The Haunting of Josiah Kash

by Dana Pratola

  “Is he in love with you?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “You just said you thought he’s playing me,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, before I had all the facts.”

  My heart jolted at the pronouncement. I remembered our kiss hours ago. Could he kiss me that way with hatred in his heart? Could his hands be so gentle against my cheeks, his lips so tender, his eyes…yes, focused on me. I’d thought so, and for some reason had chosen to ignore it.

  But, could he deceive me so? I supposed it possible for a man to purposely make a woman fall in love with him, only to have the pleasure of stomping her heart to dust later on—the cruelest thing to do to a person. But not Josiah.

  My mind instantly traveled back to the Wagoner house and the night he found me cowering on the floor, the look of concern on his face, standing there in the dark, outlined by the hallway light and sparks of lightning. How he’d held me, comforted me. No, Josiah could never be so cruel. He simply didn’t have it in him. I knew it even then, in the connection of two wandering souls seeking shelter, yet so much more. It was unlikely we would see one another again, but like it or not, we were linked.

  “I think he did try to tell me his vision had returned,” I said. Though I could just be making that up in my hopelessly romantic brain. Pure speculation. He’d had plenty of chances to come clean. Which brought me back to the most likely reason—ulterior motives. Ugh! All this back and forth was making my head spin!

  Eliza hung her head for a second. “I called him yesterday.”

  “What? Why?”

  “After I left the cleaners. I told him he better not be screwing you around.”

  I should have been angry, but it was expected. Just like Ben. “Well, either he listened to you or he didn’t.” I even giggled a little. It was better than crying.

  CHAPTER 27

  After my own stay I was familiar with some of the hospital staff, so when the lady at the reception desk said I couldn’t see Jim, I pulled aside Manny, a nurse I’d met, and asked him to get me in. No problem. It had been two hours already, but he said I could see Jim as soon as he was done being X-rayed and stitched up, before he went into surgery to have his leg repaired.

  When he finally called me over from the waiting area an hour later, two police officers were posted outside Jim’s room. It hit me only then that I didn’t have any idea of the extent of his injuries, and that if he survived, he might be a star witness in a murder investigation. Possibly even a suspect.

  One of the officers I knew from school, Kyle Markham, walked over when he saw me and shook my hand.

  “Hey, Kash, good to see you. You know, uh…?” He tipped his chin toward the room.

  “Yeah. Works for me.” Worked. I wasn’t in any hurry to face Jim when I felt semi-responsible for his being here. If he had still been at the ranch this wouldn’t have happened. I leaned back against the wall. “What kind of shape is he in?”

  “Pretty rough, but should be okay from what I hear. Lucky man.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was beaten with a bar, found at the scene. Then shot in the face,” Kyle answered.

  “What?” Shot in the face?

  “Fortunately, the bullet glanced him, so there wasn’t serious damage,” he continued. “But it ricocheted off his skull, killing another man instantly.”

  I shook my head, unsure of what I’d just heard. “How does that even happen?”

  “Yeah, can you believe it?” he agreed, nodding.

  I’d never heard of that. Ever. “Can I see him?”

  “Someone’s in with him now. Hold on.” He went into the room, then came out a couple seconds later. A doctor came out, gave me a curt nod, and walked down the hall.

  “I have to be present,” Kyle said.

  “That’s fine.” I supposed Jim might say something they could potentially use in the investigation.

  I stepped into the room and stopped in my tracks. What a wreck. The little skin not covered by sheets, plaster or gauze, was dappled black and blue, and his left leg, though under the sheet, was either swelled to twice it’s normal size, or wrapped with something, because it was huge.

  Jim’s eyes were swollen almost completely shut, one of which widened a little when he saw me walk in. My heart went out to him at once and guilt rose up on the balls of its feet to stab an accusing finger in my face, reminding me if I hadn’t fired him … or at least returned his calls….

  “Kash,” he mumbled.

  “Geeze, Jim, you look like hell.”

