Beasts in the Bluegrass

PROLOGUE

There weren't always dragon sightings in the holler. In Kentucky it's a holler not a valley, despite what the news people say. Mothman, Bigfoot, the Flatwoods Monster, the Hopkinsville Goblins, Goatman, and black panthers on the other hand, those are the sort of sightings normal for our hollers. The closest the bluegrass state has ever come to touching the realm of the fantastical, outside of Appalachian folklore anyway, is the castle in Versailles near Lexington and the rumor that J.R. Tolkien based the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings off our knobs and culture. Well, culture so far as the Hobbits are concerned. I doubt anyone would mistake our bare feet and love for food and tobacco for Elven culture at any rate.

I don't doubt for a minute that there are all sorts of things hidden in the Eastern Appalachia mountains that would make most people’s hair stand on end. I am just of the opinion that those things involve more mundane evils. Like bodies hidden in the many abandoned coal mines, serial killers snatching unsuspecting victims off lonely stretches of highway, and the occasional delusional person who believe they are vampires and need to drink blood to survive. I mean, it wasn't that long ago people in Murphysville were keeping an African lion for a pet in an electrified chain link fence. With their dog. I hope they aren't too attached to the dog.

There isn't much that happens in the back woods of Kentucky that would surprise me but, the idea of fire breathing dragons living in a holler is absurd. And yet... here we are. Dragon sightings in the hollers of Bullitt County Kentucky on the 5 o'clock news. Yes, you heard me right. Bullitt County. In my opinion Nelson County would make more sense given the Jerry Bruckheimer connection but, what do I know? I just fix lawn equipment and work the counter at my family's store. I didn't even know WAVE3 covered the story until Mike, a regular customer, told me.

"I have a few chains for you to sharpen Miss Kaylea. There's five of 'em, I think. I'll be by Saturday to pick them up," Mike announced in his gravelly voice, handing over a fist full of tangled chainsaw chains. He never bothered to untangle his chains before leaving them with me. Not that I minded. Not much anyway. "By and by, did you hear about the dragon in Wildcat Holler?"

Taking a manila tag out of the box under the printer, I handed it over the counter with a pen. "Name and phone number, please," I instructed him before answering. "Dragon? Like a Komodo dragon or a bearded dragon? It was probably a bearded dragon. I wonder what idiot had the bright idea to release their pet in the woods like that. It won't survive the first winter."

"No, no, no. Not THAT kind of dragon," the round man protested, waving a meaty hand in my direction. Scratching his name on the tag I swiftly untangled the chains. I am a pro at untangling chainsaw chains after all. "Dawn Gee said some campers came across it last weekend hiking some of the walking paths out there. Said it was as big as a house." He handed me back the pen and the tag, face split into a toothy grin. "No doubt they shh...er... crapped their pants comin' cross something like that. Pardon my French."

Tagging the chains and putting them on the hook next to the dark blue Franzen machine, I took the opportunity to roll my eyes in exasperation. Mike was a good sort. Just an old country boy, rough as a corn cob but willing to give you the shirt off his back. It just never ceased to amaze me how grown men inexplicably maintained the humor of a twelve year old boy. Fixing a grin on my face that I hoped he'd take as amused, I shook my head as I turned back to him. "I'm sure they exaggerated what they saw. The only kind of dragon I know of you find in a pet store or a zoo and neither grow to be the size of a house."

"I'm tellin' ya girl, it wasn't that sort of dragon," Mike insisted. "They said it was the fire breathing type. Like what they had in that one movie... what's it called? You know the one I’m talkin’ bout. The one with the elves and the dwarves and the hobbits."

"Lord of the Rings?" I supplied, quirking an eyebrow. I was honestly surprised Mike knew the movie existed. It would blow his mind if he learned it was a book first. In the twenty years since he'd been coming to the store, I've never known the old farmer to be much for books. Or fantastical stories. Good old Mike was a practical man. Except, it seemed as if his practicality temporarily had deserted him.

"Yeah! That's the one." The watery blue eyes set in his tan leathery face were almost glowing with excitement. "Some of the boys and I were talking about riding down and taking a gander at it."

