CHAPTER 23

The farmhouse stood out like an oasis in the desert. It was a beautiful, two story home with a wrap-around porch and a tower of sorts jutting up like the conical spire of a medieval castle.

Marcus thought the house looked out of place, resting in the south Texas countryside. However, the details of the home’s architecture were unimportant to him. The only issue of importance was the assistance that he might receive from the home’s owners. He had considered simply stealing a vehicle from the property, but then he concluded that he wouldn’t make it far without any allies. The home’s owners were his best options, and he had nothing to lose.

He approached with caution since a guard dog might have been on duty. He made his way to the front door and rang the bell. From within the confines of the home, he heard a rustling as the inhabitants prepared to investigate their new and unexpected visitor.

A large man in his fifties or sixties answered the door. He had gray-white hair, a closely trimmed beard, and wore a pair of glasses that rested low on his nose. Despite his size, he looked intelligent, the kind of man who would be seen reading a book by the fire in an antique armchair. All of this seemed to fit with the home’s architecture.

The man bathed him in the glow of the front porch light and said, “Can I help you, son?”

Marcus could tell by the look in the man’s eyes that he was cautious, but receptive. “I think maybe you can,” he said. “I hate to wander up here in the middle of the night and ask for help, but I’m all out of options.”

The man seemed to notice the bloody gash on his forehead, a wound that he had suffered during the crash. “My God, boy, has there been some kind of accident? Are you hurt? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No, sir. Thank you, though. I really don’t know how to explain all this. It’s kind of a long story.”

A fatherly expression came over the man’s face, and he said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning, end with how you found yourself on my doorstep, and be as honest as possible.”

Marcus wanted to share everything he had learned with someone, anyone. He wanted to relinquish some of the burden to someone else, but he knew that by doing so he would put that person in the same kind of jeopardy that he now faced.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have much time, and the less you know the better.”

The man seemed offended by his reply. “Nonsense son, ignorance is never to be preferred over knowledge. No matter what knowing may cost you. Apathy and blindness to the truth are the chains that hold us down and make us prisoners within our own minds. The truth shall set you free. If we—”

From within the house, a female voice said, “Are you preaching a sermon, old man, or are you actually trying to help in your own twisted way?”

“I’m handling this,” the man said in a defensive tone. He turned his attention back to Marcus. “There’s something about you, kid. Something in your eyes, I suppose. I’m usually a pretty good judge of character, and I can tell that you’re a good person.”

The man’s right hand had been concealed since the beginning of the exchange in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. But now, the man removed his hand to show that he had been clutching a menacing black pistol from the first moment he had opened the door. Marcus recognized the weapon as the FNP-9 and knew that it held sixteen 9mm rounds per magazine. “I’m going to let you in, but I’m also going to hold onto this. And if you so much as get a funny look in your eye, we’ll both find out if I know how to use this thing.”

He liked this guy already. “Fair enough,” he said.

Once inside, the man ushered him to the kitchen table, where the man’s wife brought him a glass of water. He drank it down in large gulps. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Then, he recounted his story as best he could, and like the man said, he tried to be as honest as possible. The simple act of sharing his burden made him feel rejuvenated.

The man, who he learned was a retired English teacher named Allen Brubaker, and his wife, Loren, sat with rapt attention. Although there were a few skeptical glances exchanged between the two of them, he felt that they believed his story.

After he finished, Allen leaned back in his chair. “That’s quite a story, Mr. Williams. But I believe you. I’ve heard rumors and had my own suspicions. To be honest, most of us around here know that something’s been going on. And it goes far beyond the Sheriff killing off a few criminals. It’s bigger than that. We look the other way out of fear, I suppose.”

Allen shook his head. “Maybe we’ve all been blind for so long that we’ve stopped trying to see? Maybe we see what we want to see? I don’t know. I’ve heard claims that the Sheriff and his men have permanently silenced people like us to hide their secrets. Maybe you were right when you said we were better off not knowing? Maybe we’ve eaten from the tree of knowledge and will now be cast out of paradise? But then again, as Edmund Burke said, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’ And I’m not one to stand by and do nothing.”

Allen turned to his wife and said, “Loren, wake the kids. We’re going for a little drive.”