The Brownsville Nightmares

By Jay Bower

On the surface, Brownsville, Illinois is a sleepy town nestled in the Shawnee National Forest. Go beyond the shiny veneer and you'll encounter nightmares you wish you could forget.

 

A young family, excited at the prospect of a new life for their ten-year-old son, moves to Brownsville. All is well. Until their son is plagued with demonic visions and tormented by otherworldly voices.

 

On the other side of town, a serial killer with a penchant for ripping the eyes from their living victims brings back a painful past.

 

And by the old cemetery on a hill, a young girl goes missing. All signs point to a creature of terror. But the search uncovers something more sinister.

 

Come to Brownsville and stay a while. If you manage to make it out alive, you'll never be the same.

 

The Brownsville Nightmares is over 666 pages of pulse-pounding terror featuring hit novels, The Dark Sacrifice, Soul Eyes, and Dreamwraith by the author of nightmares…Jay Bower.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Bower
• Release date: Mar 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215083079

Book preview

The Brownsville Nightmares

The Brownsville Nightmares

Jay Bower

Copyright © 2023 by Jay Bower

The Dark Sacrifice © 2018 by Jay Bower

Soul Eyes © 2018 by Jay Bower

Dreamwraith © 2021 by Jay Bower

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover by Markee Books.

Tree roots by Olena Panasovska from Noun Project.

Eye by Atif Arshad from Noun Project.

Wraith by parkjisun from Noun Project.

Foreword

The three books within this special edition are all very different stories with one common thread: Brownsville. There is a real Brownsville in Illinois. That is NOT the Brownsville of my stories.

My Brownsville is a historical name and no longer exists.

Founded in 1816 along the Big Muddy River in rural southern Illinois, Brownsville was not in a great location as it was located far from many travel routes. Still, it became the county seat of Jackson County and was claimed to have been the third-largest city in Illinois in its day. That changed when the courthouse burned down on January 10, 1843.

Following that tragic event, Dr. Logan of nearby Shieldsboro offered a donation of twenty acres of land for a new city that was more centralized for Jackson County. His offer was accepted and the town was given the name of Murphysboro.

When I moved to Illinois from Cleveland, Ohio, I lived fairly close to where the original Brownsville was located, though I didn’t know it at the time. It’s a rural area with nothing but farmlands that extend to the Mississippi River. As a skateboarder, that kinda sucked!

Fortunately, the nearby school closed a year before I moved. The next closest one was ten miles away in Murphysboro. I went to Murphysboro High School, home of the Red Devils, where I graduated in 1993. I later moved to Murphysboro in 1997 when my wife and I were married.

When I started writing dark tales, I wasn’t sure how the people of Murphysboro would feel if stories about demons and serial killers took place in their town. That’s when I did some research and discovered the historical ghost town of Brownsville. It became the perfect pseudonym for the place I lived in for over twenty years. I figured using the old name for a city that didn’t exist anymore was a safe bet.

Since then, I’ve had several people tell me they’ve been to Brownsville and that’s how I discovered there was a real town on the western side of southern Illinois in White County. I’ve never been there.

Most of the locations described in these books are based on real places. I’ve changed their names and tried to hide them. Sometimes I even changed where they’re located. Some are no longer standing but did at one point. Even so, I could do a Jay Bower Location Tour and show you the inspiration for much of the setting.

If you’re careful, you’ll spot an easter egg in Soul Eyes and Dreamwraith that point back to The Dark Sacrifice. Every book I’ve written that’s set in Brownsville all contain an easter egg that ties them into The Dark Sacrifice, including my Dead Blood series.

I don’t think I’m done terrorizing Brownsville. I know I’ve got more dark tales that will revolve around the little city nestled in the heart of southern Illinois. It really is a charming place to live, despite the demonic activity, zombies, and obsessed killers. I promise!

I’ve tossed around the idea of doing a creature story. Murphysboro, and all of southern Illinois for that matter, is infamous for sasquatch sightings. In Murphysboro, it’s been dubbed The Big Muddy Monster. I’ve never written a creature feature, but the source material is there for me!

Until then, I hope you enjoy this special edition. It’s been my pleasure to bring you these stories over the years. I promise, there are more to come.

Stay Scary,

-Jay

January 2023

The Dark Sacrifice

This is dedicated to my mom and step-dad. Thanks for introducing me to the joys of horror and letting me be me.

Chapter 1

TEN-YEAR-OLD TODD lay motionless on the bloodstained sacred altar. Built from the very maple tree under which Nathaniel Browne sat when he received his first vision many years ago, all that was left was a worn and discolored two-foot-tall stump. He shivered in the cool night air in his hand-made wool pants, the only clothing allowed for the sacrifice.

The boy watched as Father Sam walked slowly around him, his long black robes dragging along the dirt and his short grey hair waving slightly. A cold breeze blew in the moonlight, rustling the leaves as the nearby bonfire crackled. Restrained as he was, Todd had no way to escape, even if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.

