The forest of Vyennes was bathed in a warm orange glow as the sun climbed lazily between the branches, peeling back its camouflage of shadow and turning the leaves into a fiery mosaic. The SUVs rolled along the gravel road, their tires crunching over fallen twigs and dry leaves. One by one, figures emerged from the vehicles: Oscar, Tommy, Raphael, Paulie... and finally, Edwards, his gait steady yet weighted with the invisible burden of the night before.
Paulie lit his signature cigar, drawing in a long, slow plume of smoke that twisted and curled like a serpent, while Tommy and Oscar struggled with the wrapped body of Richardson. The air was thick with the smell of dirt and smoke, an aroma that carried the weight of unspoken sins. Paulie's gaze drifted to the makeshift cemetery, the shallow graves of the many who had been buried there, decayed remains that had returned to the earth, forgotten by all but the wind. Slowly, a fresh hole yawned open, soldiers digging with practiced precision, their shovels glinting dully in the morning light.
"Want a puff?" Paulie offered, motioning with his cigar.
"I don't smoke anymore," Edwards replied quietly, his voice carrying a finality that matched the chill in the air.
Paulie nodded, bringing the cigar back to his lips. "I saw she woke up, didn't I?"
Edwards exhaled a slow breath. "She did... I don't even know how to tell her everything that happened."
Meanwhile, Tommy and Oscar fumbled with the body.
"Damn it, Tommy, grab him by the arms, not the chest, idiot!" Edwards barked.
"I'm holding him by-oh, alright... yeah, that's better..." Tommy muttered, his words barely masking his frustration.
The body of Richardson hit the bottom of the grave with a dull thud, the sound swallowed instantly by the earth. Paulie glanced at Edwards. "Never seen you this ruthless before..."
Edwards' jaw tightened. "I've always been ruthless... just not with people who don't matter to me. That man was an idiot..."
Paulie exhaled, smoke curling around his head like a halo of judgment. "But someone's gotta tell his mother now, right?"
Edwards' eyes darkened as the soldiers shoveled dirt over the grave. "Who spoke to her last time we tried to find him?"
"Raphael..." Paulie replied.
"Then let him do it," Edwards said simply, turning away, his boots crunching against the gravel.
Paulie's gaze followed him, then shifted toward Raphael, who stood a little apart, keeping watch. A silent signal passed between them, a nod, and Raphael stepped closer. Paulie leaned in and whispered, "Inform Miriam of his death..."
Raphael froze, disbelief and hesitation etched across his face. "Me?"
"Just do it..." Paulie said, the words sharp and absolute.
Reluctantly, Raphael nodded, his hands tight on the steering wheel as he climbed into his SUV. The engine roared to life, following Edwards' car at a distance, a shadow trailing a shadow. As Edwards took a fork in the road, the vehicles diverged, but Raphael kept him in sight through the rearview mirror, a silent witness to the aftermath of blood, duty, and unrelenting vengeance.
The forest behind them seemed to inhale and exhale with the weight of what had just transpired, leaves whispering secrets to the wind, the sun climbing higher, indifferent to the sins committed below its gaze.
Edwards drove in silence, his hands heavy on the wheel, the leather steering smooth yet foreign beneath his touch. Sarah's seat still bore the imprint of her small frame, the belt twisted awkwardly where she had sat, as if her absence left not just a space but a scar. He already knew what had to be done. For now, Sarah refused to leave Iris' embrace, and that was perhaps the only grace the world had left to give.
The car rolled to a halt in front of Martha's narrow house, pressed tightly between others like ribs around a heart. From within, a mockingbird fluttered and sang-a shrill reminder that life persisted, stubborn and uninvited.
Martha sat in her chair, the blue glow of the television flickering against her pale face. She swallowed iron pills, not from necessity but from habit, washing them down with sips of rum. It was a strange ritual-half health, half decay. She placed the bottle on the table, rose unsteadily, swaying like a candle threatened by wind, before regaining composure. Through the small window of the front door she saw her brother ascending the porch steps. The bell rang. She waited-seconds stretched like hours-before opening the door.
