun is almost set by the time I’m ready to call it quits for the day. It’s not that I’m tired, or even that I’m cold. I just fucking miss Avery too damn much to be away from her any longer.
Even Buck must have given up on his self-appointed duty of Chief Bird Barker. For a while, I could hear his rough little boofs echoing up and down the mountain, but he must have missed Avery too much, too.
That mutt loves her just as much as I do. He’s probably curled up next to her in front of the fire right now, monopolizing on her belly rubs.
Little shit had best be ready to budge over. Those are my belly rubs.
Strangest thing, though…I don’t hear Buck barking anymore, and I no longer hear the birds singing, either.
I’m not worried about the project anymore.
I’m wondering about what happened to the fucking birds.
I drop what I’m doing, literally leaving it on the ground. Then I run back to the cabin.
The first thing I see is Buck on his side, whimpering in pain. I drop to my knees in an instant, patting him down. It seems like he’s just dazed—the pain in his whimper is more surprise than anything. I’ll haul him to the vet first thing when the snow melts—but before I do that, there’s a bigger problem.
The front door is swinging wide open.
My first thought is that Avery’s left again. That must be it.
But Avery wouldn’t leave the front door open, and Avery sure as hell wouldn’t have hurt my dog.
I start sprinting towards the door, and the wind shuts it in my face. I don’t let that delay me for a second. I kick open the door, and it flies off the hinges, sailing into the room and crashing on the floor as I run in.
I hear a voice—frantic, half-formed, muddled words coming from upstairs. I start sprinting again, stepping on the door and jumping onto the stairs.
I do two steps at a time, then three, and then four for my last stride, bringing me face to face with Avery sitting close to the top of the stairs.
Her hands are bound behind her back.
Avery’s eyes are filled with a confused dread and a weird kind of annoyance. Looking down from her eyes, I see where those half-formed words were coming from―a towel from the kitchen tied over her mouth.
After I make eye contact, Avery starts desperately trying to speak.
A feeling in my toes starts traveling slowly through me. It’s a feeling of determination, of energy―but more than anything, it’s a feeling of serious fucking rage.
Avery’s arms and ankles are bound with hemp rope to one of my chairs. I’m about to take a good look at this fucker who did this to her—he’s standing right behind her. He must’ve brought that rope with him, and the intention of hurting my woman along with it.
This sick subhuman has made the worst mistake of his fucking life.
I carefully look him over. He’s dressed in a clean, pressed suit, but he smells like someone who’s been neglecting basic self-care.
His hair is wild and unkempt, and the look in his eyes, in Adam Stanton’s eyes—that’s right, I fucking know who this—is the look of someone who hasn’t been sleeping.
Good. That bastard shouldn’t be allowed to sleep at night.
But despite that, I recognize that this is a dangerous man. I follow the arm of Adam’s suit down to the pistol he’s holding.
The firearm looks familiar. It’s the type of pistol often issued to officers in the service.
By Adam Stanton’s own shitty fucking company, no less.
He’s aiming it steadily at Avery’s temple.
This is a dangerous man and a dangerous situation. Although I’m beyond furious, I tread fucking lightly and make careful eye contact.
As I hope, he begins speaking first.
“I know who you are,” he tells me.
I don’t tell him I know who he is, too.
“You hurt my dog,” I say instead. “I don’t take too kindly to that.”
I catch Adam’s firearm again in my peripheral vision. He doesn’t notice me looking at it, and I think how fucking easily I could disarm this sack of shit.
I could do it easily, but I’d also likely end up with a dead man in my cabin.
Avery doesn’t need that, not after all she’s been through. Truthfully, I don’t need that, either. At this point, taking a life is the last thing I want to do—no matter whose life it is.
Avery’s changed me. For the better, I think.
I’m still feeling the rage at full throttle, but I know how to channel it effectively. My mind is shifting into overdrive, working out the best way to proceed to ensure a peaceful outcome.
“You’re the bastard who ruined my woman. This is my bride!” Adam yelps, his voice cracking with crazed emotion.
I maintain my cautious eye contact, signaling to Adam to keep talking—and he does.
“She was to be my bride. She is my bride, She’s my rightful bride! But you…”
“Me.”
“Yes, you!” Adam shrieks with a window-shattering voice. “You ruined her. There’s no way I could ever make you pay for this.”
This is getting fucking old fucking fast. Even his monologue bores me.
But from the desperate look in Avery’s eyes, I do my best to figure out a way to settle this properly.
I want to keep myself from destroying this man, but it’s becoming very difficult.
Ruined her, my ass. When I’m inside Avery, we’re both whole.
“Why don’t you point that firearm away from Avery? If you’re going to kill me, you’d best do me first.”
Adam keeps the gun where it is.
“Because if she dies before I do,” I say carefully, “you don’t want to think about what’s going to happen to you.”
His hand trembles.
I’ve got him.
“You,” he sneers. “I had a contract with the military when you were in the service. It was one of the most lucrative defense contracts in the nation’s history—which is pretty fucking crazy when you think about it, isn’t it?”
Adam’s voice is getting both crazier and more arrogant as he monologues. I feel the anger shoot through me.
“You may think that we were just being cheap,” Adam continues, “that they were all just horrible accidents. Is that what you thought?”
I’m at a point where I’m not talking because I can’t. I’m paralyzed with anger. That might end up being very bad news for Adam.
“You’re a sick fucking bastard, just so you know,” I say flatly. “A war criminal too, from the sounds of things.”
Adam ignores me. “There’s nothing that happens that I don’t want to happen. It’s all up to me, but you’re not supposed to know that, and that’s another reason that you need to end right now. More importantly, I need to deliver justice for what you’ve done to my bride.”
“Fine,” I say trying not to speak through my teeth. “Like I said—you’d best shoot me first, then.”
Adam throws his head back and giggles at the ceiling like a crazed motherfucker.
Christ. Losing Avery really made this man snap.
Adam brings the gun down to his side.
“You’re not so tough or powerful now,” Adam taunts me, “Isn’t that right, you fucking Boy Scout?”
He moves the gun from one hand to the other, keeping it pointed down at the floor.
“You ambidextrous now?” I ask him.
“Oh, that’s a big word for simple mountain folk like yourself. I can kill you with whichever fucking hand I want. But before I do, I need to ask: do you feel the least bit bad for ruining Avery with your primitive brutishness?”
“Do you feel bad,” I ask, “for representing pure evil, pure malice? For disregarding human life so readily? For putting civilization in peril by creating mindless destruction and chaos, solely for the sake of profit?”
I watch the gun in Adam’s hand—it looks like he’s loosening his grip. I continue.
“Do you feel bad, Adam,” I say his name emphatically, “for the shitty fucking way you’ve acted, and continue to act, towards a woman who wants nothing to do with you?”
“Nothing happens that I don’t want to happen,” Adam says, looking shell-shocked. “I—I paid for her.”
“And she still doesn’t fucking want you. Never fucking will.”
Adam acts fast, so fast that even I can’t stop him.
He swings his arm around, pointing the firearm at Avery’s head―and pulling the trigger.