When Night Breaks

The chair beside the hospital bed had an uneven leg; it rocked back on the shorter one with every movement I made. Silence surrounded me except for the sounds of machines beeping. Samantha's hand was in mine but her fingers were limp. She was not awake and a tube was coming from her mouth, breathing for her. I watched as her chest rose and fell in a machine guided rhythm.

I felt helpless sitting beside of her. And I felt guilt above all else. It was my fault -- at least in my mind -- that Samantha had been shot. I had no doubt who had done it; the McKenzies or at least someone working for them had caused the flat tire and then fired the shot into Samantha. My mind raced and with the emptiness and quiet that filled the hospital room, I had plenty of things to think about.

So much had happened and it felt as though it was all coming to a head. As if the storm brewing in the background had finally made land fall. I tried to piece things together, to make the correct connections, to make some sense of the confusion. It has all started with Ian; his murder was the first warning from the McKenzie's. The idea that it was a frame job -- something to make me look guilty -- entered my mind. But really, their reasons for murdering someone, even if he was a horrible person, didn't matter.

And if only the violence has ended there. Samantha had lost a friend, much in the same way Leo had lost his parents. A second crash occurred, where both my mother and brother were almost killed. They were events that I was certain were no accidents at all. Death followed me like a dark shadow, always around the corner and ready to strike anyone I got close to or associated with.

"Jay." I heard a voice from the other side of the room. I looked up, pulled from my thoughts. Samantha's mother and father had entered the room, returning from the cafeteria.

"You should go home, we'll call you if she wakes."

"I can't leave her," I told her father. The police were under the assumption that it was an accidental drive by or some random act of violence. I knew better. But I also knew that it was a battle between fought by me and not the cops.

"Then go home and get some rest, grab a bite to eat, and then come back." Samantha's mother walked to where I was sitting and placed her hand on my shoulder. I had been at the hospital for two days straight. I managed to hide my eyes -- by either avoiding eye contact or pretending to sleep -- so that I would not be exposed. It was risky, staying around so many people at night, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

"I don't know..." I trailed off, feeling guilty for even considering leaving.

"Go. She's going to be okay. You'll do her no good if you're exhausted and starved." Her father's tone was stern yet still held kindness and true concern.

I nodded, lifted myself up from the wobbly chair. I bent down and kissed Samantha's forehead and whispered, "I love you," too soft for her parents to hear.



The farm house was cold when I entered into it. Creaks came from the wooden floor, straining against the weight of my boots. My eyes were heavy from little sleep.

"Leo?" I called out as I made my way up the stairs. I heard rummaging in his office, and he called back out to me.

"You home, Jay?"

"Yeah, I came home to shower and eat. Maybe sleep a little, too."

Leo walked out into the hallway to meet me. His hair was disheveled, and his black glasses were in his hand. I knew by looking at him that Leo hadn't slept much either in the recent days.

"What are you working on?" I asked.

"Nothing important," he replied. He was lying. I could tell. Maybe he wanted to save me the stress and frankly I was too tired to care.

"Okay. Will you wake me in about an hour? After I clean up and eat."

"Sure thing, man. How's Sam?"

"Still unconscious. They think she'll be okay, though."

Leo nodded silently, turning around and walking back into his office. We didn't always have to say anything to each other; we knew what the other meant by a simple nod.

The hot water coming from the shower head was a much needed comfort. It hit my back, steam filling the small bathroom. The scents of shampoo soon surrounded me and I felt somewhat better. New clothes that didn't smell of hospital was a welcomed luxury.

I ate a bowl of cereal, something quick and easy to make, and then laid down on my bed. The covers were unmade from the last time Samantha was in it. Her side was cold and empty and I could hardly bare to look at her empty pillow. I turned my back and faced the door and sleep was soon upon me.



Finally refreshed from being clean, fed, and well rested, I walked the streets of Elliot Springs. It was cold, the wind whipping around me, burning my face. I stood at the sight where the bullet had struck Samantha. The evidence had been collected and the blood stain had somehow been washed away from the pavement.

I followed the invisible trail that I knew the bullet had to have made. Leo had helped, calculating velocity and trajectory, and had narrowed the point of origin to a rooftop across the street. The police had assumed it was a drive by, and even with Samantha's father a detective, they didn't look too far into it. Their resources were limited so I decided to do my own investigation.

I found the building and was relieved to see it had a fire escape. The metal of the stairs were cold, icicles hanging from it. Making my way to the top, I had a clear line of sight to where Samantha had stood just a couple days ago. I walked around, taking in every detail. Trash and beer bottles littered the roof, but it was clear it had been abandoned for some time.

At the edge of the roof I spotted something blowing in the wind. Walking closer, I realized it was a scrap of paper held down by a small wooden box. My heart stopped suddenly and then picked back up in a panic. I grabbed the box, noticing the large J carved into it. Tears swelled in my eyes as I traced the engraving.

My mind went back to being young. Jeremy was with me in the McKenzie's home, and we were playing. The box I now held was once in Jeremy's hands; it housed tiny toy soldiers and marbles. Small things that he had collected and wanted to keep. I remember sneaking a knife from the kitchen and watched Jeremy carve the "J" in the lid.

The wood was now singed, burn marks covered the surface. It had survived the fire but with significant damage. I opened the lid, hesitant at first at what I would find. Anger swelled up inside of me as shell casings from discharged bullets caught my eye. It was a message, a taunt, from the people I hated most. They were confessing to me that they -- whether it be Alice or Nathan or Margaret themselves -- had shot Samantha.

I unfolded the piece of paper in my hand and read the scribbled handwriting. It was latitude and longitude coordinates and a simply message: "come out and play, Jason." The McKenzie's were playing a deadly game and were inviting me to join. I placed the paper in the box, and tucked it under my arm. They had given me their location -- or at least a location to go to -- and I was ready to end it all for good. If it was a game they wanted, I would play. They had drawn blood and now it was my turn.