Sarah Benadine is Dead

Chapter V, Part III

The diary was gone. Had been for weeks now. Had been left exactly where he'd been told to leave it.

Something told Jackie Gordon that none of that shit mattered. He was going down. Anyone near was going down. Maybe the whole damn town was going down.

Down with a whimper, not a shout.

He didn't even have it in him to be afraid. Not really. A dull apprehension sat in the back of his throat and deep down in his stomach all day long, seven days a week, but that was all he could muster. If he had anything more maybe he would've done what he was told.

Disappear.

This town was going to kill him, he figured. But, by God, he had to take it. He couldn't leave, couldn't leave his mother here alone. He didn't have near enough money to get anywhere anyway. Didn't have a car, either. Here he would stay.

Don't tell. Please, Jackie, don't tell a soul.

He hadn't said a word; that, he supposed, was as much for his own benefit as anyone else's. He was sure they'd find out about him though, and they'd be after him. Maybe then, then he'd run. When there wasn't anything left to lose.

But for now, he'd stay. This old town reminded him of Sarah, and that was both a comfort and a misery.