"You know, it's a wonder they didn't get eaten. I am sure something as big as a house eats quite a bit of meat," I remarked pointedly, giving him a level look. Leave it to Bullitt County rednecks to think it was a good idea to take a look at a wild, carnivorous animal the size of an elephant. Knowing them, they'd probably try to hunt it. "Did the news show a picture of the dragon in question? Surely something that big and everybody carrying a cellphone nowadays, somebody got a picture of it."

"Well, no. Not exactly..." Doubt dimmed the fevered light in his eyes before excitement brightened them once again. "The news just said there was claims of people seeing it. Miss Gee did an interview with one couple who'd seen it with their own eyes. Said it was something like outta movie all big, green and with teeth as long as my forearm."

"And you thought it'd be a good idea to go take a look at something like that?" I plowed on without giving him a chance to answer. I made my point and it was time to move on. "I bet you dollars to donuts that what they saw was some kind of movie prop with the Bruckheimer's only a county over. And the news people took an interest in it to give whatever movie they are filming free publicity. Besides, you know you can't believe everything you hear on the news. Remember the 'fire fight in Syria' video that was really a video of the machine gun show at Knob Creek gun range a few years back?"

Mike slowly nodded as he took on a faraway expression. "I do remember that, now you mention it." His gaze sharpened suddenly. "That doesn't mean there isn't a dragon though."

I conceded to the possibility with a noncommittal shrug. I knew I wouldn't convince him otherwise. Whatever was in that holler, I knew it couldn't be a dragon and whatever it was, it was most likely harmless. The biggest danger of this so-called dragon was people getting lost in the woods looking for it. Or some teenage boys whose brains haven't turned right side around yet getting hurt doing some kind of 'hold my beer' moment trying to bait the mythical beast. For that matter, I know a few grown men who haven't grown out of their young and dumb stage yet who would be subject to the same danger.

Mike was just the first of several customers that day to mention the dragon sighting with varying degrees of belief. And like with all things in a small town, talk of the dragon and Wildcat Holler died down to a sporadic mention every now and then as other town gossip and politics took precedence. The dragon, real or imagined, became something from another place and time. And to be perfectly honest with you, I sort of forgot it even happened.

CHAPTER ONE--UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER

This wasn't what I thought my life would be like by the time I turned 40. I thought I'd be married to a loving husband I would grow old with, living in a quaint little farmhouse with like twenty kids--okay, maybe not that many but a house full. I'd be writing and illustrating children's books and travelling the world. Instead, I find myself living alone with my dogs and cat in a worn little trailer from the 80’s, on a five acre lot in the middle of nowhere Lebanon Junction. Oh, and did I mention that in lieu of a loving man in my life, I have a nosey neighbor from Ireland? Allegedly he is an Irish lord complete with titles, coat of arms--the whole shebang. I have no idea why any sort of lord would be living in the knobs of Kentucky but, here we are.

It isn’t so much that Lord Declan Byrne is nosey as he thinks my trailer is an eyesore and isn't shy about letting me know it. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned the large, dilapidated barn on the back side of my property during one of his visits. Not that he lowers himself to actually interact with me. Oh no, my lord sends his minions to do his dirty work. The head of his security, Sheamus O’Bryan, and I are on a first name basis. Since the year he moved into the large manor situated further up the hill, he has complained about my trailer ruining his view almost daily. Apparently from the manor's vantage point, it gives his lordship a perfect view of my humble abode. Which is why I troubled myself to paint it the ugliest neon orange I could find two weeks and some twenty odd visits from Sheamus after he moved in. Lately, I’ve been considering adding ‘decorations’ to my unsightly abode since he hasn’t gotten the message yet. I figure, if he wants something to complain about, the least I can do is oblige. It is the southern way after all, bless his heart.

All in all, the lordling is the least of my problems. Being 40, single, and childless means that my mother is constantly bemoaning the fact I haven't provided her with any grandchildren to date. My five younger siblings have obliged her with twenty-two of the little ankle biters, but it appears that isn't good enough. I’m also lacking in the way I dress, how much I eat, and how I clean. In her words, “Kaylea Raye, there’s a right way, a wrong way, and then there is my way. You can never go wrong doing it my way.” She would absolutely die if she ever found what I was living in, never mind the paint job. Oh, the shame of a child of hers living in a trailer. She’d never forgive me if she knew. Which is why I let most of her calls go to voicemail.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love my mother. However, for my sanity’s sake, I can only handle small doses of her at a time. And I do feel guilty for avoiding her since Dad died a couple of years back. Just not guilty enough to allow her closer than arms length.