It was up to Keepers like Father Sam to perform the ritual to prevent the curse first placated by Nathaniel Browne, and Todd understood his duty.

Todd’s brown eyes followed Father Sam as he circled slowly around him. Though he knew what needed to be done, he still feared the pain. He knew the stories about the preceding Chosen Ones and their willingness to die. He memorized their names in order from Elijah to the present, as his parents had taught him. The names scrolled through his mind, one after another. He stopped when he came to Harold, who was, in his estimation, the bravest of them all.

Harold had lain himself on the altar, the same one Todd now lay chained to, but he didn’t need the restraints. Harold lay perfectly still as the ceremony commenced. Not one tear fell from his eyes during the ritual. It was rumored that he smiled and whispered softly, Brownsville, this is for you, before slipping away to blessed paradise. Todd wanted to be like that; to be remembered for his strength and fortitude. But these days, all Chosen were restrained, regardless of their pleas.

Todd attributed that to William, one of the most cowardly of all the Chosen. His name was rarely mentioned, and if it was, it was always followed with scorn and disgust. Todd memorized William’s name anyway, even if his act did not bring the Dark One’s relief and favor. In the town’s history, it was the only time two Chosen were required. The Keepers were more selective after that. They vetted potential Chosen and their families more carefully, and since then, the ceremony had gone off without a hitch for more than one hundred years.

Now, future generations of Chosen would know Todd’s name. They would recite the long, proud list (except for William, whose name would never be mentioned with pride), and among the greats like Harold, Todd’s name would forever be recited and remembered. He’d have an eternal impact while enjoying paradise for his bravery.

These thoughts calmed his nerves and settled his heartbeat. His breath came slow and steady as he watched Father Sam speak to those summoned this night.

Large stones surrounded the altar in a circle about thirty feet across. Todd always thought the configuration reminded him of a shorter version of Stonehenge without the top stones. He and his friends had played there without the adults knowing and performed mock rituals of the one he now found himself part of. The large rocks created a barrier that the onlookers would not cross, as it was forbidden. There were exactly fifteen of them, he knew, because he’d counted more than once when they played there. They represented the original settlers, including Nathaniel Browne and his son, Elijah. Todd turned his head and guessed there were about twenty witnesses sitting or walking around Father Sam as he performed his theatrics. The Keeper paced along the stone circle and gazed at each person as he shared his treatise on the great Nathaniel Browne.

It was with great trepidation that Nathaniel followed the vision he received from the Dark One. For years, he and his people suffered the brutal elements and natives of this land. His people barely survived their first winter in 1813. They suffered from starvation and harsh weather. Savage natives repeatedly attacked their settlement.

Todd strained to watch the Keeper, who stared at Mrs. Ward as he spoke. She stared back, stoic and quiet. Todd had seen her at previous sacrifices, and she always wore the same stone face.

And those savages, Father Sam said slowly as he walked past Mrs. Ward around the ring of onlookers, raped and killed the women of the settlement. The only survivors were Nathaniel, two young men, one of his slaves, and his nine-year-old son, Elijah.

A gasp escaped the crowd. Father Sam spun, focusing on the source of the interruption. Todd winced as his six-year-old sister Meah made a commotion. It was highly inappropriate during the ceremony and Todd turned away from her.

The mention of Elijah often elicited a response from the listening crowd. He was The First. What he had done lived on in memory. If it weren’t for Elijah, Todd couldn’t go on to his paradise and redeem his people. Trained from a very young age to appreciate the ceremony and be ready if his name was called, Todd tried not to struggle against his bonds. He knew this was the right thing, but the fear of pain lingered. He’d witnessed previous ceremonies and it appeared painful, especially as the Chosen writhed and fought against the restraints. They knew better. They served a greater purpose, so why should they struggle?

Now, his time had come. He would offer himself and attain the Promised Land.

For weeks leading up to this night, Todd had dwelt on the great significance of his sacrifice. While other kids played outside in the cool autumn weather, he pondered his greater purpose. He was doing it for them, yet many didn’t seem to have a clue. But those watching him now, the Keepers and their families…they knew better. They knew, and they applauded him.

Walking through the grocery store with his mom and sister, he received pats on the back, and on more than one occasion, a free soda or some candy. They knew what he would face, and they were grateful.

Meah didn’t understand why he was getting all the attention. She cried when he was offered ice cream and she wasn’t. His mom had to get her a chocolate cone to calm her down. She was too young to understand that this privilege only belonged to select boys of Brownsville. He hoped someday, she’d get the same honor as his mom did in being the mother of a Chosen One. What he did tonight would allow that to happen in the future. Little Meah, Todd’s nickname for her that everyone else also called her, would have to figure things out on her own. He was going to paradise.

Father Sam continued his exaggerated theatrics, swooping his arms up and down as he expounded on the Dark One and Nathaniel’s original Chosen One, his son Elijah. His voice grew louder, almost drowning out the suddenly gusting wind. It was as though the Dark One himself was there and ready for Todd’s offering. The trees bent and swayed, leaves scattering. The fire crackled and snapped. A loud pop sounded. Sparks flew in the rush of air, and floated past Todd’s face before winking out. Todd forced himself to hold still, not wanting to seem scared in front of the people. He had to be brave and courageous. He wouldn’t let himself go down in history as another William.