The discomfort arrived instantly, heavy and suffocating.
"Hello... I wanted to talk to you for a moment," Edwards said.
"How fitting," she replied coldly. "So did I."
She slipped aside, letting him in. The mockingbird fluttered to her finger when she clicked her tongue, and with the gentleness of a magician she guided it into the cage. The door clanged shut, a sound sharp enough to cut through Edwards' words.
"It's not right to keep taking those-" he began, but Martha's deliberate snap of the cage silenced him. Her gaze turned to him, icy, distant, and burning with an anger only siblings could muster.
The silence stretched, eternal. Finally, he spoke. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"Do you care?" Martha muttered.
"Have you ever cared for me? Not since I was fifteen. When I tried to care for you, you vanished. And now? Now you have Iris and Sarah clinging to each other in that hospital room, waiting for you to grow a backbone, sit them down, and confess everything you've done."
Edwards remained quiet. The tension grew, a storm building without rain.
Martha's voice sharpened. "I realized it was you. You gave Kimberly that revolver. You didn't stop her. You let her-"
"She had already made her choice-"
"I KNOW!" The scream tore through the room, louder than glass shattering, sharper than any blade. The mockingbird fell silent, and it never sang again.
"I work double shifts at that damn hospital, no rest, and do you think I haven't noticed? Do you think I don't see the truth?" Her eyes glistened with rage. "How will you tell Iris that her mother is dead because of you? That you let Kimberly go? And what about Sarah? How will that poor child survive the truth that her grandmother didn't go to a better place but to the grave by her own hand? Oh, God... that poor girl..."
She staggered a step, grief unraveling her strength, then caught herself with drunken balance. "But then again, for me, there are no surprises. You never change. You never will. Because if you had, you wouldn't keep repeating the same mistakes. You entered that world of filth and crime just to continue the stupid dream of our father, killed our younger brother for it, and you still stayed on that. You abandoned me, and you still stayed on that. And when the time came to redeem yourself, when all you had to do was make that child's life better, you ruined it again, and still stayed."
"She's safe now-" Edwards tried.
"Safe? Maybe for now. But what happens when she learns the truth? When she learns her grandmother died in front of her?" Martha's words broke into sobs, but her fury carried them forward. "I may be drunk, I may be broken, but I still see. I still walk. And I had to carry the weight of our brother's death while you hid in shadows. Isn't it always the good ones who suffer?"
"I did everything I could," Edwards murmured. "I helped Sarah escape... She'll recover in time."
The bottle of iron pills flew from her hand, scattering across the floor like shrapnel. "You couldn't even save your teenage sweetheart... she drowned before your eyes while you stood frozen, too much a coward to act. And then Kimberly... and then our brother... Tell me, what do you think they see when they look down at you now? Kimberly and our brother, staring from whatever place they rest, seeing you for what you are: weak. You were never built for this world. Never. You were never!"
She lunged at him, her fists weak against his chest. Edwards did not fight back. He simply wrapped his arms around her, his strength steady while her rage crumbled into sobs.
"You're ruining everything," she screamed into his chest. "You're ruining my life, and I still want to care for you, but you won't let me!"
Her body went limp in his embrace, broken by tears. "I don't want to stay here anymore," she whispered, voice cracking like glass under weight. "I'm killing myself."
And Edwards, who already carried too many graves in his heart, knew then that his war with crime was no longer just his own. It was a shadow that threatened to devour what little family he had left.
Meanwhile, from the black SUV, Raphael, Oscar, and Tommy stepped out, their shadows stretching long across the pavement like reluctant travelers returning to a place they wished they'd never known.
"Well," Tommy muttered, glancing at the modest building ahead, "here we are again..."
Inside the day center, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, as though they too were weary witnesses of routine sorrow. Raphael leaned close to Tommy and whispered, "This time, I'll do the talking. Don't make a scene."
"I know... but it'll be worse this time," Tommy murmured, dread thick in his voice.
