The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  The next morning, she woke up way before the rising of the sun. Emma attempted not to wake the sleeping bear next to her, and eased herself out of bed. She tiptoed toward the bookshelf where her photo albums were kept. After she lit the candle on the desk, Emma rolled up a chair, and began flipping through the memories.

  When she came upon the picture capturing the moment she and Griffin had first met, Emma stared at it for hours. The image was faded, but she could still make out the smile stretched across her face as they were introduced. Please, Lord, Emma prayed, let it be him.

  It wasn't until she noticed something gliding across the sheath that she realized she was crying. Using the bottom of her shirt, she wiped up the salty substance, and closed the album before she could lose control over her emotions again.

  "Baby, you up?" Tom groggily whispered, pulling the covers from his face.

  "Oh no, I didn't mean to wake you."

  "I just noticed the light, is all," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Oooh, is it almost"—he stretched and yawned—"that time?"

  "Almost." She giggled, raising the blinds. "Sun's rising now."

  "Shit." He groaned. "I guess I better get on up."

  Fed up with his bad attitude, Emma fetched her jeans from the dresser.

  "I guess so," she replied.

  Struggling from the mattress, Tom sarcastically exclaimed, "Here we go to reunite the last remaining gingers!"

  Emma acted as though his words hadn't hurt her.

  "Get dressed before I slap the mess out of you," she joked.

  Preparing themselves for the journey was put on hold as they heard the back door being opened and then closed. In the process of buttoning his jeans, Tom stormed toward the bedroom door. Slinging it open, he shouted, "What the hell?! Was that him?"

  "He probably just went to get the horses," she said, gliding her arms through the sleeves of the shirt. "Look, I, I know you don't want to do this. But I, I need," she stammered. "I need you to be a little bit more supportive."

  "I am!"

  "No, you're being an asshole."

  "If I'm being a prick it's because I've already gone through hell to find you once. And now that I've got you home safe, you want to leave again! It's insanity!" he ranted, thrusting his arms in the air. "You're insane to think it's him! Insane!"

  "Then don't come. I'll go." She paused, fetching her pistol from the nightstand. "But at least this time I told you where I was going."

  Defeated, Tom glanced toward the floor, and then to Emma's face.

  "Why couldn't I have fallen in love with someone who needs me more than I need them? Huh?" he asked.

  These romantics, she thought. Geez, cry me a river.

  "Oh, Tom," she said, amused. "The only man I've ever needed was Daddy." Refusing to let up, Emma holstered her pistol, and stated, "And if that's the way you truly feel . . . then you should be relieved I chose you."

  If Tom was a cartoon character, smoke would have been billowing from his ears. As he began to open his mouth, their argument was interrupted by Reed returning from outside.

  Awkwardly, he stood before them as Emma exclaimed, "Where the hell did you go?!"

  Shrugging, Reed simply replied, "I had to pee."

  Chuckling in response, Emma realized Tom hadn't finished buttoning his pants. A couple of snorts of laughter escaped her as she motioned toward the britches bunched up around his ankles.

  "Honey, pull your pants up."

  "Oh," he said, blushing and snatching them from the floor. "My bad."

  Donning a serious tone, Emma looked to Reed, and asked, "You ready?"

  "Ready," Reed replied, motioning toward Tom. "He ready?"

  "Good question." She paused, arriving at her guest's side. Turning on her heel to face Tom, she asked, "You coming?"

  A staring contest had begun between them, but the glory was for Emma, as Tom was the first to blink. Ducking his chin, Tom shook his head, and grumbled, "Hell, I guess."

  Before parting from her home, Emma looped the handle of Doolie's hatchet in her belt and pocketed a few extra bullets for her pistol. After they'd exited the cabin, only a few minutes passed before they reached the barn housing their rides.

  After saddling the horses, Reed broke the silence.

  "Won't take us long to get there. An hour," he said, mounting Brute. "Probably less. Dependin' on how fast we're goin'."

  "I'm betting two," Emma said, nervously eyeing her valiant steed. "I'm not as experienced as you guys."

  "I'll go the speed of your choosin'," Reed assured her. "Don't worry."