The wind died down and Father Sam stood facing Todd. He spun around quickly to face the assembled guests. Father Sam looked from person to person seeking approval while keeping a look out for any dissension. He circled the stones, and no one indicated their disapproval. Todd was grateful for that.

Father Sam turned back toward Todd, who lay perfectly still atop the maple altar, as he’d been taught. He was bound at the ankles and his wrists were strapped to large metal eyelets that stretched his arms away from his body. He breathed heavier and tried calming himself, the anticipated pain troubling him. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt too bad. The thought of sweet paradise awaiting him on the other side offered some consolation. He often imagined what that would be like, talking to the previous Chosen Ones, playing ball with them, going fishing, and just enjoying his new life.

Suddenly, Father Sam’s face was within inches of his, locking eyes with Todd. He gently caressed Todd’s head. A chill ran through Todd, but he was ready.

Father Sam stepped back and produced a dagger, holding it high above his head. Todd knew this was the same blade Nathaniel used to sacrifice Elijah. It had been in use ever since.

Todd wanted to scream but suppressed the urge. He was not going to be another William. He would be brave, like Harold. His family was there, and his sister needed to see how brave her older brother was. She would remember him as strong and courageous. Nothing like William.

Todd stared at the dagger above him, at the worn bone handle and the long, menacing blade with its razor-sharp edge. He was told the pain would be temporary and his glory in paradise eternal. He had a hard time wrapping his head around that. He didn’t like pain. He didn’t do well with shots, and the dentist was never his favorite place to go. He dug deep and braced himself.

With a fluid motion, Father Sam plunged the dagger deep into Todd’s heart. The pain felt excruciating. Todd stifled his scream; he was no William. Father Sam raised it again and stabbed harder, grasping the handle with both hands. Blood splashed on Father Sam’s face.

The wind picked up again, blowing leaves down on them.

Sound faded in and out for Todd. His breathing grew labored. He wanted to clutch his chest, but the restraints held him back. Feeling the rope dig into his wrists, he tried to relax himself. He didn’t want to appear scared of his duty. If he didn’t willingly follow through, all would be chaos and the Dark One would not be appeased. He had to stay strong and resolute, whatever that meant; probably to not be a wuss, like William.

He held sturdy, his hands opening as he relaxed the tension within, letting the weight of the ceremony take hold of his thoughts. Father Sam rose up again, his blade dripping with Todd’s blood. Father Sam scanned the crowd. Todd turned his head, observing their approving faces. The Keeper pulled back, then thrust the blade down.

At first, the pain wasn’t as bad as what Todd expected, but when Father Sam slammed the dagger into his chest this time, it was excruciating. He resisted the urge to scream. His lungs burned. The wet sound of the blade finding purchase in his chest was surreal. Inside his head, his scream was deafening, but he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to let anyone hear his cries of pain. His arms strained against their bonds. His legs stiffened and threatened to pull toward his chest. With willpower he’d honed over years of study, he gathered the strength to resist.

Father Sam pulled back one last time and drove the dagger down hard, the ancient blade again piercing Todd’s heart.

Meah’s scream was the last sound Todd heard. He frowned as all went dark. He was not a William.

Chapter 2

MEAGAN, I CAN’T WAIT. I have to go, Patrick said, slamming the bedroom door. He pulled on his dark brown pants and khaki uniform shirt. Satisfied by his appearance after inspecting himself in the mirror on the back of the door, he opened it.

Deputy Patrick O’Shea worked the overnight shift in St. Clair County, Illinois, and had to be ready to go by ten. He spent most of his nights in East St. Louis, a dangerous city after dark. There was never a shortage of crime. Patrick spent his nights arresting drug dealers, thieves, and carjackers. Most of the time, he dealt with drugs. He hated the way it destroyed lives and turned good people into animals. Patrick still believed in the goodness of the world, but every night on the job made him more and more jaded.

He’d worked as a deputy for over seven years. Lately, he and his wife didn’t get along as well as they used to. He tried not to dwell on it. Instead, he ignored the growing tension, believing in a deluded dream that someday it would fix itself. He provided for her and their son, Noah. They’d learn to adjust to having a father and husband who wasn’t around all the time. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d make it work. He had to if he was going to give them the life he thought they deserved.

Meagan, I gotta go, Patrick said. He slipped on his black boots and laced them tight. Dressing for work gave him a sense of clarity, as though donning the uniform kept his home life behind when his public, law-enforcing side took over. He hid behind those clothes.

Already? Meagan replied with a wink. She’d play coy; a game Patrick grew tired of. It was her way to try to keep him thinking of her. But, I thought you were gonna call in tonight. Can’t you just stay home with us? she asked, sticking out her bottom lip. He smiled.