They walked the hallway until they reached her-Mrs. Miriam-who sat by the window, sipping her coffee with the serenity of someone who had seen far too much of life to be startled by its cruelty.
"Mrs. Miriam?" Raphael began softly. "Do you remember me?"
She didn't turn, her eyes still fixed on the glass and the world beyond it. "By the voice alone... Raphael, isn't it?"
"That's right. We... we found your son, Richardson."
"And? How is he?" she asked, her tone calm, almost detached.
Raphael hesitated, then let the truth fall. "We found him dead, ma'am."
The silence that followed was not hollow; it was thick, suffocating, like a curtain drawn over the room. Slowly, Miriam turned her head to look at them.
"Well," she said with a sigh that trembled yet did not break, "he didn't have much time left anyway. If he lived the way he did, perhaps he deserved it. Life is cruel, especially to a mother whose child is a hypocrite. Still... thank you for telling me."
"We'll cover his center expenses," Raphael added carefully. "Iris-though she's awake now-cannot do it herself."
"I understand," Miriam replied, her gaze drifting once more to the window. "If that's your problem, it's fine. Though I doubt it will last long..."
Tommy stared at her, incredulous. Her voice bore no tremor of grief, no outward sign of loss. To him, it felt like watching a play where the actress refused to act her part.
Just then, the blonde caregiver entered-the same woman Tommy had once harassed. She opened her mouth to ask, "Mrs. Miriam, how is the-?" but her voice faltered the moment her eyes landed on the three men.
"I'll go smoke outside," Tommy muttered quickly, brushing past.
"I'll come too," Oscar said, following him.
Left alone with Miriam, Raphael watched her sip the last of her coffee. She did not turn toward him when she spoke, her words drifting out like smoke.
"There are people who deserve hell," she murmured. "Not only for what they do, but for what they make others feel. My son was no exception. I don't cry because I know soon I'll join him... I'm very old, boy."
"Maybe so," Raphael said softly, "but life can still surprise you."
"Not death," she replied firmly. "Death is the one thing you always expect."
The caregiver lingered near the window. Outside, she could see Tommy and Oscar sharing a cigarette, their heads bent together, their conversation carried on the smoke.
"In heaven, perhaps I'll take better care of him," Miriam continued, her voice distant yet strangely tender. "They say all problems vanish there. Though... I'm not so sure. Do you think God has no problems?"
Raphael chuckled dryly. "I don't think there is a God, Mrs. Miriam."
"Maybe not," she sighed. "But heaven must exist, doesn't it? At least enough to carry me away."
"Very well," the caregiver said quietly, moving to wheel Miriam back.
As she rolled away, Miriam whispered, almost to herself, "Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all..."
"I wouldn't know, ma'am," the caregiver replied gently, and together they disappeared down the hall.
Raphael turned his gaze away, as if ashamed to watch.
Outside, Tommy and Oscar leaned against the wall, passing the cigarette between them like an old pact.
"She was so damn fine, man," Tommy muttered crudely, lowering his voice. "I'd give anything just to grab her, to-"
He stopped when he noticed an elderly lady watching them from the garden, wide-eyed with fear as her caretaker stood beside her. Tommy turned, sheepish, and raised a hand. "Sorry, ma'am."
Oscar snorted. "You're hopeless." Then, more seriously, he asked, "What do you think of all this? These jobs... they're getting stranger by the day."
Tommy leaned back against the wall, exhaling smoke into the empty sky. "I don't know, man. It's wearing me down. I'm too young to see so many dead bodies. It's like the smell of the grave is stuck to my clothes."
"You'll get used to it," Oscar muttered. Then, squinting, "Though what's with this change in you? When did you start sounding like a priest?"
Tommy shrugged, his voice quieter now. "I guess... if I already have a rotten job, why make it worse? You keep killing, you keep making enemies. What's the point? Am I supposed to wipe out the whole damn world?"