  I stood by the side of his bed, Kyle at the foot. Jim adjusted his head on the pillow.

  “I never saw a guy get killed before,” he said, his words coming slowly, hindered by his injuries or the drugs they pumped into him.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m glad it was Mac instead of me. Lousy, rotten….” The hand of his uncasted arm grabbed a fistful of sheet, clutching and releasing it as he spoke. “The way he turned on me. I thought we were friends.”

  “I can’t believe he shot you,” I said, still amazed. “And you’re not dead.”

  He smiled, but it looked like it hurt, with that split lip. “My ma always called me a soft-hearted, hard-headed S.O.B. Guess it’s a good thing.” He raised his chin. “But Mac didn’t shoot me. Brew did.”

  My heart dipped to my stomach. “Brew did this to you?”

  “They showed up … yelling at me … for taking your side. I didn’t know what was going on. Mac starts swinging at me with … a pipe or something.” He was becoming upset, each word a struggle.

  “Hey, we don’t have to talk about that now,” I said.

  “Then Brew starts swinging his fists,” he went on. “Kicking me, too. And then he takes out a gun and quick as a wink shoots me. Didn’t … even say anything. I dropped to my knees and the next thing I know … Mac hits the floor in front of me.”

  “Man, Jim, I’m sorry.” All I could do was shake my head. “You told the police all this?” I asked, with a glance at Kyle.

  Jim nodded, then shrugged. “What I remember, anyway. It’s … fuzzy.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “We’ll interview him again when he’s up to it,” Kyle said.

  “The doc says I’ll have a scar on my head, but not too bad.” Jim paused, trying to lift his broken arm. “This should heal nice. Clean break….” He glanced at his leg. “They really messed me up. I may … have to have my hip … replaced. I’m definitely gonna need physical therapy.” A tear escaped the dark puffiness enclosing his eyes, and rolled down to be absorbed by the bandage over his nose. “Kash, what am I gonna do?”

  I’d broken many a bone, but fortunately had never required major surgery. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover expens—”

  “Not that,” Jim cut me off. “Ranch work … it’s all I know. What do I do for a living now?”

  “Don’t think about that yet,” I told him. “Just heal up.”

  “What’s the point?” he asked, suddenly agitated. “I’ll never be what I was. I won’t sit a horse right, or do anything else without pain.” He closed his eyes, turning his face as far as his trappings would allow.

  “You don’t know that. You’re young, strong, in great physical shape. Nowadays therapy for this kind of thing is pretty advanced. You’ll be back on Sizzler before you know it, good as new.” I wished I could’ve sounded more convincing, but he didn’t argue. Even worse than arguing. He cried.

  “I deserve it,” he said. “After what I did to you … I had this coming.”

  “Jim, no, that’s not true.” Though part of me believed you couldn’t just treat people any way and not have it come back on you.

  He nodded and shook his head at the same time. “I could’ve gotten you killed. I did nothing but think on it since it happened. I swear, Kash, I … had no idea what they were up to. And I wouldn’t say that, being so close to having died myself, but I swear it.”

  “I know, I know,” I told him. His anger t
riggered adrenaline, as he fought to get his words out without so many pauses. I just wanted him to relax. I knew from experience adrenaline could mute some pain, but make some much worst. Then, because he needed to hear it…. “I forgive you. I already had, and planned to hire you back.” I sat on the edge of the bed, easy, so as not to jar him, placing a hand on his arm, because I thought that touch might be helpful. “I wanted to make you sweat a little. I’m sorry now I didn’t just answer you the first time. I’m asking you to forgive me for that.”

  His wet eyes tried to widen again. “You don’t have anything to ask forgiveness for. You didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done. In fact, if I was you … and thought you’d done me like that, I would’ve kicked your tail all the way to Kentucky. God punished me. I deserved it, that’s all.”