Meagan, you know I can’t. I’ve got to go to work. I know what kind of people are out there, and the more of them I can get off the streets, the safer it is for you and Noah.

But Patrick, Meagan whined, we’re in St. Louis. They’re way over there in Illinois. It doesn’t affect us. Stay home, please? She wrapped her arms around his neck, messing up his hair. He frowned, and she giggled. Patrick felt her crawling under his skin, as she always did when he was about to leave.

Dad, stay home tonight. We can watch movies and make popcorn and—

Noah, please. I have to work. You both know this. If I don’t work, we don’t have money, and without money, we go hungry and have to live in a box. Patrick stood, straightened his pants, and put on his dark brown round-brimmed hat. He opened his arms and scooped them both up, hugging them tight.

Dad…I…can’t…breathe, Noah said. Patrick held a moment longer and then let them go. Meagan patted his arm.

Patrick! How many times have I told you not to do that? Poor Noah.

Poor Noah what? He’s fine, right, son? he said tousling Noah’s hair.

Yeah, Dad, it’s okay.

Patrick bent and kissed him on the forehead, and Noah took off toward his room. Bye, Dad! he said and closed the door.

Meagan knitted her brow and kissed him. Be safe, Patrick. I worry every time you leave. You know, maybe one day, you can transfer to Brownsville. It’s quiet there, and we could start a new life. I could ask my dad if there’s anything available for you.

Patrick gave a fake shiver. Brownsville? Meagan, I told you I’d think about it, didn’t I? I gotta go. I’m gonna be late. Bye. I love you, he said as he kissed her and left.

MEAGAN STOOD IN the kitchen watching Patrick drive off. Her knuckles turned white as she held to the sink. A scream of frustration built inside, but she held it in. She knew Noah would need her strength.

Not more than two weeks ago, Meagan’s mom had called. The conversation lagged until she got around to it. At her mother’s words, Meagan sat trembling and silent with the phone in her hand.

Megan, did you hear me? Are you still there, dear? June asked. Meagan’s voice caught in her throat, making it impossible for her to form words, any words.

Dear, you three need to move back here. You really do. It would be great for Patrick. And Noah. He’d enjoy his time here for sure.

Meagan nodded, the phone in her hand.

Hon, are you listening? June asked again.

With the strength her mother had taught her, Meagan spoke, though her words were quiet and soft. Yeah, Mom, I heard you. I’ll check with Patrick and see what we can do. She hesitated, then said, Are you sure, Mom?

Yes, dear, I am. Also, I think there might be an opening in the police department. I know it’s not as much money as Patrick makes now, but you three will be fine. The four of us lived quite well with only your father’s salary, if you recall. You can do it, June said. Meagan closed her eyes, holding her hand to her forehead. Convincing Patrick to move would be one of the hardest things she would ever have to do.

The conversation drifted to local town gossip, and after several attempts by Noah to get Meagan off the phone because he was hungry, she ended the call. Her mom’s words lingered. She thought about them for days.

Standing at the sink, those words roared back to the forefront, and she knew what must be done.

PATRICK DROVE IN silence. Meagan’s recent nagging about moving to Brownsville, closer to her parents, sprang to his mind. He hated the small town. Patrick enjoyed the busy life of the city and all its trappings. Born and raised there, he had no intention of moving to small-town southern Illinois. How Meagan had grown up there and now wanted to go back, he’d never understand.

Still, he couldn’t get her words out of his mind. As he drove on listening to KPNT, the local alternative station, he tried to focus on Anthony Keidis singing about his adventures under a bridge in Los Angeles, but Meagan’s words and her pleading eyes kept appearing in front of him. She seemed so intent on moving the family to Brownsville.

Damn it, Patrick, why won’t you listen? she screamed one recent night.

I am listening, Meagan! I don’t want to go. Simple as that. You two are fine right here. Our life is here, not there, Patrick said. Meagan slumped down on the couch. Patrick sat next to her, pulling her close as she sobbed. Listen, we can make it here. We don’t need help and we don’t need to move to Brownsville. We can visit, but our life is here.

Meagan nodded but stayed silent. He held her tight, letting her cry it out. She carried on for a long time, long enough that Patrick thought she’d wake Noah, but he didn’t get up. Still, for the next several days, she chided him about moving; never letting up.

The guitar solo kicked in, breaking Patrick’s thoughts. The music and Meagan’s voice fought with one another in his head until he turned off the radio. He couldn’t handle his distracted attention and drove the rest of the way in silence.

His shift started uneventfully. He checked in and caught up on the most recent events. When his partner Luis showed up, they were off to patrol East St. Louis.

About half past eleven, they received a call of a domestic disturbance at a home about four streets away. As the closest, they called in and were soon on their way, lights blazing and siren screaming. Patrick pulled up to the residence where a local police car was already on the scene. The blue lights of the car illuminated the run-down homes with broken windows and barred front doors. The cop turned back, relief visible on his face when he saw them pull up.

Patrick and Luis ran up next to the officer. Thank God, the officer said. Patrick recognized him. Ron Woodson, an officer of the East St. Louis Police Department. He’d been invaluable in an earlier domestic Patrick caught a while back.