At that moment, Raphael stepped out, his face unreadable, his steps heavy with thoughts unspoken. "Well done, Tommy. You didn't screw it up this time."
Tommy grinned faintly and turned to Oscar. "See? It's good to change once in a while."
Oscar shook his head with a laugh, and together they climbed back into the black SUV, their figures swallowed once more by its tinted shell.
At the same time, the classroom hummed with the quiet restlessness of children awaiting their teacher. Sarah sat at her desk, pencil in hand, sketching lines that seemed to escape from her heart more than from her imagination. Beside her, Brian slipped into the seat, his presence brushing against her like a shadow she wished she could ignore. She glanced at him once, then back at her drawing, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Deep inside, she already knew: for her, life offered no surprises anymore.
When the teacher, Miss Julienne, finally arrived, she carried with her an air of brisk cheerfulness, setting down a box filled with papers, glue, and small stickers. "All right, class," she announced, her voice like the crack of light through a door, "today we're going to play a little game. Each of you will take a piece of paper, place glue on the back, and try to fit it into the empty spaces. If you work together, the puzzle will reveal a picture. Do you understand?"
A murmur ran through the room, the children already doubting themselves. "But it looks so hard, Miss Julienne," one boy complained.
"It only looks hard," she replied with a smile. "You have more imagination than you think. Use your heads-and your hearts."
Sarah rose from her seat, more to escape the weight of Brian's sideways glances than from eagerness to play. She picked one paper, then another, and another still. Slowly, methodically, her small hands began to piece the fragments together.
"This one might belong here," she whispered to herself, her voice almost like a prayer. "And this looks like a tower... if I turn it a little... yes, that's it."
Minutes passed. While the others hesitated, Sarah worked with quiet certainty, her mind sharper than the puzzle itself. Within ten minutes, she had completed the image: a single emerald set deep in the heart of a stone cave.
The room hushed. Miss Julienne's eyes widened with pride. "Excellent, Sarah. Now, class, what do you think this picture shows?"
"A gem... an emerald, resting in a cave," Sarah replied at once, her tone clear, steady, as though she had seen the answer long before it was revealed.
The children stared at her, astonished, even Brian, whose eyes lingered longer than anyone else's. Yet for Sarah, their amazement held no weight. For her, there were no surprises left in the world.
The bell rang, scattering the moment into the corridors like the sound of breaking glass. Sarah gathered her things and rushed outside, where Martha was waiting.
"Hello, Mrs. Martha!" she called out with an eagerness that lit her face. "Where's Edwards? Can I go see my mother?"
"Not now, dear," Martha replied gently, bending a little to meet her eyes. "Today you'll come to my house. You'll meet my mockingbird! Do you like birds?"
Sarah's eyes widened, her sadness lifting like mist. "Yes! I love them!"
"Good," Martha said with a small, almost secret smile. "Later, I'll take you with me to the hospital. I have work to do there, and you'll be able to see your mother."
Sarah clapped her hands, her voice bright and ringing. "Perfect!"
And with that, the two of them walked away together, Martha calm, composed, her figure casting a long shadow in the afternoon light, and Sarah skipping lightly at her side, as though the promise of a bird and the hope of her mother's face could keep the world's darkness at bay, if only for a moment.
The hospital breathed in whispers-humming lights above, polished floors that reflected fragments of weary souls, and the faint smell of disinfectant that seemed to bury every secret under its sterile veil. Edwards moved through it slowly, each step dragging the weight of the world behind him. The elevator doors opened like the jaws of some great, tired beast, swallowing him in silence and then releasing him again onto the quiet floor where Iris lay.
The waiting room outside her door was deserted now, chairs lined in neat rows like soldiers who had abandoned their posts. Edwards paused there, his chest rising and falling with a nervous rhythm. He stood for a long moment before pushing the door open, as though the act itself required courage equal to battle.
Inside, Iris lay on her bed, her head turned toward the window, the dying sunlight painting her profile in fragile hues. When she turned and their eyes finally met, the world returned to Edwards in a rush-pain, relief, fear, all bound together in the silence that wrapped the room like an unwelcome guest.
