Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Where’s Jesse?” I ask Aaron as I settle into the chair beside him for breakfast. “He was gone when I got up.”
Aaron glances over at the clock on the wall and chuckles. “Everyone was gone when you got up.”
“Seriously, where is that kid?”
“I’m sure he’s with Hailey,” Hope says from Aaron’s other side. “We’re both supposed to check in with Dr. B today.” Hope holds up her wrapped arm. “I’ll probably be getting a hard cast put on.”
Dr. B is pretty sure Hope’s arm was fractured from when we’d all gotten sucked away in the flash flood. Without anyone qualified to work the X-ray machine, though, Dr. B wanted to keep an eye on the swelling before putting on a cast to see if surgery might be needed first.
“Tell him to rest, please,” I grumble as she stands.
“Okay, Dad,” Hope teases. She bends down to kiss Aaron on the lips and then strides away.
My brother stares after her, a stupid expression on his face.
“You’re in love,” I say, elbowing him before inhaling one of my pancakes. “So precious.”
Aaron snorts. “I can assure you there was nothing precious about what we got up to on my cot last night.”
I nearly choke on my food. “You two had sex with the rest of us sleeping right there?!”
“Like you said, we’re in love.” He grins at me and winks. “That means we take all the opportunities we can get.”
I’m amused at his words but can’t help but feel a pang when I think about Kellen. He’s been…something this week. Almost as though he’s depressed or just deeply sad. I can’t really put my finger on it. And while we’ve kissed, hugged, and held hands, we haven’t found the time or opportunity to get freaky. I’m starting to wonder if that’s by design now. Kellen’s design.
I didn’t realize this was a problem until now.
Something’s definitely going on with him.
“You going to the trial after this?” Aaron asks. “Hope and Jesse won’t be able to go. Hailey and Pretzel will be wherever Jesse is. Me and Dan will be there, though.”
“And Kellen?”
“I’m assuming so. He wants that bastard to pay every bit as much as we do.”
“Have you seen him this morning?”
“He was up early. Talking to Dan and drinking coffee before the sun ever came up. They’re around here somewhere.”
An uneasy feeling settles in my gut.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
“We find the defendant guilty,” a heavyset man with a mustache says, glowering at Holt. “On all charges.”
The makeshift courtroom—the high school gym—erupts with cheers. This Holt guy really terrorized the citizens here. But he stole from us. Wayne was a good man and someone who took care of Aaron when we couldn’t. We’re all going to miss the big guy.
“Quiet down,” the town’s appointed judge, Mr. Cameron, says, beating his fist on the podium. “Thank you, jury.”
Everyone goes silent as we await the sentencing. We learned they do have a small jail at the police station in town, but it’s more for small-time offenders. Big offenses like kidnapping and murder warrant a more severe sentence than time spent in jail. At least, here in Goodland, that’s how it is.
“In accordance to the Goodland Temporary Law that’s in effect until the government provides aid or takes over, Holt Mayes, you will be sentenced to death by hanging,” Mr. Cameron shouts. “Effective immediately.”
I watch in sick delight as two uniformed cops heave a handcuffed Holt up to his feet and start outside. Everyone eagerly files out to watch his punishment. At least Wayne will have some justice for his brutal murder.
Once everyone is crowded around the crudely erected wooden stage in the school courtyard, we wait for what happens next. I’d arrived early enough, on my unsuccessful hunt for Kellen, to find Dan was one of the men helping to build the structure in anticipation for this very event. A single thick noose hangs from a long beam that runs across the top of the platform, swaying above a stool just beneath it.
“Murderer!” a woman yells. “Get rid of him!”
Another policeman joins the two holding Holt. They help him onto the stool. The new officer uses his own stool to climb up so he can slip the noose around Holt’s neck. Holt whimpers and begs, but it falls on deaf ears.
The third officer steps off his stool and moves away while the other officers crane their necks up to look at the perpetrator.
Holt’s hands remain bound by the cuffs behind his back. He stands on his toes, making the stool wobble back and forth.
“Any last words?” Mr. Cameron asks as he approaches the criminal. “An apology to the friends of the man you murdered?”
Holt hisses out something rude and unintelligible. Mr. Cameron shakes his head in disgust.
“Officer Dryer. You may carry out the punishment now.”
Dryer nods and approaches the stool. Then, without fanfare, he kicks it hard, sending it hurtling across the stage. Holt drops, his booted feet kicking the air just two feet above the wooden platform. His face quickly goes from red to purple as he gurgles and gasps for air that won’t come. The crowd is silent as we watch the life drain out of him.