Jackson froze as wind and rain blew into his home with ferocious power. Words were unable to escape his throat as he saw Luis standing in the rain, a chunk of his calf ripped open, blood spooling out behind him in washed out, crimson puddles. Beside him was a young girl, his daughter, most likely, who was clinging to his drenched shirt as terror danced in her eyes.

Still at a loss for words, he moved aside and ushered the father and daughter into his home. Luis nodded at him as he limped by, and the young girl stayed glued to her father as they made their way out of the freezing rain. Jackson closed the door behind them just as a terrifying wail pierced the atmosphere with earth-shattering power. Jackson looked back at his family. To his frustration and dismay, Matthew was still aiming the revolver at him.

“I swear t’ Christ,” Matthew said, “if you let them stay I will shoot you.”

Rage began to percolate in Jackson’s stomach as he stared at his brother. “What happened to you?” he spat.

“Pa was right,” Matthew said. His hand was wavering, though his grip on the revolver was taut. His knuckles were white with tension.

“What do y’ mean?”

“He said you’d let anyone into our home. That you’d just let the devil walk in if he asked nice enough.”

Jackson looked at the ground. He wanted to laugh at his brother, but the crimson anger in his gut was rising, pushing its way upward toward his chest. A fire burned around his heart, one that he could no longer stuff down toward the deepest pit of his gut.

“If you don’t get that iron off me,” Jackson said, “I’m gon’ take if from you.”

Matthew’s hand shook with more vigor as his eyes grew wet. He was holding back tears; Jackson could see the sadness tearing him apart from the inside, the idiotic idolization of Pa clashing with the internal turmoil of knowing Pa’s assumptions were wrong. He did not lower the gun, though. He kept it trained on Jackson’s chest, his finger trembling in front of the trigger.

Jackson shook his head. “Fine,” he muttered.

With a few, sweeping strides he closed the distance between himself and his brother. With rage burning in his mind, he reached his hand out and grasped the revolver, jerking it upward so that the barrel was pointed away from everyone in the home.

A loud crack shook the house as the revolver fired, a shower of dust and brown shavings descending from the roof as the bullet buried itself into the wood Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

“You just try to fuckin’ shoot me?” Jackson spat, keeping his voice low as his visage burned its way into Matthew’s eyes.

“No, Jack-”

“You just tried to fuckin’ shoot me!” Jackson said again.

“No, it was a mistake!”
Jackson ripped the revolver from Matthew’s hands. With a smooth motion, he whipped the butt of the gun to the right, smashing it into Matthew’s face. Matthew spun around and fell to the floor, a dash of blood shooting across the floor as it jetted from his nose. Matthew looked up at his brother with fear dancing in his eyes. For a brief moment, Jackson was overcome with a sickening feeling of wrath: he wanted to fire until his gun was empty. He wanted to fill Matthew’s chest with lead, to watch him bleed out on the floor so the house could finally have some semblance of peace.

Before that feeling could overtake his emotions, he snapped the cylinder out toward him and dumped out the bullets in it. The casings tinkled as they hit the floor, clattering with oddly angelic pronouncements. Once the cylinder was empty, he pushed it back into place and turned toward the door.

“What’re you doing?” Matthew said. Sadness and fear were lacing his tone, but Jackson ignored him.

“What I shoulda done years ago,” Jackson said. He reached the front door and pulled it open. Wind and rain greeted him. In the distance, by the outcrop of trees that lined the road, he saw a shadow dart backward, moving deeper into the small forest. Jackson ignored the image and chucked the revolver as far as he could. It made a distinct splat sound as the weapon landed in the muddy dirt by the fence.

He slammed the door closed and turned toward his brother. Matthew was still on the ground, his hand covering his nose as blood spilled over it, staining his pale skin. Matthew looked apologetic, perhaps even disappointed in himself, but Jackson had seen that visage many times before. Sometimes his apologies were sincere; other times, they were hopeless attempts to gain Jackson’s favor when Pa didn’t feel like talking.

Jackson looked at Luis, who was still panting. A small pool of blood had accrued near his bare, mud-slicked feet. Jackson adopted an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Jackson said. “We have some bandages in the wash room down the hall if you would like to take a moment to compose yourselves.”

“We don’t mean to impose,” Luis said. “I - I can’t even describe what happened.”