I don't think I would mind my mother's prodding and prying near as much if I weren't constantly bombarded with overbearing relatives. I can't turn around without practically stepping on one. You're surrounded by them when you work for family. In the 1960’s, Grandpa Lester started a lawn equipment rental and repair store off Preston Hwy in Hillview called Your Way or the Highway Rental & Sales. It was the first of many businesses my grandfather built over the years. Used cars, rental properties, lawn equipment, warehouses, and dealing in 40 foot containers, James Lester has made and lost more money than most people could ever dream of having.

He turned the business over to my brother Denny Joe about 10 years ago. Mostly because he thought it would help my delinquent sibling out of the financial and legal hole he was in. The only thing it helped my brother do was to cover up his less than legal activities, the moonshine stills and breeding dogs and gamecocks to fight. In my brother’s view, it is only wrong if you get caught. He has gotten fairly good at not getting caught over the years. Not that anyone dares mentions that in earshot of my grandfather or my mother. My youngest sibling can do no wrong in their eyes. I think they would turn a blind eye to about anything he decided to do.

Personally, other than working for Denny Joe, I do my best to steer clear of my brother. The only reason I am even working for him is because of Grandma Norma Jean, who is undoubtedly the sweetest person on the planet. She keeps things in line and running almost single handedly doing the books and ordering inventory on top of doing the bookkeeping for Grandpa Lester’s other businesses. I honestly can’t see how she manages to do it and keep a clean house, babysit great grandkids, and have supper on the table at 6 sharp. She really is an amazing woman. If I were in her shoes, I’d make a hot mess of things. No, not a hot mess. I am fairly certain I would crash and burn the lot of it in the most spectacular manner.

If every person we had working at the shop and the office were like her, I wouldn’t mind working here nearly so much. Instead I have the misfortune to work with Ben, Geoff, and Kevin, Your Way or the Highway’s resident mechanics. They also happen to be my cousins and pretty much ignore anything I say. Never mind I have been working here longer than any of them have been alive. Ranging between the ages of 19 to 24 years old, you know, the period of where they know more than anyone else, they do what they want when they want.

The biggest problem with them is customer repairs aren’t high on their list of priorities, despite being part of their job description. No, they could care less how long a piece of equipment has been sitting in the shop waiting to be repaired. They don’t have to interact with the customers, so why would they care? You see, that’s the problem with them not working the counter. When repairs aren’t done in a timely manner, I am the one that deals with the upset customer whose lawn has turned into an unruly jungle. And it’s like pulling teeth to get them to tell me anything about the repairs they are working on when a customer calls for an update. My only saving grace is they do tell Uncle Gary, who manages the repair shop, and he in turn tells me. Most of the time.

This trio of cousins aren’t the first to cycle through the shop and they are nowhere near the worst lot I’ve had to work with. I just think the older I get, the more the struggle of being a woman working in a man’s world is getting to me. Certain kinds of stupidity that didn’t used to bother me, have worn my patience so thin in spots that I am pushed to the breaking point easier than I once was. Honestly, I am not sure why my auburn hair hasn’t turned completely white yet. If it weren’t for Johnny, an older black man who runs the rental side of the business and is very good at his job, Uncle Gary, and Grandma Norma Jean I am not sure would’ve lasted at this job as long as I have. As things stand, I refuse to work there more than four days a week.

Rather than fighting a losing battle with my cousins, I do some of the mechanic work. At five when we close the doors I do the end of day paperwork and then head out to the shop with my laptop. It’s my sorry attempt to keep the work orders under control that also happens to be my favorite part of the work day. No phones to answer, no one to bother me, no stress. Just me, my music turned up, and the oldest equipment that needs to be serviced or repaired. Which is why I was still at the shop at 10 o’clock on a Friday night buttoning up Mr. Brown’s riding mower that has been here for more than three weeks now. Normally I don’t stay this late by myself but, tomorrow was my day off so I decided at the last minute to tie up a few loose ends. Did I mention that I usually manage to fit forty plus hours in the four days I work?