But then Iris smiled. It was faint, trembling, yet enough to draw a breath of strength into Edwards. He moved closer, pulled a chair to her side, and sat heavily, his lungs straining with the burden of what he had come to say.
"I've been here a long time," Iris whispered, her voice thin but searching. "So long I don't even know what people do anymore. I must've missed so many things, haven't I?"
Edwards nodded, not with joy but with a troubled gravity. His face was a mirror of the grief he carried. "You've missed more than you can imagine. And I don't think you're ready for all of it."
She studied him carefully. "I know I've been gone a long time," she insisted, her voice gaining strength.
He shook his head. "It's not just the time. You won't expect what I'm about to say. I'll wait... a few seconds, so you can prepare."
"For that, I need to know if it's good or bad."
Edwards hesitated, then spoke like a man delivering a verdict. "It's bad. Very bad."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Twenty heartbeats passed before Iris drew in a long breath. "I'm ready."
He exhaled sharply, then began. "Your daughter... she was against your husband. Terrified of him. I found her crying, broken, and I took her with me. She's better now, stronger, but she's already known heartbreak. A boy she trusted ran away from her."
Iris closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. "She has a tender heart. It must've been hard."
"It was," Edwards replied quietly. He reached for the bottle of water on the table beside a bouquet of lavender, its purple fading with time. He took a sip, then continued, each word carving itself into the room.
"Your father died."
Iris's eyes widened. "From the Alzheimer's? So soon?"
"No," Edwards said, his tone darkening. "It wasn't Alzheimer's. They found CJD. And after he passed, your mother... she thought you had all abandoned her, that life had turned its back. Sarah fought with her. I don't know exactly what happened, but... she couldn't bear it. She... ended her own life."
Edwards left the darker details unspoken, but the weight of them still pressed down. Iris brought her hand to her mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to escape.
"And Sarah?" she managed.
"She doesn't know. Not yet. I'll have to tell her."
"No." Iris's voice cracked. "No, let me. She's my daughter. That's my duty."
"You can't," Edwards said firmly. "You're not strong enough yet."
Her eyes sharpened, defiant even through tears. "Then what am I here for? To lie in this bed while the world collapses around me? To do nothing while everyone I love disappears?"
The silence thickened again, heavy with unsaid truths. Finally, Iris asked the question that had haunted her for years. "Are you still in it?"
Edwards looked at her, his answer stripped of pretense. "Yes. I'm still in it. Because now I have to take care of Sarah. And maybe... you too."
He tried to soften the edge of the moment with practical news. "Your mother left you an inheritance. She asked that when the time comes, your parents' funerals be held together. Your father left nothing behind, but he'll be buried beside her. Jordan's body is waiting at Riverside Mortuary. I don't know where your mother's body is yet..."
Iris's eyes filled with tears, but she forced herself to remain composed. "And Richardson? Was he sent to prison?"
Edwards's reply was slow, deliberate. "They... took him into the business."
Iris understood instantly, shaking her head. "You shouldn't have done that."
"Things are done, decisions are made," Edwards answered, his voice rough. "While you slept, that man put six bullets in me. Sarah was left alone-alone or with Martha, I don't even know. I did what had to be done."
The room quivered with her quiet breathing. Finally, she turned her face away. "Go. Please. I need to rest."
Edwards stood, his body trembling with the strain of everything unsaid. He lingered in the doorway, inhaled deeply, then left, each step slower than the last until he disappeared into the corridor.
Alone, Iris pressed her fingers against her lips, biting her nails in a desperate effort not to weep. Then, gathering what little strength her body allowed, she forced herself to stand. Her legs faltered, trembling, yet she leaned on every surface she could find, dragging herself to the window.
The sky beyond was vast, indifferent, the fading light casting long shadows across the horizon. Iris rested her forehead against the glass and whispered, her voice trembling like a broken hymn:
"Everybody... why didn't you wait?"
TO BE CONTINUED...