“No need,” Jackson said. “Go to the washroom, bandage yourselves up, and we can talk when you’re feeling better.”

Luis nodded. He handed his repeating rifle over to Jackson, the metal still slicked with rain.

“Keep it,” Jackson said. “There’s no need to hand it over.”

Luis looked him in the eyes, likely searching for deceit. He then nodded and turned. His daughter followed close behind. Her eyes were wide and full of fear.

Matthew stood, his hand still covering his bloody nose. Mary walked up to him and pushed her face up toward his. Her eyes narrowed as she maintained eye contact with him.

“If you ever aim a gun at someone in this house again,” she said, hatred lacing her fierce tone, “I will throw you out of this house myself.”

Matthew removed his hand from his nose. It was crooked and clearly broken, with profuse blood still jetting from his nostrils.

“Can someone help me?” he asked, his voice small and weak.

“Help yourself,” Jackson said. He turned his back to his brother and gestured toward the kitchen while making eye contact with Mary. She took the hint and walked with him as the rest of the family retreated to their respective rooms. Jackson saw the stranger move toward Matthew to help him before he entered the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first,” he said, keeping his voice low. Jackson looked out at the living room, listening to the low mumbles that made their way across the threshold. “But given the circumstances I didn’t think I could turn them away.”

“I understand,” Mary said, “but I can’t lie - I’m concerned about how many people we have under our roof.”

“We’ll figure something out if need be,” Jackson said. “You and the kids can have my portions if we’re really getting low.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Mary said. She put her hands on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. But we can’t take anyone else in.”

“I understand,” Jackson said.

“How’re you doin’ with Matthew?” Mary asked. “That was horrible what he did. I wanted to kill him myself.”

“Once this storm is up, he’s gone,” Jackson said. Fire burned in his gut as he thought about his brother. “I don’ even recognize him anymore. Pa’s twisted his mind, put us against each other just like he always did.”

“What do we do about him?” Mary asked. “About Pa?”
“We throw him out, too,” Jackson said. “To hell with both of them. They’re dead to me.”

Mary hugged him tightly, and Jackson held her head against his chest. He kissed her forehead and thought about his childhood, about Matthew as a boy. Matthew had never been a confident boy, nor a confident man. He had listened to what everyone else told him, mostly to his detriment, and Pa’s influence had only grown as the years progressed. Now he was too far gone. Matthew had once held a semblance of compassion underneath his insecure exterior. He had been kind to strangers, and sometimes he had even made Jackson laugh. Ever since Jackson had left the homestead to make his own life, and ever since Matthew had refused to leave Pa’s side, he had sealed his fate.

Jackson stroked Mary’s hair and kissed her forehead again. He pulled away from her hug and smiled at her - the kind of smile that would make her forget about the terrors of the world and focus on the small, mundane pleasures they were surrounded by. He didn’t know whether his attempt at comfort had worked. There was no real way to know that. Mary gave him a wide grin in return and lowered her head so that her eyes were focused on the floor. Outside, rain pelted the glass panes of the windows while wind ripped across the exterior of the house.

Though, maybe it wasn’t the wind after all.

“I’m going to go check on Luis,” Jackson said. Mary nodded, and he kissed her once more before walking through the doorway. In the corner of the living room were the stranger and his brother, the latter of whom was still holding a blood-streaked hand to his broken nose. Jackson looked away before his brother could make eye contact with him, and walked down the hallway. For a brief second, he contemplated checking on Pa. He had been eerily quiet all night; most evenings he would have been grousing about the quality of Mary’s meal or for Matthew to come in and talk with him. Silence was strange when it came to his Pa. Yet, silence was also a rare commodity that Jackson did not often come by, so he walked past Pa’s door and made his way toward the washroom.

Inside, he could hear soft whispers in Spanish – definitely Luis. He knocked on the door as softly as he could, hoping the sudden noise would not startle his new guests.

“How are ya doin’ in there?” Jackson asked. “Y’all need anythin’?”

The wood floors groaned from heavy footfalls, and then the door creaked as it opened. Luis stuck his head out and looked Jackson up and down. He then looked down the hallway before speaking.

“Yes, thank you,” he said in a delicate tone. “You – you saved me and my daughter. I’m in your debt for that.”

“You ain’t in my debt, nor anybody elses’s,” Jackson said. “I’d be a damn fool not to help you out. I’m sure you’da done the same for me. Did you find the bandages okay?”