  Naturally, it took some time for Emma to become situated. Because of her impenetrable focus on staying balanced, she couldn't even be bothered to wave back at their neighbors as they passed by them.

  "Good luck," she heard a couple of them say. "Stay safe."

  Since her departure wasn't a secret, Emma decided to exit through the front gate. As they came over the hill overlooking the barrier, Emma spotted Winston and Maddox awaiting their arrival. When the trio reached the gate, Winston held it open while his brother blocked their path, forcing them to come to an abrupt halt.

  "What's up?" Emma asked, gripping the reins.

  Glancing toward the two men on either side of her, Maddox said, "She's my cousin." He paused, latching his fingers around Emma's ankle secured in the stirrup. "And we're trusting you guys to bring her home safe."

  Reed attempted to respond.

  "I—"

  "I will," Tom replied, cutting him off.

  "I love you, cousin."

  "Love you, too."

  Winston reached his brother's side, and patted Emma's thigh.

  "You can do this. Bring him home," he said.

  Chapter 45:

  Emma

  Even though Emma knew their journey would be short, it still surprised her how quickly they arrived at their destination. As they trotted down the runway, memories of Reed's lasso wrenching her to the ground brought a painful twinge to her lower back. Wincing at the thought, Emma gazed ahead and adjusted her sight to the group of people stationed at the entrance to the barn.

  As they approached, she saw the rusted words—THE BOGAN FARM—displayed above the entrance, and all of its inhabitants stared at her as though they recognized her face. During the ride, Emma had promised herself she wouldn't allow their suffering to sway her anger, but as she scanned the crowd, all she saw was the anguished faces of the children who'd been left behind. It broke Emma's heart to see such innocent beings suffer because of their parents' actions. The shattered hearts of their caregivers did not have the same effect. Their presence infuriated her just as much as the men who had invaded her land.

  They watched closely as Tom and Reed dismounted from their horses. It wasn't until Tom helped Emma down that she heard, "That . . . that's . . . that girl," whispered by a woman who balanced a toddler on her hip.

  Together, the three of them took a step forward. Taking the pistol from her side, Emma nodded to Reed and broke the silence.

  "Most of you are probably thinking that you haven't done anything wrong. And I'm here to tell you, those of you who believe this are mistaken. No," she said, "no, you did not accompany your men to our land, but you didn't persuade them otherwise. Therefore, you are partly to blame. It's true—men'll do what they do, but it is our jobs to steer them in the right direction."

  Scanning the crowd, Emma's eyes lingered on the face of a petite woman with dark brown hair the length of her chin.

  "Whatever deals my brother made with you," she said, "just know he doesn't speak for the rest of us."

  "Sabra!" Reed shouted. "Don't say another word! I mean it!"

  "If you would've killed this bitch like Dad told you to, he'd still be alive!" Sabra replied.

  "Dad was an asshole. And don't be actin' like you didn't call him that on a daily basis."

  Feeling as though the power was shifting toward their side, Emma attempted to steal it back.

  "I understand that battles must be
fought," she interjected. "But I don't want this to be one that's drawn out, so let's just settle it now."

  "What'd you do with the bodies, huh?" Sabra smirked. "Pile them up and burn them like brush?"

  "You would've known if we did. The smoke would've cleared the trees."

  "They were buried right," Reed cut in. "Better than they deserved."

  "When you go from road to road, thieving and killing," Emma said, "it's bound to catch up with you. Your daddy deserved what he got. Mine didn't."

  Folding her arms across her chest, Sabra avoided Emma's gaze, and blurted out, "Settle it how?"

  "Give him back to me. You've already rejected my deal once. Didn't even consider it. Refuse me a second time, and on my daddy's grave, I shit you not, I will make your lives a living hell."

  As the threat spread throughout the crowd, they looked to one another in perturbed silence. Then someone shouted out, "Just give them the boy!"

  Sabra began cursing them all. Glaring in Emma's direction, she pulled a knife hidden beneath her shirt and stormed through the crowd, disappearing from sight. It wasn't until Reed began chasing after her, shouting, "Sabra, no! Don't!" that Emma realized what her intentions were.