  I shook my head, recalling a conversation I’d had with Brenna the night she stayed in my room. I’d told her I thought my blindness could be payback for living a life I shouldn’t. The bill comes due and God grabs you by the scruff and says, not so fast boy. She’d balked at that, and assured me God didn’t punish us. That while it was true people suffered on this earth, sometimes rightfully, every good thing was from Him, and the rest, the dirt and all the bad, was the devil or our own doing. She said it like she knew for sure. I believed her.

  “God doesn’t punish us, Jim, not like this, and not here on this earth.”

  “I—”

  “No, He doesn’t. He helps us. We get in our own way more often than not and yeah, sometimes we deserve what we get, but it’s not Him.” I tried to let those words sink in. For both of us.

  Jim reached for my arm, missed, dropping his hand to the bed. “Kash, be careful. Brew’s set on hurting you. I don’t know why, he’s not gonna let it go.”

  I nodded but didn’t address it further. I had no fear of Brewster, not on my life, though there was no telling where he would hit, or how. If he was crazy enough to find Jim and shoot him in the face, he was crazy enough to sneak back to the ranch to come at me directly. Possibly try to hide out in the cabin he used to stay in, presuming it still empty. I had to get back to Brenna. First, I had to ask a question I’d hate myself for asking.

  “Did Brew ever mention Brenna to you?” I asked. Jim stared at me blankly. “His niece?”

  He looked alert then. “Oh. His niece. Not by name.”

  My guts tightened. “What did he say? Did he talk about her? Say he was meeting her or anything?”

  Jim shook his head. “He only brought her up … once that I heard and it wasn’t kind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bragged about pinching Dean’s ranch out from under her before his sister’s body cooled in the ground. Twisted the will or somethin’. Thought that was real mean,” Jim said. “But it wasn’t my business.”

  He was getting more upset, and not wanting him to see how edgy I was, I dropped it there. I stayed a few minutes more, until his eyes drooped and he fell asleep, then Kyle and I parted ways, him back to his post in the hall, me to head back to the ranch. I started calling Ben, but service that far out was sketchy at best, and here in this area of town as well. Damn.

  While I was at it, I played Tracy’s message.

  CHAPTER 28

  I clamped my hands tighter around the steering wheel, but fueled by so much anger and frustration, instead of keeping them from shaking, the intense grip only made the wheel shake as well. I wasn’t so surprised that Brewster was capable of murder, only that he’d targeted Jim. There was no reason for it other than revenge. Senseless. Now a man was maimed because of it, possibly for life, and another man dead. Granted, the wrong man, one who probably had it coming for a number of reasons. Still.

  A mile from home, lights ahead caught my eye. Not so much the lights themselves cutting the darkness, as their disappearance the moment I came around the bend. Closer to town I would surmise maybe a car had turned off onto another road, but this far out, less than a mile from the ranch, there were no other roads.

  As I got closer, I didn’t see anything parked along the side of the road. It was possible a vehicle had pulled off into the trees altogether into one of a few notches worn here and there through the trees where young lovers often went to fool around.

  The chill creeping up my spine told me different. More than Tracy’s warning message that Brew was determined to kill me one way or another, I was learning to respect and listen to those chills.

  A flicker of lightning from a far-off storm lit the sky. Rain wouldn’t come tonight, but I still wondered if the heat lightning would make Brenna nervous even without the resounding booms. With any luck I’d be at home with her soon straightening things out without making a fool of myself.

  I can’t believe she had to find out I could see that way. I deserved all the anger she would inevitably throw my way—maybe even objects, as some women were apt to do—and that was fine, as long as I didn’t lose her.

  I didn’t see the glint off a window until I was almost past it and the sky lightened again. There it was, wedged between some spruces a couple inches deep in mud, though that truck could handle it. I knew the truck. Brew’s truck. Son-of-a—

  I threw the truck in park just as a shot rang, showering me with glass from my passenger window. I ducked automatically. Having never before been in this situation, a cluster of thoughts fired through my brain. The bullet hit the window. It missed, but the next will come through the door. Easy to rip through and hit me. I might be hit in the head. Stay out of sight, so he doesn’t have a clear target.

