Chapter 3: The Messenger’s Tale

It was like drawing a line in the sand—enough blood had been spilled, now it was time to let it rest. Or so they hoped.

But things weren’t that simple.

Sometimes, the past doesn’t stay buried, no matter how hard you try.

A few days later, another person died.

You could feel the tension ratchet up, like a storm about to break. People started locking their doors and glancing over their shoulders. The whole town felt on edge.

His name was Jerry Fields—another troublemaker who never did anything good. But he had a family—a wife who stuck by him, two daughters, and a son.

Jerry was the kind of guy who always had a scheme, always owed someone money. But his wife, Linda, was tough as nails, and his kids kept mostly to themselves at school. People pitied them, but nobody did much to help.

So when they found his body, his family broke down at the scene. He, too, had been tortured before being killed—covered in bruises, then tossed into an abandoned pond, where he soaked for a whole day and night. His whole body was swollen from the water.

I heard Linda’s wailing from two blocks away. The sheriff’s deputies pulled Jerry’s bloated body from the muck, and everyone who saw it said they’d never forget the smell. It was the kind of thing that stuck with you, even in your dreams.

The body was in bad shape, and of course there were no clues left in the pond. The sheriff couldn’t even find where Jerry had been tortured and killed.

The investigation went nowhere, just like before. The only thing anyone knew for sure was that Jerry hadn’t died easy.

But that abandoned pond was one of the ponds Joe Ramirez had leased back then. That’s when it hit everyone. It was one of Joe’s old ponds.

That detail sent a chill through the council. It was too much to be a coincidence, and everyone knew it. The past was coming back, one body at a time.

This made Grandpa and his crew even more uneasy. They held another meeting, arguing about all sorts of possibilities…

I listened from the hallway, heart pounding. Voices got heated, accusations flying, but nobody wanted to say what they were really thinking. It was like watching grown men try to outrun their own shadows.

In the end, Grandpa stopped them and asked, serious as ever:

“You bunch of fools! Tell me—back then, how many of you were actually involved in that fish pond mess with Joe?”

His voice cut through the noise like a whip. Nobody wanted to answer.

Everyone went silent, looking at each other.

No one wanted to be the first to speak, but the guilt was thick enough to choke on.

Finally, Uncle Pete spoke up, real uneasy:

“Big brother, the Joe thing… maybe it wasn’t as simple as you thought…”

Pete’s words trembled, and he looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. He kept glancing at the others, hoping someone would bail him out.

Grandpa’s face changed:

“Spit it out! Stop dodging!”

He slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. Grandpa didn’t get angry often, but when he did, nobody dared cross him.

Uncle Pete glanced at a few people, then started talking:

“At the time, you had us rough him up and run him off… But he didn’t leave. He came back and caused more trouble… It was only then we found out his daughter was real sick… Back then, we figured we could handle it ourselves, so we didn’t tell you… Out by Black Pine Woods, actually, it was Joe…”

Pete’s voice faded to a whisper by the end, his eyes fixed on the floor. The rest of the men shifted in their seats, guilt written plain on their faces.

Grandpa was stunned for several seconds. His face turned dark as he cursed:

“You! You bunch of animals…”

He pushed back from the table, fists clenched. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look truly afraid.

Nobody dared look up or say a word.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of Grandpa’s ragged breathing. It was as if the weight of their secrets was finally too much to bear.

“Talk! Tell the truth—all of you. Who did it?”

His voice cracked, and for a moment, I thought someone might confess. But nobody did.

Uncle Pete was sweating. He looked at a few folks, but then changed the subject:

“Big brother, I think right now the most important thing… is figuring out who might be helping Joe Ramirez get his revenge…”

He was desperate to steer the conversation away from blame, but Grandpa wasn’t having it. Still, nobody wanted to dig any deeper.

Me? I just wanted to know what really happened out at Black Pine Woods.

The woods had always been a place of mystery for us kids—tall pines, thick underbrush, and stories about things best left alone. I’d heard rumors about what happened out there, but nothing concrete.

After that meeting, Grandpa gave me another job.

He called me into the den, voice low. “Go find Jacob Fields. See if he’s heard from his uncle Samuel. Be subtle.” I nodded, feeling the weight of the task settle on my shoulders.