  Following his lead, Emma and Tom sprinted around the corner of the barn. Startling them was the sight of what remained of Heskill's group clearing the other side. As they met in the middle, Tom aimed his pistol.

  "Get back! Get back!" he exclaimed.

  "We don't want any trouble," said a homely woman holding a toddler. "Just take the boy."

  The sound of people struggling drew Emma's attention elsewhere. A brother and sister were battling it out before the cell that probably held Griffin. Emma and Tom watched as Sabra relentlessly slashed toward Reed's face and chest.

  "They're dead because of you!" she screamed, lunging forward.

  Dodging the blow, Reed grabbed her by the wrist and beat it against the outer wall of the cell.

  She dropped the knife, and clutched at her throbbing wrist as she sank to her knees.

  "We're your blood, Reed." She wept. "How could you?"

  "It was easy." He panted, waving them over. "I wanted to start doin' right."

  Staying alert, Tom kept Emma's back covered as they reached Reed's side. Reed fetched his sister's knife from the ground, and dipped his hat, assuring Emma it was safe to approach. Stepping forward, Emma offered her hand to help Sabra stand.

  Refusing the gesture, the woman rose to her feet and blocked the door.

  "What are you gonna do?" she said. "Huh?"

  "Don't underestimate me. When you do, that's when you'll lose. And if I win, people will die. Even if I don't want them to. There are things backing me that you lack the spirituality to see. So, think. Think before you challenge me."

  "Step aside," Tom commanded. "I'll put you down right here."

  Seeming desperate, Sabra looked to her brother for aid. Breaking her heart was the sight of Reed shaking his head, rejecting her.

  "It's over," he said. "Move. That's all you gotta do."

  Trembling where she stood, Sabra faced the door and began turning the knob.

  "I'm not going to deprive my daughters of their uncle. I'm not that selfish." She began to cry, shoving open the door. "And I don't want to lose my nephew. But I never . . . never want to see these people again, Reed. Never." She brushed past her brother's shoulder, leaving them to stare after her.

  As they stood at the door's entrance, whispers began escaping the depths of the cell. Emma was certain they were the whispers of children—a boy and a girl. The anticipation was so great that Emma was afraid to approach. Her feet became cemented on the ground as she thought, What if it's not him?

  Sensing the concern emanating from her pores, Tom took her by the hand, and whispered, "It's going to be him. I don't think God would do that to you. Not now." He smiled, tucking a few curls behind her ear. "Now that you're one of His angels."

  "Go on in," Reed said. "He's waitin' for you."

  Leaving them behind, Emma entered the cell alone. Inside, she found a little girl clothed in ladybug pajamas with plastic pink wings over her back. A young boy sat beside the girl. They were praying before a twin mattress on the ground. On top of it laid a man whose face was covered by a wet rag. The rag rose with every breath he took. Except for his left leg, the rest of the man's body was kept warm by a green fleece blanket. Concentrating on their prayers, the children seemed unaware of Emma approaching. A scar plaguing the sickly man's foot caught her eye. A scar she recognized as one Griffin had received as a disobedient child playing with their father's machete.

  Catching her breath, Emma cried, "Brother?!"

  Hearing her voice, the man turned his head and removed the rag, revealing himself to be Griffin. Months ago, Emma's brother had been stolen from her. As she looked at him, and he looked at her, Emma was reminded of the day he'd been delivered.

  Supporting the arrival of the newborn baby boy, Emma had been clothed in a light-blue dress with frilly, white lace. As Griffin was passed around, Doolie had excitedly bounced Emma up and down upon his knee. Because the delivery room was filled with emotional, baby-crazed, middle-aged women, they had been the last to hold him. Once it was their turn, the cameras had flashed, and there wasn't a dry eye in the room. The moment Emma had kissed those rosy cheeks of his, she knew she would love that tiny bundle for the rest of her life.

  A baby brother, a cherished friend, someone who could always make Emma laugh was now being delivered to her again.

  Her heart leaped as he hoarsely whispered, "Sister?"

  As soon as the children heard him speak, it was clear their prayers had been answered.

  "He said something!" the young girl exclaimed. "Did you hear him?"

  "I did!" Aiden's recognizable voice answered. "I did! I did!"

  It wasn't until Emma knelt beside them that they were aware of her presence.