What’s the problem, Ron? Patrick asked. He looked toward the house, with its sagging roof and battered siding.

Damn kids inside beating the hell out of their mom. I tried to mediate, but one of them pulled a gun. I’ve been out here ever since. I ain’t going in there alone, that’s for damn sure. Sweat dripped from Ron’s forehead down his dark face. Patrick admired the man’s dedication to the streets of East St. Louis. He saw it as a job, while Ron wanted to make the city a better place.

Patrick patted Ron’s shoulder. Okay, Ron, we got your back, Patrick said. Luis nodded agreement, his hand resting on his sidearm.

Yo, you pigs betta get outta here! This ain’t nothing to do with you! a voice from inside the house yelled.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. Yes, it does, boy. You need to relax and put down your weapon. There ain’t no need for guns today, he yelled back. A shot rang out and all three men dropped to their knees behind the cars. They heard a laugh from inside.

Look at them little piggies hide! the voice yelled.

Patrick was angry. An image of Noah floated in his head. His sweet, innocent boy. At that moment, he hoped for nothing more than to raise him free of violence like this. He knew he could do better for his son. He had to. Noah was everything to Patrick. Patrick pushed the thought away. He’d need to focus so they would have a positive outcome here.

Patrick looked to Ron and motioned that he and Luis would circle around the house to survey the scene and end this. Luis went along the left side and Patrick went to the right. He crept along the driveway, hiding behind two cars parked there. Once he made it to the house, he drew his weapon. Arguing voices rose higher. He crept closer to an open window. The unmistakable funk of meth drifted out.

A sound in the grass caught Patrick’s attention. A small boy not a day older than his own son stood staring at him. Patrick raised his finger to his mouth for the boy to stay quiet. The boy stared at him, his large eyes widening. He raised his arms, and before Patrick could speak, he saw a bright flash accompanied by a loud bang as the boy pulled the trigger.

With a sudden, intense pain in his chest, Patrick was knocked into the house. He slid to the ground, a trail of crimson streaking the siding. The boy dropped the gun and ran off into the dark.

Someone inside the house screamed as another gunshot sounded. Luis and Ron ran to Patrick. He was slumped down on the ground with a large hole in his chest. He barely noticed them looking at him. His mind kept returning to Noah. He couldn’t die here in a strange neighborhood. He had to stay alive for him. He had to make things right for his son. Patrick wasn’t the man he should be.

Breathing came hard now. Air escaped the hole in his chest. Something oozed down his shirt. He tried making out what Luis and Ron were saying, but everything jumbled together. Before long, his world went dark. His last thought was of Noah.

Patrick woke to his heart beating a steady rhythm. Sharp blips and an antiseptic scent told him where he was. It took his eyes several minutes to adjust to the bright white lights around him. He found it difficult to breathe, and something protruded from his nostrils.

He’s awake! a small voice cried.

Noah? he thought.

His head hurt and it was hard to focus. There was a dark figure in front of him. His eyes adjusted, and he recognized Meagan’s face. She had tears on her cheeks and her hair appeared like she hadn’t brushed it in days.

Patrick, I thought I lost you! she said, caressing his head, wary of disturbing the array of wires and tubes. Several figures in white coats and colored scrubs appeared at the edge of Patrick’s vision. Meagan smiled at him, and everything faded to black again.

When he awoke, his nose was free of tubes. Breathing still hurt. He felt like he’d been stabbed in his chest. He took a deep breath and pain shot through him, so he breathed shallow, quick breaths until he calmed down and the pain subsided. Several days later, they let him go with a long list of meds. He didn’t like taking pills and drugs. They made him feel inadequate, like a crutch.

After the incident, Patrick received paid leave for physical and mental recuperation. The shot caught him to the right of his heart, puncturing his lung. Fortunately, the paramedics got there in time to stabilize him and transport him to the hospital. He faced several weeks, then months of vigorous rehab. He hated feeling weak; hated having to lean on someone else for strength, but he pushed through, knowing soon he’d be back on his feet and taking care of his family again.

The nights were the absolute worst part for Patrick. He often woke in a cold sweat, fearing a gunman in the shadows of their bedroom. More than once, Meagan held him close to her, rocking gently, trying to calm and reassure him. He couldn’t have made it without her.

MEAGAN BECAME HIS backbone, his rock, his everything. She cared for him more than he deserved. She slept very little those first few weeks. With his constant waking and night terrors, she couldn’t sleep, so she did the only thing she could. She comforted him and held him close.

Meagan didn’t want Noah to see Patrick weak and afraid. She’d raised Noah to be strong, self-sufficient, and courageous in tough times. Seeing his father weakened would do so much damage to the little man Noah was becoming. She watched as Patrick struggled with not being strong, but in her arms, she hoped to give him her brother Todd’s strength; the strength her mother raised them both with. In her mind, Todd was the bravest boy and strongest person she had ever known, though she’d never told Patrick about him. Secretly, she hoped Noah would be like him. First, she needed to get Patrick back on his feet again.