  I snatched my rifle from the rack and scrambled to the passenger floor. Another bullet cruised through the cabin, pulling on my jacket sleeve. I didn’t feel it enter, but my jacket was already turning red.

  More crazy thoughts whizzed through my head as fast as a bullet might. The last one got my attention. Get up, get up, before he rushes you. I heard slogging footsteps coming closer. Thank God for the mud slowing him down, giving me time to twist around, push to my knees and shoulder my rifle through the window.

  Two shots rang out and I fell back, slamming my shoulder on the dash and head on the steering wheel, filling my eyes with light. My first thought was God, not again, not blind again. Another flash of lightning reassured me I still had sight. My next thought was where is Brew? Any second he might appear in the window and blow my brains out. I got up as fast as I could, still trying to remain hidden.

  Other than the wind picking up, there was no noise out there. I readied my rifle, stretched my neck to see outside, hoping my head stayed in one piece. Though this insane pounding might cause my heart to explode first and I wouldn’t have to worry about being executed.

  So far so good. I eased my body a little higher, listening intently, trying to distinguish the wind and yielding branches from all other sounds. There were no other sounds, initially, until a sudden gasp and something moving in the mud with the accompanying schluurk, squish sounds. Not drawing closer, just repeating. Gasp, squish.

  Deciding it best if I moved suddenly, giving Brew a harder target, I popped my head up and back. It was hard to see, but near as I could tell, there was a large dark figure sprawled on the ground ten feet from my truck. I poked my head out again. It didn’t move.

  Giving it a longer look as my eyes adjusted, I identified it as Brew, laid out face up in the mud, sliding his legs around, bending one knee, then the other. He let out a painful groan, then a long stream of air and gasped again.

  Could be he was playing the wounded animal to lure me closer, but when the clouds illuminated again, I saw both of his hands were empty, and also the spreading black puddle beneath his back.

  I got out of the truck and walked to him, rifle at the ready. His eyes were closed, his head turning side to side as he shifted his legs, groaning. I gave one of his legs a light kick and his groan turned to a moan. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t playing possum.

  I lowered the rifle, turned on the light on my phone, and shone it on his abdomen. His darkened, blood
-soaked shirt and jacket were plastered to his flesh, but I couldn’t see the wound itself.

  “Bet that hurts,” I said. He mumbled something. “Looks like it hurts. A lot.” That time he managed an expletive. “That’s just rude,” I said, and gave his leg another kick, sending up a shuddering moan. It wasn’t like me to kick someone when they were down—literally—but seeing what he did to Jim, I couldn’t muster any sympathy. Not to mention the fact that Brenna had my truck earlier and if he’d come upon it then….

  Speaking of hurt, my left arm stung something fierce. I pulled aside my jacket, using the light to inspect the damage, and found an inch-long laceration where a bullet had grazed me. It bled, but nothing major. I’d patch it up when I got home. First things first.

  I turned my phone on and called 911, telling them Brewster ambushed me and I shot him, then called Ben, and got no answer, so I got in my truck to wait, and called Tory, even as several message and call notifications came in. I’d listen later. Tory immediately launched into a hundred questions about Jim and Mac, which I barely had time to answer before she went off about Brenna and something to do with Brew. She was talking at hyper-speed, clearly on the verge of hysteria, nothing made sense. By the time I got her calmed enough to even begin to unravel it, police sirens pierced the air and I hung up without even telling her I’d shot Brew.

  I stepped onto the road, hands up—just in case—as Kyle Markham and his partner got out of the car.

  “Shouldn’t you be guarding your patient?” I asked.

  “We’re just changing shifts,” Kyle said. “Were on our way back to the station when the call came in.”

  Two more cars arrived behind them. After securing my rifle and Brew, I had a lot of questions to answer.

  “Are you injured?” an officer asked, pointing to my bloody jacket with the tip of his pen.

  “It’s nothing much.”

  “We’ll need photos at the hospital.”