  "Miss!" he exclaimed. "You're here!"

  "Where did you come from?" the girl asked, eyeing Emma.

  "Shell-Shelby," Griffin whispered. "This is"—he paused, taking a breather—"Emma."

  "Emma!" The seven-year-old screamed, jumping toward her. "Really, it's you?!"

  "She a friend of yours?" Emma chuckled, embracing her.

  "Good . . . good friend."

  Reed barged through the doorway, startling them, waving for his son to follow.

  "C'mon, Aiden," he said. "Leave them be."

  "But—"

  "You said your prayers. And they worked." Reed paused, reaching for him. "Now they'll be leavin' soon."

  "Already? Really, miss?" Aiden whined, meeting Emma's gaze.

  "Yes, baby," she replied apologetically. "I need to get him home."

  Looking from his father then to her, he asked, "Can we come too?"

  In fear of breaking his heart, Emma reluctantly replied, "No, sweetie. I'm sorry. You can't."

  Like a little gentleman, Aiden politely asked Shelby to move.

  "Thank you," he said once she had. Leaning over Emma's shoulder, Aiden looked back at his father and whispered in her ear, "But my dad—he loves you, you see? You can't leave him."

  "We have family here," Reed said, seemingly unable to hear his words.

  "Will I see you again?!" Aiden cried. "Will I?"

  Grasping Griffin's hand, Emma replied, "I never thought I'd see him again. And now look, he's right here beside me."

  Seeming satisfied with the answer, Aiden whispered, "Can I give you a hug?"

  "Sure you can." Clinging to Emma's shoulders, Aiden buried his nose into the crook of her neck. Squeezing him, she whispered, "Never lose yourself, Aiden. Stay as sweet as you are now. Promise me you will."

  Aiden parted from her, rose from his knees, and grasped his father's hand.

  "Okay, miss," he replied. "I promise." Reed looked Emma's way and, without saying a word, ushered his son from the cell.

  With their leave came Tom walking through the doorway. As he looked from Emma to Sh
elby, he asked, "This the girl?"

  "Yes."

  "How is he?" Tom asked, seeming to notice Griffin struggling to keep his eyes open.

  "He's out of it. We need to get him home."

  Emma folded the cover back from Griffin's chest, and realized they'd left him shirtless. The gunshot wound Norman had spoken of was in the muscle above his left shoulder. The bullet had torn through his flesh, miraculously exiting without shattering his collarbone. The fever he suffered from, Emma believed, was caused by the infection festering inside of the wound itself. It was obvious the people had done what they could, but simply lacked the necessary knowledge and supplies to clean or stitch it properly.

  They'd used fishing line, but sloppily left gaping spaces between each stitch. Cringing with the thought of Griffin being restrained while they struggled to sew him back together, Emma turned to Tom.

  "He'll have to ride with you," she whispered.

  "Fine with me. But wrap him back up; he's shivering."

  "Oh, sorry, brother," she whispered, tucking the blanket around him. "Shelby, baby, you'll ride with me. Is that okay with you?"

  "Yes, ma'am," she chirped. "But can we go now? I'm ready to go."

  "I'm sure he is, too," Emma said. "Wait for me outside?" Nodding in response, Shelby let go of Griffin's hand and did as she was asked. The moment Shelby stepped from the cell, Emma turned to her brother, and whispered, "You're gonna have to help us. Can you do that?"

  He opened his eyes slightly, and weakly replied, "Tr-try."

  "Good. That's all I'm asking. Tom," she said, motioning toward Griffin's shoulders, "help me prop him up." As they pried him from the mattress, they saw that the accumulation of sweat during his days in confinement had soaked into the mattress, leaving behind a perfect outline of his body.

  Once Griffin was standing, it became an endless struggle to keep him that way. Not only was he suffering from infection, but from starvation as well. With his ribcage protruding beneath his skin and his stomach sunken in from malnourishment, it was obvious he couldn't walk anywhere. Desperate, Emma looked to Tom, and without having to be asked to do so, he picked up Griffin, cradling him like someone would a sickly child. Touched by Tom's actions, Emma lovingly rubbed his shoulder as she trailed behind.