Part 3 – Helena Hendricks

  Chapter Twenty - Brent.

  It was small for a farmhouse. In fact, it was small for a house. It didn't have central air or heat. Ceiling fans did not hang from the ceiling. There were no clothes washer, dishwasher or dryer. Indeed, there were very few modern conveniences. The house did have electric lights. And other than a few kitchen basics, there was an oscillating fan from the 1950s. If you picked it up and hit it on the table, it would work for a little while. You could use the fireplace when nothing else worked.

  The outside of the house was just as grey as the cloud that hung over it. It was a good 30 to 40 minutes past the outskirts of anything that resembled a city. Within walking distance was a feed store, a gas station and a dairy farm. If you were brave, you could reach the Tulip farm. The walk would take you most of the day. If you have clothes to wash you could go to the feed store. For a price, you could wash clothes there. There was a grayish blue sedan parked by the house. It was not her car. She didn't know anything about cars.

  Once she had daughters and a husband. That dream was long gone. Today she only had him. She didn't know much about him. There were many questions you could ask. There was only one question that she knew the answer to. It was an answer she understood. He had once loved her oldest daughter. Now, he loves her like a mother. Only a monster could love her oldest daughter. He worked for her husband. But in his world, there was only one thing he could do. She was the only family he had. He was here because of her. That was the only thing she needed to know about him.

  He was naturally a large man. He was almost six-foot five and close to two hundred and sixty pounds. This made it very difficult to find any clothes that fit. His straight, dark hair hadn't grayed or lightened over time. His dark, nearly black eyes still held a boy's charm.

  She spoke with the little humor that remained with her. “Brent McIntyre. I am not your maid. You simply must learn to pick up after yourself.”

  “Yes, ma'am.” That was all he said.

  She watched him pull on his shoes. Then he put on his jacket. Her expression grew serious. He removed his pistol from the cabinet by the fireplace. She could feel her anxiety increase. She wanted to speak. She knew there was nothing she could say.

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  He said, “There's somebody outside. Stay away from the windows and the doors. I'll go look.” He knew he should stay. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to keep the ugliness of the world away from her. He wanted to keep the ugliness out. He holstered his pistol under his jacket. Brent walked out the door.

  There was an average sized man by the car. He had a salt and pepper beard. He was wearing a button-up shirt, dark sunglasses, and a baseball cap. Brent knew that he should attack. He knew the man. This man was very dangerous. He also could be very kind. Once, long ago, he had shown this kindness to Brent.

  Brent’s voice trailed off at the end. “A few years ago, I was told you died. That was right after Ms. Eden....”

  Frank stated quietly, “He tried Brent. He almost succeeded.”

  Brent mumbled, “When the trouble started, I knew you weren't dead.” With a frightened expression, he looked up suddenly. “Mrs. Helena didn't have anything to do with that. And that's the truth, Frank. He used her. Just like everyone else.”

  “Brent, I understand what you're saying. I didn't come here to hurt her. Still, I don't know what the outcome is going to be. She's made some bad mistakes. No. She's made some bad choices. She'll have to own up to them. She'll have the chance to pick her side. Maybe even find some way to atone.”

  There was a long pause as Brent stared at the pistol in Frank's hand.

  Frank spoke calmly and evenly. “Brent, I didn't come here to hurt you either. I know you like the old woman. I can feel your desire to protect her, and I know what you're thinking. The answer is that you're not fast enough. You can't draw on a drop. You can't close the distance. You can’t outrun a bullet. And yes, I'll drop you.”

  Brent stared into Frank's eyes. “I can't let you hurt her.”

  A voice from behind Brent said, “I'm starting to like this guy.”

  “I thought you might.” Frank spoke to Fred before turning back to Brent. “Brent. You're a big guy and kind of dangerous. I couldn't take the chance. Coming alone was either suicide, or I'd have to kill you. I wouldn’t like that. Either one.”

  Brent’s voice was clearer, “The odds really aren't in my favor today. I probably would have to kill you to take you. Even if you didn't bring help. I don't think I'd like that either.” Brent placed his hands on top of his head. “What's next?”

  Frank said, “We're going to zip tie your hands and take your weapons. And if you don't mind, I'd like you to go sit on the steps. I'll go talk to the old lady.”

  “Could you call her Mrs. Helena? I don't like it when you call her old lady.” Brent inquired.

  “For you, I won't call her old lady.” Frank replied.

  Fred stated factually, “Nine millimeter. And it's a good one. Guy has good taste in handguns. But I still like mine better.” The big man pointed Brent towards the porch.

  Brent spoke to Frank, “Thank you. I would appreciate that. You know, she's not that bad, and she's had a rough life.”

  Frank said, “I'll try not to hurt her.”

  Fred didn’t say anything. He thought. He wouldn’t hurt her, much.