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

“I just write letters and take them to people. I don’t know nothing else,” Oscar said again.

“Who tells you to write these letters, Oscar? And do they tell you what to write?” I asked. I never broke eye contact with him, even when he turned away or tried breaking my gaze.

I read his face like the open book that it was. The subtle changes in his expression, the way his eyes opened and closed at certain words, how his jaw sunk or clenched depending on what was spoken about. I could tell he wasn’t lying, that he didn’t know what was going on, but he also knew far more than he was letting on.

And now, with an admission of guilt that he delivered those letters—wrote them too—we had him for as long as we needed him.

“I don’t know—”

“Nothing?” I finished his sentence. “Then how do you know where to take the letters? Or who to send them to? Why are you so clued up on how the whole operation works if you really don’t know anything about it? Don’t play innocent, Oscar. You’re the mastermind behind this whole thing, aren’t you?”

With every accusation I sent his way, Oscar broke down a little. He was hurled into a further panic, now trying to break free from the bonds wrapped around his hands. He pulled so tight that the table bolted to the floor shifted at his attempts to get free.

“You know, they’re going to send you away for a long time, Oscar. The guys behind that window over there, they think it’s all on you. Look, I’m trying my best to be on your side here, trying to get them to leave you alone, but you’re not helping me here.”

I could see it in his eyes. Oscar Carlisle was on the verge of breaking point.

“You just have to tell me who it is, and I can turn those dogs off your scent. So, come on, tell me what’s going…”

“I don’t know who it is!” Oscar shouted. “It’s a man dressed in all black with a mask. The man comes to my house, gives me the names and the places, and tells me to write.”

Oscar started blubbering and sputtering as the tears rolled down his cheek. He finally cracked.

“How do you know what to write?”

“The man says I’ve got a gift. A gift from God. That he speaks through my writing. I don’t know how it happens… it just happens,” he sniffled.

That made sense with the situation, but it still didn’t explain his corrections and mistakes. I supposed that didn’t have anything to do with the case and decided to ignore it for the time being, but I'd have to return if it came up in the future.

“So, you can’t tell me anything about the man that comes to your house?”

Oscar shook his head.

Knowing that any further questioning with Oscar in his blubbering state was pointless, I got up from my chair. Though there wasn’t much to go by from this meeting alone, at least it confirmed that it was the same man that attacked Gwen in her home.

In a case like this, baby steps were better than no steps at all.

Chapter 19

Gwen

Entering Jack’s house after all these years was strange as if I’d stepped through a time machine that took me back ten years. The L-shaped black leather sofa, the blue and white TV cabinet and lampshades, the silver curtains—all unchanged after all these years.

After my scare, I didn’t want to be home alone. It didn’t matter if the masked man and his cronies weren’t going to come back or how prepared I was for them if they did, I didn’t want to be alone in that house. Instead, being out here in Jack’s place felt right. He was always a protective rock when I needed it, and it seems little has changed.

Being alone in his place, I decided to make him a dinner. Nothing fancy, but when I went through the fridge and cupboards, I wasn’t met with anything other than a few rudimentary ingredients for easy sandwiches or take-out boxes. So, with that plan out of the window, I opted for take-out myself—as a small ‘thank you’ for his kindness.

It wasn’t surprising to see him living like this. Jack was never the kind of man that looked after himself. In some ways, I always hoped he’d find a woman, settle down, and relax. But he was a dedicated man who strived to better the world one case at a time.

I didn’t know how long he’d be, so I curled up on the sofa, ate a couple of slices of pizza, and watched TV.

A few hours later, Jack stepped through the door. I hopped to my feet, and without needing to say a word, Jack wrapped his arms around me. He brought me in tight, squeezing softly.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Gwen. I promised you that, and I’ll make sure it happens,” he said.

I lingered there longer than I ought to have. Maybe I was going soft the older I got, but I guessed that sometimes everyone just needs a good, long hug.

“I’m feeling better,” I said after pulling away from him. “It just came so unexpectedly.”

“We’re dealing with a bunch of freaks and screw-ups, I guess it was only a matter of time until they made a real threat,” he replied.

“But what does that mean for everyone else? I could’ve defended myself, but what about Lauren or anyone associated with them?”

“I don’t think they’re really making any moves on Lauren or Aaron. They’re the small fish and we’re the sharks, right? But it does mean we have to kill this before it goes too far,” Jack replied.

“How did the interview go?” I asked, realizing how much it was starting to