Chapter 2: The Bloody Debt

From the time he was attacked to when he finally died, it must have taken hours. His body was covered in wounds, so many that even the cops were shaken.

Word spread quick—Ray had it coming, but no one deserved to go out like that. Some folks started locking their doors at night, something they hadn’t bothered with in years. Can’t say I blamed them.

They came to talk to my grandpa, hoping to figure out if Old Ray had any enemies.

I remember Grandpa sitting at the kitchen table, mug of black coffee in hand, listening as the sheriff laid out the facts. He nodded along, but his eyes were distant, like he was putting together pieces of a puzzle only he could see.

My grandpa was the town council president—the same one who ran off that catfish guy back then. He was in his fifties, still sharp, and everyone respected him. He basically knew every family’s business.

Grandpa had a way of making people talk, and he could remember every grudge, every favor owed. Folks listened when he spoke, even if they didn’t always agree.

But Old Ray had too many enemies for Grandpa to point fingers.

It was an open secret that Ray had pissed off just about everyone at one time or another. If you’d asked around, half the town might’ve had a reason to want him gone.

The sheriff’s investigation went nowhere. There weren’t any cameras back then, and the killer had been careful—no sign of forced entry.

The sheriff’s boys combed the place, but there was nothing—no fingerprints, no footprints, nothing but a mess. The whole thing had the town spooked, but it also made people more tight-lipped than ever.

Afterwards, Grandpa called together his brothers and the local council members for a little meeting. They were there to hash out who might’ve killed Old Ray.

They met in the back room of the old hardware store, lights low, voices hushed. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I hovered by the door, catching bits and pieces. There was a tension in the air, like everyone was waiting for someone else to confess.

They talked for hours but couldn’t figure it out, until Uncle Pete suggested—

“Could it be... Joe Ramirez came back for payback?” Uncle Pete always had a nervous twitch, rubbing his hands together when he was anxious. His words hung in the air, heavier than the summer heat. You could feel the whole room shift.

Joe Ramirez. The honest outsider. Folks hadn’t said his name in years.

No one had said his name in a long time, but suddenly everyone was thinking the same thing. Revenge made sense in a way that nothing else did.

Grandpa was still confused: “Just losing some money—would someone really go that far? And even then, was Old Ray the one who poisoned the pond?”

He tapped his fingers on the table, thinking out loud. Grandpa didn’t like jumping to conclusions, but the idea had gotten under his skin.

Uncle Pete hesitated: “Well, whether it was Ray or not, it’s hard to say… But, honestly, if it’s Joe, then yeah, I think it’s worth it.”

Pete’s voice shook a little, like he was remembering something he’d rather forget. “Joe lost more than money. Sometimes that’s enough to break a man.”

“He didn’t just lose money… His daughter was sick then—real bad. Later, he couldn’t pay for treatment or surgery, and I think… I think she passed away.”

The room went quiet. Even the old clock on the wall seemed to stop ticking. For the first time, it felt like they understood just how deep the wound had gone.

Only then did Grandpa realize: “So that’s what happened… But does anyone know for sure if it was Old Ray who poisoned Joe’s pond?”

He looked around, eyes sharp, but nobody wanted to meet his gaze. It was as if admitting it out loud would make it real, and nobody wanted that on their conscience.

Everyone looked around, either not knowing or not wanting to say.

Some shuffled their feet, others stared at their hands. The silence said more than words ever could.

Then Grandpa said:

“Then let’s just say it was. We’ll say it was only Old Ray, that he was the one who did it. Got it?”

He spoke with a finality that brooked no argument. Grandpa was good at settling things, even if it meant rewriting the truth to keep the peace.

Everyone nodded, one after another.

It was the kind of agreement you make with a nod, eyes averted. In a town like ours, sometimes a lie was easier to live with than the truth.

At the time, I didn’t get why they had to pin it all on Old Ray. I didn’t even get why, when they were talking about such serious stuff, a kid like me was allowed to listen in.

I watched the grown-ups, trying to piece together their logic. It felt like a game I didn’t know the rules to, but I was old enough to sense the fear beneath their words.

Until after the meeting, when Grandpa gave me a job—to spread the word that Old Ray was killed in revenge for poisoning the pond.

He pulled me aside, his hand heavy on my shoulder, and said, “You know what to do, son. Make sure everyone hears the story—make sure every kid in town hears it.”

I was popular with the other town kids, kind of a ringleader. The other kids liked hanging out with me and listened to what I said. It was summer vacation, so we had plenty of time to run around, and I finished Grandpa’s errand pretty quick.

We’d gather in the shade by the baseball diamond or under the old water tower, swapping stories and dares. I made sure to slip the tale into every conversation, letting it ripple out until it was all anyone talked about.

I sort of understood the reason—

Looking back, I realized Grandpa was using me as his messenger. The story wasn’t just gossip—it was a warning, a signal sent out into the dark. Was it really for the kids? Or was it meant for someone else?

The story about Old Ray being killed for poisoning the pond wasn’t just for the kids, or just idle gossip. It was meant to reach the killer.

Every time I repeated it, I wondered if the person who’d done it was listening. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to stop them.

If the killer really was Joe Ramirez, then whether or not Old Ray actually did it, he had to be the one. Because as long as Joe felt his revenge was done, everything would end there.