Listening to the engine roar to life as I turned the key on Mr. Brown’s cub cadet mower, I rode it over to the back of the shop where the finished equipment resided until they were picked up. Leaving the key in the ignition, I walked over to the sink by the bay door to clean up. It never ceased to amaze me how hard it is to get ingrained oil off a person’s hands and no matter how I scrubbed, I never got it all. If I wore gloves it wouldn’t be an issue. As it were, all the rubber gloves I’ve tried didn’t fit right in the fingers. Do you know how hard it is to work on an engine with the tips of your gloves getting in the way? I’d rather deal with the grease under my fingernails. Drying my hands, I retrieved my manila timecard, punched out and returned it to its slot next to the time clock.

Baxter, the resident rottweiler, didn’t even bother to lift his large, blocky head as his eyes followed me as I moved around the shop. He was a comfort to have around, especially when I stayed late, even if he wasn’t overly friendly. Baxter’s job was to guard against thieves, and he did his job well. The doggie door next to the bay door gives him access to the fenced in area around the shop. More than once the cameras have shown him chasing some unsuspecting thief over the fence. A silent guardian, the large dog rarely gives his quarry any advance warning before he bites the seat of their pants. Part of me feels sorry for the ones he gets a hold of. A very, very small part.

Scanning the area one last time to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I sent a text to Uncle Gary telling him what I had done. He would contact the customers in the morning about picking up their repairs. I finished locking up the shop before walking through the well lit parking lot to the lone car sitting by the gate. Crossing my fingers as I put the key in the ignition, I breathed a sigh of relief as the engine roared to life. My Toyota Paseo is a relic of the late 90’s. I absolutely love the little two door coupe and go out of my way to keep her running but her odometer was almost up to 400k miles. Even the best engines don’t last forever and I know I am on borrowed time with this one. Tonight, however, my girl didn’t let me down and forty-five minutes later I was navigating the tree lined gravel road that led to my driveway.

At the fork I took a left and followed the descent of the road until the gravel gradually disappeared, a dirt packed road taking its place. My headlights caught the fluorescent orange of my trailer and a large black Chevy truck as I came to a stop and put the car in park. I didn’t recognize the truck and I wasn’t expecting anyone. Frowning, I removed my bersa thunder from my purse and put it in the holster at the small of my back. Flipping the headlights off, I waited for my vision to adjust to the bright moonlight that eerily luminated the area. When no movement caught my attention, I cautiously exited the vehicle keeping my hand close to my gun. Nothing moved and everything was quiet as I approached the trailer. Too quiet. I should hear Sheba and Dedan barking from the other side of the trailer where their kennel was but all I heard was silence. The air was thick with the implied danger.

An inhuman scream suddenly rent the air from the direction of my barn and then fell silent. I swallowed hard, praying it was a bobcat and not something else. Drawing my gun as a precaution, I glanced up the hill where the lordling’s house sat. I briefly considered getting back into my car and driving up there to ask if Sheamus would be willing to help me check out the property. Clenching my jaw, I dismissed the thought. I needed to find out what happened to the dogs first. I owed my furry roommates that much. Until I did that, I couldn't leave. I made them apart of my family and you didn’t leave family behind. Not even annoying family like Dedan. I swallowed hard as I approached the side of the trailer where their kennel was, dreading what I would find.

The kennel was empty. Door hanging ajar, their water seemed untouched from where I had filled it earlier that day. Frowning, I nudged the door open wider with the barrel of my gun. Entering the enclosure, I squinted my eyes in an attempt to penetrate the darkness at the back of the kennel where the built-in dog houses were. I built them myself to make sure Sheba, my Caucasian shepherd, wouldn't be cramped. Pushing 170lbs and just short of three feet at the shoulder, the cookie cutter dog houses were much too small. Frustrated with not being able to see, I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and turned on the flashlight. Shining it into the large opening, the light revealed what the darkness concealed. Absolutely nothing. No blood, no bodies. It was like they had vanished into thin air.

Turning off the flashlight, I checked the time on my phone. It was pushing 11:30pm. Holstering my gun, I stood there staring at the device in my hand as if it could tell me what in the world was going on. After a moment, I shook my head and went to examine the latch on the door. I didn’t keep it locked. Why would I when I was out in the middle of nowhere? Besides, I would like to see someone try to steal Sheba. They used her breed to guard Russian prisons for a reason. Dedan on the other hand… if someone had food, he’d probably go with them. He was a mutt I rescued two years past and he had no loyalty. He was a traitor and had no shame but I loved him just the same. My heart tightened at the thought of never seeing them again.

