Kurt had woken up a few minutes ago, and yet he stayed put. Normally, he would be ready to start the day the moment his eyes opened. However, now, he was content to lie in bed a bit longer. After all, his limbs tangled with hers. Alison slept curled against him, hand beneath his shirt. The sight and feel did not baffle him anymore. Another smile touched his face as he watched her. He lifted his arm and lightly slid the back of his fingers against her cheek. She twitched a bit but did not react too much to the simple touch. He stayed put for a few minutes more before carefully slipping away from the comfort.
Dawn fast approached, and so he forced himself to think of work. Kurt headed towards the closet in order to pull his uniform from the hanger. Slowly, he slid open the door, and then looked back to see if the slight noise had interrupted Alison's slumber. She did not move. Sighing inaudibly, Kurt pulled his uniform from the closet, hanger and all. He then turned and opened the bedroom door. He took one last backwards glance at Alison before leaving. Walking down the hall, he made sure to check in Naomi's room. Of course, his little girl still slept, not disturbed by the slight noise her door made. Satisfied, Kurt began his morning routine.
First, he went downstairs to start a pot of coffee. Then he headed back upstairs to take a shower. He did not spend as long in the shower as normal to make up for the extra time he spent in bed. The amount of time he spent staring at himself in the mirror was no different from before. However, as Kurt lightly touched the burn on his chest, he realized the big difference. He no longer dwelled too long on how the scar came to be. The old memory would never fade but it had been overcome by the new memory associated with it. Feather light kisses that extended across his torso. Whispered words of love. Alison had given him a new memory to recall. A good memory instead of the bad. For the first time in a long while, looking in the mirror did not cause his eyes to water.
Clearing his throat, Kurt slipped into his uniform. He gathered his sleep attire in a bundle in his arms and the used towel before opening the bathroom door. Almost immediately, he smelled the familiar scent of coffee. Furrowing his brow, he walked down the hall and opened the door to the laundry chute. The chute was large, so his clothes slipped down easily. He walked down the hall to Alison's bedroom. Of course, she still slept even as the sun began to rise now. Honestly, he did not want to wake her, but he also wanted a goodbye kiss. A smile tugged at his mouth as he slid a hand down her back. Such an easy thought to have now.
Alison groaned lightly, arching her back at his touch. She turned to him, eyes prying open. "Morning," she greeted, voice slow and slurred. Kurt didn't realize how much he missed hearing it. Alison gave a small smile and he returned it. "About to leave?" Kurt nodded his head before leaning down. He pressed his lips to hers, and her smile grew. "What about breakfast?"
"I'll pick something up," he told her. "Or maybe Billy will already have something." Alison lowered her head to the pillow again. "I made coffee for you," he mentioned. A soft murmur of thanks slipped out as she shut her eyes. "Have a good day at work." He smiled before kissing her temple. The responding groan could have been a 'you, too,' but sleep had taken her again. Chuckling lightly, Kurt straightened and left the bedroom. Once again, he checked in on his daughter. Naomi remained undisturbed by the smell of coffee or the morning light of the sun.
Overall, his morning routine had not changed that much but it still felt drastic. It was a good type of drastic. Kurt quietly left the house, carrying his work hold all bag. Streaks from the sun's light chased away the rest of the night by the time he started up his truck. Then, of course, he had to go back inside to retrieve his cell phone. He really needed to learn to pack the thing in his bag. Fortunately, Alison had already given him a spare key so that he could come and go at his leisure. He found the small device on the kitchen counter, already at full charge. He probably had Alison to thank for that as well. Kurt glanced at the screen, smiling at the lock screen. The picture of Alison and Naomi smiling for the camera greeted him as always. Then he noticed the notification.
The smile dropped from his mouth, realizing that he had missed several calls from Billy. One from work. It was unusual for a Monday morning. Turning, he walked out of the backdoor again, shutting it behind him as he unlocked his phone. The picture of himself tickling his daughter and nephew distracted him somewhat but Kurt focused more on dialing the main number of BSD. He locked the door as he held the phone up to ear. After a few rings, it went to the standard answering machine recording. That gave him pause. Alma was normally good at answering the phone even if she had multiple calls coming through.
Frowning now, Kurt dialed Billy's cell phone. It went to voicemail. He slipped his phone in his pocket, and then climbed in his truck. Judging from the time on the radio, he was not late. In fact, he had about fifteen minutes before his shift officially started. He had time to spare. Still, this was a bit odd. Kurt backed out of the driveway, already deciding to head straight for work. On a normal workday, a single missed call from Billy indicated a request to pick breakfast up for them both. Or to ask if Kurt himself had wanted something from the nearby restaurant because most days, Billy went to work a half an hour before his shift started. It had only ever been a single call. Billy should have answered the call back.