SEVERAL MONTHS AFTER the incident, Patrick was ready to get back to work. He conquered his fears with Meagan’s help and appointments with a shrink the department required him to see. He worked through his terrors and could get close to people again without a constant nagging fear that someone had a gun trained on him. On one of the days leading up to his reinstatement, Meagan approached him with an opportunity her mother had brought to her attention.

The police department in Brownsville needed an officer. Someone had transferred out, and they had been running shorthanded for a while because of budget cuts. They were now able to hire someone, and Meagan thought it would be an awesome opportunity if Patrick could transfer to Brownsville.

Just think about it, baby, she said as he sat at the table drinking coffee and reading on his tablet.

He gazed up at her. Well, I guess I could check in to it. I doubt they pay as good down there, but if you’re fine with us eating ramen noodles and drinking generic soda, then maybe we can do it, he replied. He had been warming to the idea ever since the shooting. Surely there wasn’t as much crime or as many shootings as East St. Louis. He rubbed his chest, feeling the scar.

What about Noah? he asked. The boy had few friends and only knew city life.

What about him? she replied. He’d be far better growing up in a small town where people recognize him. Besides, it did me good, she said. She winked and kissed his forehead. Just think about it, please? Living here and what it’s done to you, well… she paused. This place has done more harm than good. We need to think about it. My family is there. They can help with anything we need.

He hesitated, his coffee cup raised to his lips, then took a sip. Yeah, I guess so, he said. The thought of having to ask her father for any kind of help rankled him. He’d do it on his own.

Later that day, while driving to the store for milk and almost getting into a wreck because he mistook a car backfiring for a gunshot, he decided maybe Meagan had a point. Maybe they needed to get out of the city. Maybe a change would be good for all of them. He’d check into it as soon as he got back to work. It certainly would make life much, much easier.

Chapter 3

PATRICK HAD BEEN SHOT on a cool mid-October evening. By the time he decided Meagan might be right about moving and he inquired about a transfer, spring bloomed, and the trees had come back to life in a beautiful display of nature’s power. Patrick loved the changing of the seasons. It made him feel alive. When things were cold for just long enough, spring’s thaw brought life to the world. It was one thing Patrick loved the most about living in the northern section of the country. He often marveled how any of the early settlers endured such changing conditions without the aid of modern conveniences.

Like the seasons, he found himself at a time of change.

His boss, Captain Lee Smith, spoke to him about moving on from time to time. By the way Patrick had handled himself after returning to the job, his boss quipped how the rural setting might give him the opportunity to rise above his fears and concerns for his family. Smith pulled a few strings, and soon Patrick had a new job waiting.

It happened so fast. Patrick and Meagan didn’t even have enough time to look for a new place to live until they got a quick weekend free, just two weeks before Patrick reported for duty. Meagan lined up a whirlwind trip to visit several homes in and near Brownsville that she’d flagged after initial online searches.

Meagan, do you think this is the right decision? Patrick asked as they drove along a rural two-lane highway. Trees bloomed green and new along the route. The Mississippi River ran along the right side of the road for much of the way. Sunshine brightened the mood and the crisp air reminded Patrick of early spring rather than late May.

Of course, I do, dear. I think you need the change. We need the change. I don’t want Noah to grow up afraid of his neighborhood. I don’t want him to fear you won’t come home because some stupid person took his issues out on you. We almost lost you once. I don’t want that to happen again. Meagan glanced in the back seat at Noah, who wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation. He was too busy playing with the tablet on his lap. Patrick rubbed the scar on his chest. Meagan was right, but still, the move worried him. Change didn’t always come easy for him. Once, he had to change his sleeping routine because of a shift change, and it almost caused Meagan to leave him. This move could be mentally worse for him.

Do you think Noah will fit in? he asked her, looking at their son in the rearview mirror.

Of course. He’s a smart kid. Who wouldn’t like Noah? she said, smiling. Noah had always been a fun, vivacious child. Patrick loved him dearly. Noah was his little buddy. They did all kinds of things together, from playing video games, something Meagan still didn’t like, to fishing and playing ball. Meagan homeschooled Noah, so they enrolled him in various organizations to keep him socially well adjusted. He was involved in scouts and baseball. He made friends easily. Noah would be fine; Patrick knew it. He was only searching for reasons against the move. He thought he’d almost rather deal with the harsh city environment instead of moving and starting over.

Meagan’s parents would help with everything, though Patrick didn’t care for them. They always seemed off to him. They had a detachment that Patrick didn’t understand. He didn’t know if he should be wary of them or dismiss it as their personalities. He’d find out soon enough. The three of them would stay with her parents for the weekend, and they would all go on the home tours. He was sure his nerves were in for a workout. He’d never spent that much time with his in-laws before, and on top of trying to find a home, he’d have to figure them out.

I bet Noah’s gonna enjoy being closer to family, Patrick said. Meagan didn’t respond. They drove in silence for a while until Patrick had enough. Meagan usually chatted his ear off, but now she was abnormally quiet.

