BURDEN OF AN ANCIENT OATH Joshua Brown (large ebook reader .TXT) 📖

as always. “Why didn’t they just kill the kids? Get rid of the whole thing at one time.”

“Some twisted code of honor, probably,” I replied, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and pouring two glasses.

“That’s what you’d have to think, but it doesn’t seem right. They’re willing to slaughter these families in cold blood, right? Can’t imagine kids are off the table in that case,” Gwen replied, accepting the glass but not drinking.

It was bizarre. Rooting out the problem would be simpler than letting it live on. But they always happened early.

“The kids never made it past a certain age. Maybe whoever’s behind this was banking on the adoptive parents not sharing the devastating tragedies of what happened,” I shrugged.

“Or maybe it’s to keep this thing alive,” Gwen replied. “Without the family, there’s no one to go after, and their twisted order dies. If this thing really is hundreds of years old, there are traditions and other nonsense keeping the dream alive.”

“If that’s the case, they could’ve figured something else to chase, but maybe you’re right. People are inherently cruel, there’s no disputing that,” I sipped my drink.

Before Gwen managed to get another word out, in unison, our phones began to ring. My call came from Jane Dench and Gwen’s was from Spencer Williamson. Gwen rose, stepping out of my office to take the call and I answered it inside.

“Detective Jack Mercer speaking.”

“Jack? It’s Jane,” she sounded composed, but I could hear the quiver in her voice. “I need you to get down here right away.”

“What’s wrong, Jane?” I jumped to my feet.

“I just got another letter, but it’s not for me,” she said. “It’s for you and a woman named Gwen Sullivan.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sharing this with Gwen, she received the same message from Spencer. Saying our goodbyes, we parted ways to collect notes on whatever this new problem was.

~

The sound of children laughing jovially one minute and crying the next came from the living room beside Jane Dench’s kitchen. She stood with a lit cigarette in one hand, tucked beneath the counter so the children couldn’t see it. I didn’t smoke out of respect to them.

With my trustee recorder on and set down on the table, I waited for her to speak.

“I hope you don’t mind the children making noise. I’ve decided not to let them go out while dealing with this… issue of ours,” Jane said, bringing the cigarette to her mouth, turning away.

“It’s no problem at all. Best to be safe, rather than have anything bad happen to them,” I replied. I wasn’t going to share the news of children typically surviving these ordeals. But from their ages, somewhere between eight and ten, whoever was chasing Jane missed the deadline.

“I’m sorry to call you under such ominous circumstances,” Jane didn’t wait much longer, pulling the letter from her gown. “But it said that I must call at exactly 4 PM and get you to come over. Once you’re here, I must deliver this hand-sealed letter. Had it not been done precisely to the instruction, they’d know.”

I took the letter from Jane, opening it up.

It was a simple sheet of paper with only a single line written:

Cease your investigation, Jack Mercer, or those around you will suffer.

Short, sweet, and to the point.

I was strangely disappointed that I didn’t receive some lunatic’s writings with vivid imagery of what might come. But I knew what it meant. They weren’t targeting me just yet… they were going after the people I cared for.

“And this is all they sent?” I asked, reading the line once more before tucking the paper into my pocket.

“No, accompanied with the letter was this,” Jane bent over, pulling out a cabinet drawer.

Inside, a taxidermied squirrel dressed in typical 17th-century female’s clothing waited—around its neck, a noose, as an example of what was to come for the Dench family soon enough.

“It was hanging from the mailbox, with your letter between its fingers. I managed to hide it from the children; they’re none the wiser to what’s happening here,” Jane said.

“What about your husband?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

Jane removed the squirrel, putting it into a trash bag and handing it to me.

“He’s an absolute mess because of this. Who wouldn’t be in his position? His entire world is being threatened by an unknown entity, for unknown reasons, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” I replied, trying to set her mind at ease. I filled Jane in on the details that Aaron managed to pull about the incident and how her family was killed. After a brief explanation of who we thought might be the culprits, some twisted cult, I was left with the biggest news of all.

By the time I finished explaining it all, Jane’s eyes showed fear far worse than any she’d felt up until then. Her face twisted and contorted with sadness, rage, and everything in between.

“You’ve also got a brother, Jane. A man named Spencer Williamson. You weren’t much younger than him when all of this happened, and you were separated during the adoption phase.”

“A brother?” she repeated, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. She sniffled, trying her hardest to stay composed.

“Yeah, and from what I hear, he’s a good man. Got a wife, some kids, living the good old-fashioned American dream.”

“How did you find out?” she asked.

“That’s a funny story,” I chuckled, trying to break the tension, realizing immediately this was no time to laugh. “A colleague and old friend is working on the same case, just with your brother instead of you.”

“They’re going after him too?”

“It looks like they’re going after anyone that shares your blood.”

I paused, watching the cogs in Jane Dench’s brain fire off. Until now, she’d shown