“Yeah,” Luis said. He gestured at his calf, around which a white bandage with a growing, crimson spot was affixed. “Still hurts like Hell. I’ll have to go into town when we can. See a doctor.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Jackson said. “Once the storm lets up I’ll bring you into town myself.”

Luis smiled, but he lowered his head. “Sir, I appreciate your hospitality and I will happily accept your roof while this storm rages. We’re not helpless, though. We can manage ourselves once the clouds pass.”

“Fair enough,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry ‘bout my brother,” he said, hushing his tone. “He gets his worst qualities from my father.”

“It’s fine,” Luis said, though Jackson could tell it was decidedly not fine.

“Where are you folks from anyhow?” Jackson asked. “We welcome e’ryone in this house. I try to, at least.”

“We’re from across the river,” Luis said.

“No, but before that.”

“I was born in Texas. Moved up here when I was a kid.”

“No, but before that I mean. Where are your ancestors from?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my daughter,” Luis said with a polite, but curt tone.

“O’ course,” Jackson said. “If y’ need anythin’ at all while you’re here, don’t be afraid to ask me or Mary.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Luis responded.

Jackson bowed his head as Luis closed the door. Jackson remained in the hallway as an odd sensation overcame him. He wanted to keep speaking with Luis, to ensure that the man and his daughter were okay. Mostly, he wanted to make sure his idiot brother had not terrified them to their core. The sensation passed as soon as logic leeched into his veins: it was clear Luis did not want to talk, nor did Jackson blame him. What tore a chunk of flesh from his calf, though? Was it the source of the screeches that were permeating the stormy, night sky?

He walked down the hallway toward the living room. To his surprise, the stranger was walking toward him, motioning to the corner of the living room. Jackson held up a hand after making eye contact, and continued toward the kitchen where Mary was still standing. When he entered, she was looking at the counter with an odd glint in her eye – Jackson couldn’t tell whether it was fear or anger. He walked up behind her and touched the small of her back. When she turned, her face broke into a small smile.

“How’s Luis?” she asked.

“As good ’s can be expected,” Jackson said. “Wants t’ be alone right now. Can’t say I blame him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be out soon enough,” Mary said. “Just wants t’ tend to his wounds and make sure his daughter’s okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Jackson said. “The gentleman – I can’t believe I haven’t learned his name yet – in the suit wants to talk with me. Hopefully he’s not ’bout to preach my ear off ’bout Matthew’s delicate situation.”

Mary kissed Jackson with tender softness and patted him on his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed before, but he was sweating and his bare skin was damp to touch. Mary didn’t seem to notice.

The stranger was standing by the back window when Jackson returned to the living room. He didn’t turn around when approached, but Jackson could tell the man was aware of his presence. Jackson stood next to him and ran his hands through his unkempt hair. Fatigue was pulling at his eyelids, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with Mary and forget the entire night’s debacle until morning. Yet, in his bones, he could feel energy pumping, refusing to allow the loving embrace of sleep to wrap around him.

“Matthew’s upset,” the stranger said.

Jackson scoffed. “I’m sure he is.”

“You shouldn’t disregard your brother as much as you do,” he said. “A man like that – one on the precipice – is apt to take drastic actions.”

“Did he say somethin’?”

“Nothing explicit. Still, I’m concerned.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s mentioned to me on a number of occasions how much he dislikes you. How much you dislike your father. There’s a lot of bad blood between the two of you, and being cooped up in a house together can foster…” The stranger paused. “Division, for lack of a better word,” he finished.

“If he wants t’ bring some division,” Jackson said, his eyes narrowing, “or if he decides he wants to talk t’ me like a man, he knows where t’ find me. I’m not concerned ’bout my brother, though. And neither should you be. What you should be doin’ is getting’ some sleep. When mornin’ comes, we’ll be able to sort this out without all this darkness shrouding our thoughts.”

The stranger was looking deep into Jackson’s eyes, though he could not tell why. He still didn’t know this man’s name, and with each passing moment Jackson was becoming more concerned about his intentions.

“I would advise against such flippancy,” the stranger said.

“What’s your game?” Jackson asked, crossing his arms. “Seems like e’ry time there’s an issue in this house, you’re the one stirrin’ up the divisions.”