Huh? Oh…yeah, I’m sure he will, Meagan said after Patrick gave her a look. She stared out the window, watching the scenery go by. A squirrel crouched, ready to chance running in front of the car, then decided it wasn’t worth it and darted off in the opposite direction. Patrick thought it best to leave things alone and didn’t pry. Maybe she was just as apprehensive about the move as he was.

He clicked the radio on and scrolled through the channels, stopping at an eighties station. He hummed along to Duran Duran, cheering himself up a bit.

For the next hour, he lost himself in the music. He let his anxieties go to the electronic thump of Tears for Fears. His mind wandered to a simpler time of his life. As a boy, all he wanted to do was grow up and be an adult. Now there, he didn’t like it much. No one told him about the immense responsibility adulthood brought with it. He faced challenges every single day. When he was a kid, his greatest problem was when he broke a skateboard and needed to save up money to get a new one. He had everything at his disposal and nothing to worry about. His parents had been there for him and supported him in all his endeavors. He didn’t notice it then, but thinking back, he understood they knew way more than he ever gave them credit for. They did pretty good for parents, though he’d never have told them back then. It was too late to say anything now. They had both died; his mom from cancer, and his dad not too long after from a heart attack. Patrick thought that in their sixties, they were too young to die like that. He missed them dearly, especially his dad. They had been close, much closer than he and Noah. As much as he considered Noah his little buddy, it paled in comparison to his relationship with his dad. Meagan had Noah wrapped around her little finger and kept him too close.

Patrick had worried that his long hours on the job might lead to an unnaturally close bond between Meagan and Noah. He wanted so much to be closer to his son; to mold him into a man; to encourage the positive masculine traits he’d need as he matured. He didn’t want regrets later in life with Noah, which was part of the reason he’d agreed with Meagan to make the big move. Even though it brought them closer to her family, he figured the slower pace of rural southern Illinois meant he’d be spending less time on the job and have more time at home. He needed that. Not only for Noah, but for Meagan as well. They’d talked of adding to their little family, but he didn’t want to think about it while he was still working in East St. Louis. He saw too much of the worst side of humanity to want to bring another life into it. This move had a lot riding on it, which only added to his stress.

Look out! Meagan shouted. Patrick broke from his thoughts in time to grab the wheel and veer to the right on the shoulder and left back to the road. He narrowly missed a suicidal raccoon. Meagan stared at Patrick with wide eyes. What were you doing? Didn’t you see that? Meagan scolded. Noah shouted from the backseat. Patrick gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his heart slowing down after the sudden jolt.

I’m sorry, babe. I was lost in thought; that’s all. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and tried to calm down.

Mom, what happened? Noah’s small voice said from the back.

Nothing. It’s okay, Noah. A raccoon tried to jump in front of your father. She glared at Patrick. Noah went back to watching a show on the tablet.

Well, I’d sure appreciate it if you’d not kill us before we get there, Meagan said in a low voice. She had a fierceness in her eyes. He turned back to the road, eyes straight ahead. They were about forty-five minutes away from her parents’ house and he couldn’t wait to get out and stretch his legs.

Pulling into Brownsville from the east, the hilly road wound around a bend and beneath a railroad bridge where a coal train idly sat. They drove under the bridge and Patrick slowed as they approached the town. Immediately, he saw gas stations on either side of the road. He looked down at the dash and saw there was still a quarter tank left, so he didn’t stop. Another couple blocks farther and then a right led them through well-kept neighborhoods. The road dipped away from the congested areas, and on the edge of town sat the house where Meagan grew up.

Patrick’s anxiety grew as they approached the small one-story house. It was a modest home with dark blue shutters against white siding. There was a large grey barn out back where her dad kept his small tractor and assorted pieces of equipment he felt he needed, though they didn’t have a farm, and the property only had two acres. Patrick didn’t know why he worried; they were good people. His heart raced, and he took several deep breaths. He must’ve been loud because Meagan turned to him.

What are you worried about? It’s only my parents. You get along with them. They like you! Besides, you’re their favorite son-in-law, she said smiling.

I’m their only son-in-law. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, he grumbled back a little too harshly. Meagan cocked her head and opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. Sorry, I’m just nervous. I’ll get it together, Patrick said. She reached down and squeezed his hand.

It’s okay. I know they’re odd at times, but they really are good people, she said. Meagan held his hand all the way up the drive until he stopped and put the car in park. Slowly he turned the key and cut the engine. It was now or never, he thought and decided to get it done, like ripping off a bandage.

He looked at Meagan and she smiled at him. Her face glowed. He smiled back as they all got out of the car. Her mom came down the front porch looking as country as could be. She wore a long white cotton dress with an apron around her waist, probably in the middle of the kitchen magic she was known for. Her grey hair, though long, was pulled back in a bun. Her smile reminded him of Meagan.

