Merciless

The first picture had been shot through my living room window. I had Joy on my hip, and her head had been crossed out with an X in red marker. The next picture was Hope in her car, backing down the driveway of her house, her head crossed out. The third photo of Jake had been snapped while he rode his horse, his hat-covered head crossed out. The fourth shot showed Lex waiting for the school bus, his face inside his hoodie marked with a red X. The last picture was of Dawson standing beside his patrol car out in the middle of nowhere, talking on his phone, his face also obliterated by a red X.

My lungs were absent of air for long enough that spots began to dance in front of my eyes. Somehow I gulped in oxygen and let it out. And did it again. I stared at the images, wondering what this sick son of a bitch had planned. To fuck with me? Gauging how homicidal I’d get? Or how scared I’d get?

I was already there-on both counts.

Anyone could’ve put these in my pickup.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Fight back? Take this to the FBI? I don’t know how long I sat there, weighing my options and finding none viable because I was still flying blind. I had no one to talk to about this. One by one, I slid the pictures back into the envelope.

Two loud raps on my window made me jump. My head whipped toward the sound, and I saw Sheldon War Bonnet’s shocked face through the glass.

Shit.

Casually, I set aside the envelope and cranked down the window. But I couldn’t muster a smile.

“Agent Gunderson? Are you all right?”

No. Thanks for asking. Now go away. I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I came out to grab something from my car, and I noticed you sitting in your vehicle. And on my way back inside, I see you’re still here. You sure everything is okay?”

“Just got lost in thought. For longer than I realized, apparently.”

Sheldon nodded. “It happens. Especially after all you’ve been through lately. Any change in Sheriff Dawson’s condition?”

I shook my head.

“Any idea how long you’ll be working in the FBI’s VS offices?”

“Probably just through tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll be back at the FBI offices in Rapid?”

What a snoopy fucker. “Yeah. The need for our services is over at this point, unless new information on any of these cases surfaces.”

“Well, I liked having you around. Even if you didn’t enjoy having to do research.” He smiled. “Don’t be a stranger, Mercy.”

I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t smile. I just said, “Take care, Sheldon.”

“You, too. See you soon.” He limped around the front end of my truck. Then he stopped, waved, and cut through the cars toward the building.

A phone call from Lex prompted me to get going, because, once again, I was late picking him up.

19

When my stomach rumbled after I dropped Lex off at school the next morning, I realized I’d skipped supper the night before and breakfast this morning. Without Sophie nagging me to eat, I forgot.

I missed her. Not just her cooking, but her offbeat comments. Her bossiness. Her nosiness. I missed how she always seemed to know when I needed a hug or a sharp word.

My life had big holes in it. I couldn’t do anything but fill the one in my belly.

I slid into my favorite booth at the Blackbird Diner.

Mitzi hustled over with coffee. “Mercy. Hon, how you holding up?”

I’m about to crack into a million pieces. Thanks for asking. I scoured the menu even though I had it memorized. “I’m taking it day by day.”

“We’re all praying for Sheriff Dawson. He’s a good man.”

“Thank you, Mitzi. We appreciate it.” I pointed to the rancher’s breakfast-eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, hash browns. More food than I needed, but I ordered it anyway.

“Coming right up.”

Maybe it was petty to wonder if pity had kept her from demanding that I remove my gun.

We’d been allowed to stay with Mason for a half hour last night. I’d held his hand while Lex had talked. And talked. About guy things. About things Lex wouldn’t tell me. It had hit me, then, how much Mason meant to his son and how quickly it had happened. What would Lex do if his father wasn’t the same?

Which inevitably led to the question: What would I do if Mason wasn’t the same?

I’d held it together until we’d gone home. I held it together through the TV shows Lex asked me to watch with him. I held it together until I crawled in bed and Mason wasn’t there.

The sheets smelled like him. I’d crushed his pillow to my chest and couldn’t hold it together another second.

Tears are never cathartic for me. I understand that holding them in and never crying is a type of avoidance. There had to be a better coping mechanism for fear and sadness than one that resulted in red-rimmed eyes, Rudolph’s nose, and a wet, puffy face.

But I’d promised not to revert to my recent outlet for frustration-a bottle of whiskey-so tears won out. Pissed me off I hadn’t felt the slightest bit better. Really pissed me off that I had no idea what to do with those damn pictures. I’d feel stupid running to the FBI.