The stranger raised his hands in defense. “I’m certainly not trying to cause any issues. Quite the opposite in fact. You’ve shown exquisite hospitality by taking me in, by giving me a roof, hot food, and a place to sleep while this hellish storm rages overhead. For that, I am grateful and I want to make sure that this ecosystem we live in – this delicate environment – is not tampered with or harmed.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. The stranger sure knew a lot of big words. He knew folks in town who did as well. Folks who knew big words often liked to tout them around like luxurious pelts. But there was still something underneath the surface of his gaze, something suspicious that Jackson had not noticed before.

“Where you from, sir?” Jackson asked. “I don’t think I ever asked.”

The glint in the stranger’s eyes changed, and his upper lip twitched. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Jackson swore that was what he had seen. His eyesight had always been stellar, too. Even though he hated using guns, he could shoot a can from fifty yards away in less than ten seconds. The countenance disappeared as soon as he saw it, and the stranger returned his gaze to the back window and the slashing rain outside of it.

“Around,” the stranger said. “My folks grew up a town over, but I wanted to maintain some distance from them, hence why I moved down the road from you good folk.”

“I don’ think I’ve gotten your name, either,” Jackson said. “Maybe m’ brother is right about me jus’ lettin’ folks into our home without so much as a question or two.”

The stranger smiled. His thin lips and dark eyes brought a chill up Jackson’s spine.

“You can call me Michael,” the stranger said.

“Michael,” Jackson muttered. “Funny. You don’t strike me as a Michael.”

“What’s in a name anyway?” the stranger asked. “What can you learn from such a random assortment of letters?”

Jackson didn’t have a response to the stranger, to Michael, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn’t feel like standing next to him any longer.

“You have yourself a good night,” Jackson said. “Get some sleep.”

“You as well,” the stranger said. “Sleep tight.”

Jackson turned his heel and walked back down the hallway toward the wash room. The air had gathered a sharp chill during the conversation, and goosebumps had started to rise on his arms. He shook the unnerving feeling in his mind away, the one telling him there was something wrong, something concerning, with the stranger. With Michael. He knew his name now, it was time to use it. Ma always told him to be respectful and call a man what he wanted to be called. He suspected Michael was a fake name, but there was no way to tell and the stranger was right – what use was there in a name anyway?

He reached the washroom and knocked on the door again. As he did, it opened. Luis nodded at him as he limped out into the hallway, his daughter following close behind.

“I’m sorry we didn’t introduce ourselves earlier,” Luis said.

“Y’all were a bit busy,” Jackson said. “I understand.”

Luis gestured toward the girl behind him. “This is my daughter, Rose.”

Jackson bent down to her level and extended his calloused hand. She took it, and he shook it while offering the most endearing countenance he could. “Nice to meet you, Rose,” Jackson said.

Rose didn’t respond, but gave him a shy grin.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Luis said. “Not since my wife passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jackson said. “Trust me, I want to hear what happened to you, but I think we all deserve some sleep after our hectic night.”

Luis gave a fervent nod. “I agree.”

Jackson gestured down the hallway. “M’ children have their own room off the living room. Rose is mo’ than welcome to stay with them, though unfortunately she’d have to sleep on the floor.”

“That’s okay,” Luis said. “I was wondering if you would be okay if I slept on the floor next to her? She’s scared and I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.”

“O’ course,” Jackson said. “I’ll try and scrounge up some sheets for y’all, help make you more comfortable.”

“It’s appreciated, but not necessary,” he said. “We’ve both slept on floors before.”

Luis thanked him once more before walking down the hallway with his daughter, headed toward Emma and John’s room. Jackson watched them walk through the living room, mostly to ensure that Matthew wouldn’t cause any trouble, and then turned to enter his own bedroom.

Mary entered moments later, rubbing her eyes as her disheveled, brown hair fell to her shoulders.

“D’ you know if we have any extra sheets?” Jackson asked. “I thought we did.”

“I don’t think so,” Mary said. “Never had a need for ’em.”

Jackson nodded. “Well, maybe we should invest in some the next time we’re able.”

“Okay.”

Jackson crawled into bed beside Mary. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as he listened to the horrifying sounds outside his window. Rain pounding. Cracking tree branches. Something screaming. Jackson knew, now hearing it clearly and without interference, it was not the wind.

Next Chapter: Matthew