My dear kids, how good it is to see you! she said and walked over to Meagan, squeezing her warmly in a hug that only a mom could give. She reached down and scooped up Noah. Oh my, you are getting big! she exclaimed. They embraced for a long time before she let go and gave Patrick a kind hug. It’s so wonderful to see you three. Please, come on in. I was just finishing up some pies. And she led them up the steps into the front door.

Chapter 4

IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE you, Meagan’s mom said again as they settled at the kitchen table. She scuttled about, bringing glasses of water for the three of them. Meagan’s dad slept in the spare bedroom.

Yeah, Mom, it’s great to be here. I guess we’ll need to get used to this, huh? she said as she winked at Patrick. He smiled back and took a long drink. The cool water soothed and refreshed. He didn’t know he needed a drink that badly, but June was good for things like that. Knowing what someone needed before they did seemed to be a gift of hers. He thought Meagan had inherited her magic as he took another long drink.

Noah beamed at his grammie. He didn’t get to see her often, but somehow it didn’t matter. They had a great bond and he bugged Meagan to let him call her at least once a week. Most of the time, from what Patrick overheard, their long talks were about Legos and video games. He only imagined how June felt about it.

June and Albert, Meagan’s parents, traced their lineage to Brownsville’s earliest settlers. Albert kept a box of records and deeds and photographs that went back at least a century; some even farther. He was a squirrelly old man, wiry in stature. He often had a beer in one hand and a Bible in the other. Patrick got along with him well enough. When Patrick decided it was time to ask Meagan to marry him, he went to Al first for his permission. He recalled her dad’s laughter.

Are you sure you want to do that, boy? Al asked him. Patrick didn’t know how to respond at first.

Well, yes. Yes, sir. I do very much. I love Meagan, and I want your permission to marry her. Al stared him straight in the eyes, all joviality gone. He had a cool, serious expression.

I give you permission, though she’s more than you can handle. If you can take what she brings with her, I give you my complete blessing. But I warn you, son, she comes from a proud family. She is loyal to her family first above all else. If you can put up with that, then I see no reason why you shouldn’t marry her, Al said.

Temporarily stunned, Patrick took a few moments before he replied. He thought Al was being dramatic and considered carefully before he said, Yes, yes, I can handle all that she is, sir. She does come from a proud family and she can be bullheaded at times, but I can handle it, sir. I won’t do her wrong.

Al patted him on his head and grabbed a beer for each of them. Well, let’s have a drink, boy. Congratulations! and he clinked his bottle with Patrick’s as they toasted to an engagement that hadn’t happened yet.

Patrick’s proposal to Meagan was a formality anyway. Everyone knew they would get married. They were together for the better part of five years, and in the natural evolution of relationships, it was an eventuality.

DAD, CAN I GO outside? I wanna play by the creek, Noah asked as he fidgeted in his seat. Patrick looked at Meagan and she nodded. Yeah, son, go ahead. But keep your ears open for your mom or me. Got it?

Yeah, Dad, I got it, he said. He hopped down and raced out the door. The late afternoon had warmed from earlier in the day. It was the perfect time to play outside.

Noah ran out the back door past the grey barn and through a field before he got to the tree line where a creek cut through the property. The shallow creek ran swift, and his grandpa told him it emptied into the Big Muddy River. He also said the Big Muddy eventually ended at the Mississippi, and the Big Muddy, with its access to the Mississippi, led to the founding of Brownsville. But at this moment, Noah didn’t care about all that. He was thinking about the fast-moving creek.

The creek was only about three feet wide. He sized it up and jumped across, landing on the soft bank with a thud. His feet sunk in the mud, but he made the landing and scrambled up the short bank and into the trees on the other side. The entire tree line was maybe twenty yards wide and bordered on either side by fields. On his grandparents’ side was a field of grass, and on the other side he saw dirt and rows. It looked like a farm of some kind, but he didn’t know what they grew.

Turning back around toward the creek, he ran quickly and jumped, crossing with ease. He landed on the other side and his momentum carried him forward, and he fell to the ground. Immediately, he rolled to his back, grabbing his wrist.

Ouch! he yelled. He hoped his parents didn’t hear him. They’d lecture him about being careful and watching out and all that mess. He sat for a few moments, gently rubbing his right wrist and watching the creek flow by. He stared at the rapidly moving water and noticed a leaf drifting aimlessly along the creek. Noah sat entranced by the sight, wondering what it would be like just to drift along wherever the water carried him.

After sitting for several minutes, Noah got up, dusted himself off, and walked along the creek in search of rocks or arrowheads. His grandpa told him that Indians (Native Americans, his mom always corrected) used to live in this area years ago, and if you were careful, you might come across some arrowheads. His grandpa had found several in the past, and Noah always went out to the creek to search for arrowheads and other oddities when he visited.

About ten yards from where he started, a dull-looking, strangely shaped rock poked up out of the ground. Noah stopped and crouched to get a better look. He thought it might be an arrowhead, which would be his first find ever. He dug around it with his fingers until he freed it from its muddy encasement. Rubbing the remaining dirt off, he could see it was a triangular piece