Standing in the kennel as I fingered the undamaged latch, I caught the scent of rotten eggs when the wind shifted. Turning my head towards the direction of the stench I froze. Two luminescent yellow eyes were staring back at me from a face reminiscent of a wolf. It took a moment for my brain to register that the wolf-like head was attached to a humanoid form. Standing about 7 or 8 feet tall, its lean, muscled body was covered with dark, shaggy fur. Standing on two dog-like legs its arms and torso looked more like a heavily muscled man with its narrow waist and broad shoulders. Lifting its upper lip, the dog-like man bared its long, sharp teeth at me and emitted a low growl that would’ve put Sheba to shame. Fear bubbled upside inside me. Souring my stomach, the fear warred with disbelief at what I was seeing.

Wide-eyed and shaking I slowly closed the chain link door letting the latch fall into place with a clang. It lessened the fear a smidge, putting a barrier between me and the beast. Not that it would do much to stop a monster like that. I let my phone fall from my hand. The phone was useless. Even if I managed to call someone for help, they wouldn’t get here in time. The only thing they’d find when they got here would be my corpse laying on the ground. Maybe. Some wild animals drag their prey back to their den and the creature that stood a several hundred meters from me was definitely more beast than man.

The glowing yellow eyes watched a me from where it stood, cocking its canine head as if considering how tasty I’d be. Then it started stalking towards me in a graceful, predatory gait. Tongue lolling out of its mouth, the creature grinned wickedly at me as it steadily drew closer. Backing toward the doghouse to put more distance between us, I climbed backwards into the doghouse to protect my back. My eyes never left the predator stalking me. Knowing that it only had one way to get at me now, I drew my gun and held it in front of me, waiting. I’d only get one good shot in before the beast was on me and I was planning to make the most of it. If I was going to die tonight, I wasn't going down without a fight.

Suddenly the creature stopped. Ears twitching as it scented the air, it snarled its irritation. The yellow eyes glared at me hatefully before it finally turned and fled. Not a moment after the beast disappeared into the night something large in the sky blocked the moon, casting a shadow over the area before moving on. I didn't dare take my eyes away from where I had last seen the dogman. I didn't want to think about what was scary enough to make something like that run away.

Legs giving away beneath me, I slid to the ground in relief as the realization that for the moment I was going to live. Hours or minutes, I couldn’t tell you how long I sat there waiting for the beast to return and finish what it had started. How long I sat there trembling, trying to make myself believe that it had happened. The only thing that remained of the beast was a faint sulfur smell that I would never forget. Oh, how I wish I could forget it all.

My mind was still trying to reconcile the encounter with reality when Sheamus’ soft Irish brogue reached my ears. “Kaylea Raye, where are ya lass? I have your pups up at his Lordships manner,” he called out, banging on the door to my trailer. “My man saw your twin cam in the drive and someone using a light around the kennels.” When I didn’t respond, he sounded a bit worried when he continued. “Answer me girl. If this is one of your games, I’ll make ya pay for it. I swear.”

Relief that he was here and that my dogs were safe overrode any anger I felt over him taking them from the kennel. Clearing my throat, I called out to him, “In the kennel Sheamus.” My voice came out higher than normal, the fear that still gripped me making it sound thin. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I sounded more like me when I spoke again. “Give me a moment and I’ll answer my door. You know how slow I am.” Humor was the best armor I had at the moment. Last thing I wanted to do was break down and cry in front of the man.

I tried and failed to get to my feet. My legs were refusing to cooperate with me and I couldn’t stop myself from trembling violently. I was still seated on the ground in front of the doghouse shaking when the large, rawboned Irishman finally came into view. He shone a flashlight into the kennel as he came around the corner of the trailer forcing me to squint and look to away. Sheamus stood there a long moment, a dark silhouette behind the brightness of the light out of the corner of my eye, before he entered the enclosure. Flicking off the light he silently stooped to pick up my cellphone and then retrieved my firearm where I had laid it on the ground next to me after the beast had left. Pocketing the phone, he put the gun in his waistband at the small of his back. “Can ya stand?” he asked, offering a large hand to help me up.

Taking it, I allowed Sheamus to pull me my feet. I stiffened them stubbornly when my knees threatened to buckle again. I was not going to fall on my butt. It was bad enough for him to see me in the state I was in without adding that to it. “I don’t know why I can’t stop shaking,” I muttered once I was sure my legs would hold me. To reassure him, I added with a half smile, “I’m not hurt, I just can’t quit shaking.”

“It’s the adrenaline. It’ll pass in time.” Sheamus informed me in a neutral tone, his face a stony mask. I expected him to ask me what happened but instead he queried, “Can ya walk, lass?”

“I’ll need my things back,” I told him, avoiding the question. I wasn’t sure I could walk and I was scared to try. Meeting his hard gaze, I quirked an eyebrow. “And why did you take my dogs? More importantly, how did you get Sheba to go with you? And have you seen my cat?” If he wasn’t going to ask what happened, I was more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie.

“I’ll take that as a no,” the Irishman grunted, picking me up in a bridal carry as if I weighed nothing. I squeaked in surprise. I guess I should be thankful he didn't sling me over his shoulder like a caveman. “Sheba and I have become fast friends over the past year,” he explained, exiting the kennel. “I've taken to letting them out during the day while yer workin’. Today when ya didn’t come home at yer usual time, I took them up to kitchen in the manor for a wee snack with the intention of bringing them back when ya came home. I left them at his lordship’s when my man told me about the suspicious activity down here. No point in adding them to mix if things hit the fan. The cat is with the dogs, by and by. The wee beastie doesn't like to let them out of his sight, apparently.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I thought about demanding he put me down. One look at his face however, told me how I'd be wasting my breath. Besides, as much as I hated to admit it, I needed the distraction he provided. Not one to fight losing battles, I allowed him to carry me to the big Humvee sitting behind my Paseo without comment. “I see,” I muttered, unable to put any fire behind the words. I couldn’t justify being angry with the man seeing how my dogs were most likely still alive because of what he did. Instead, I directed his attention to the sitting Chevy next to my trailer by jutting my chin in the general direction of the vehicle. “That one of yours?”

Sheamus shook his head as one of his men, a rangy man with a shock of red hair, jumped from his vehicle and opened the passenger door for him. He set me down next the open car door and gestured for me to sit in the passenger seat. I complied without comment. “Two men left the truck here around 9 pm and went into the woods. We haven’t seen them since. I did run the plates on the truck and it has been reported stolen. We’ve been waiting for them to reappear to apprehend them at the fork when they leave. If they reappear.” I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant by ‘if they reappear’ when Sheamus turned and barked orders at his man. “Duncan, grab Tomas, Brandon, and Jamie then do a search of the property. Start by securing the buildings and then the surrounding property. We will find those men now and take them into custody.”

Duncan saluted sharply and then spoke into a two way radio, relaying instructions, before turning to me and asking in an American accent, "Do you have the keys to the trailer? I’d rather not break down the door."

The keys were still in the Paseo. I started to rise to retrieve them but Sheamus put a large hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. Shooting him a dirty look, I gestured toward my car without looking away. "I left them the car. With my purse." To the large Irishman, I said levelly, "The manhandling isn't necessary."

"Until the area is secure, yer not leaving the vehicle."

"And if I have to pee?" I asked peevishly.

"I have a coffee can in the back seat ya can use. I'll even turn around to give ya privacy," he deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow. In a gentler tone, he added, "It won't take them long. They are very good at their job."

True to his word, they did prove to be good at their job. The men had the trailer and immediate area secure in less than 15 minutes. Duncan brought the keys to the trailer to Sheamus instead of me, the one who owns the keys, before the men left to secure the barn. We waited in silence. I had nearly fallen asleep when a voice crackled over the radio attached to Sheamus' belt. "Sir, we found the men deceased in the barn. They look like they've been... mauled by a wild animal. We've secured the area and Tomas is phoning the police."

Confirming he received the report, Sheamus studied me with an unreadable expression. My heart dropped to my stomach. I knew he was going to start asking me about what happened after I got home, and there was no way he'd believe the truth. I didn't believe the truth. Not really. "Sheamus, I-"

"I'm taking ya up to the manor. The police will want to speak to ya, they can do that there. After ya had some rest," he cut me off abruptly. “Ya have five minutes to get what ya need from the trailer. If ya dawdle... don't press me lass. It's been a long night and ya don't want to see me cranky."

I barely heard Sheamus speaking as the realization that I came close to being the third body found on my property tonight hit home. Stumbling out of the car, I fell next to the bushes by the drive and vomited everything I had in my stomach.