Kurt might have gone faster than he should on his way to work. A strange twisting in his gut urged him to press harder on the gas. Within minutes, he arrived outside BSD and parked his truck. Nothing seemed out of place so far. He removed the key from the ignition and left the driver seat, tugging on the handle of his bag in the process. He nearly slammed the door shut in his haste to get to the front entrance of the building. He pulled open the door and was greeted by the flurry of sound and activity. Kurt's eyes widened at the sight of his coworkers and civilians scurrying about the place. In the jumble of noise, he heard women sobbing. Multiple phones rang in a constant drone, in and out of sync. It was Monday, but this was more of a madhouse than Kurt expected.
The twisting in his gut increased tenfold as he walked towards the receptionist desk. Alma held the phone's receiver to her ear. She hurriedly spoke, voice loud and reassuring to whoever listened on the other side. Under normal circumstances, Kurt would have waited until the call ended. However, from his vantage point, he could see that the other lines were busy, too. He tapped on the desk to get her attention. Her brown eyes looked his way. "What's going on?" he mouthed to her. The older woman inaudibly sighed and shook her head. She then pressed a palm over the receiver, fully turning towards him.
"Sixteen cases of homicide," she told him. The twisting in his gut unraveled but it twisted the other way. "Hours apart from each other. The Sheriff's at one crime scene and the Deputy Chief Sheriff is at the other." She fiddled through items on her desk before finding and passing along a sticky note and a set of keys. "Sheriff Hood already has instructions for you to go where he is. He wants you there now." Alma, having relayed the message, turned her attention back to the caller. "No, I'm still here, and I assure you BSD is doing everything we can to take care of this…"
The world shifted abruptly underneath him, but Kurt managed to grab the keys and the note from the desk. He read the neat, yet rushed, handwriting of Alma and realized it was an address. As he had memorized the layout of patrol routes, Kurt realized that this particular address was on the outskirts of town. Still, the community was still considered a part of Banshee. Swallowing hard and turning back towards the door, his quickened steps took him outside to his designated cruiser. Hastily, he pulled out of the parking space and picked the quickest route to his destination.
Sixteen cases of homicide. Sixteen dead bodies. Un-fucking-precedented would be putting it mildly. Banshee had not been a place of mayhem and murder. Well, it was not known for it. Honestly, only in recent years had bodies started piling up. Even local gangs kept their violence to assault most of the time. DCS Lotus lamented the hell that Banshee had become more than enough times for Kurt to infer how much things had changed since Sheriff Hood took up residence. However, actual investigation of murder spaced out through years. Not a single twenty-hour period. He could only assume it happened yesterday after he had left work. Otherwise, he would have heard about it. Maybe that had been the reason for Billy's phone calls.
The Sheriff seemed to have things under control for now, already delegating tasks for his deputies, so maybe things would turn out well. Like when he snuffed out that serial killer before a third body could turn up. Still, Kurt felt his jaw clench painfully as the twisting feeling grew within him. Something told him it would not be so easily handled this time. Sixteen bodies. That number pointed to massacre territory. A massacre in Banshee. Christ. And judging from the location, Kurt could not think of a worse place for it to take place. He drove down a certain path arranged by crowd control barriers. He parked his cruiser and finally unclenched his teeth. A long sigh left him as he stared out of the windshield. Other police cruisers were already on the scene. As well as firetrucks. It looked like the state police had been called as well. There was also a cruiser from the Kinaho Police Department. Christ.
Kurt spotted his coworkers as he opened the vehicle door. He quickly made his way over to them. Billy turned towards him first, and then the Sheriff. Behind them stood a group of four women and two men. Amish. A massacre happening in Amish territory. It was a frightening thought. Who would be malicious enough to go after a peaceful community? Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kurt already knew the answer. His insides churned uneasily. Still, he made his approach, willing himself to take on a neutral expression. However, once he stopped and the people got a good look at him, they recoiled in unison. The sharp movement caused the others to shift their focus on the witnesses. One of the women gasped and pointed at him, screaming in a language Kurt could not understand. The others began raising their voices, taking noticeable steps backwards.
The Sheriff immediately ordered his subordinates to direct the civilians elsewhere. Then, with a sigh, he turned and focused on Kurt. "That is exactly what I did not want to happen," Hood said. "Alma tell you what's going on?" Kurt gave a stiff nod. "Unfortunately, this is only half the situation. We have eight other bodies at The Reich. You know it?"
"Unfortunately," Kurt replied.
"We were hoping these two weren't connected," Billy mentioned. "But… Them seeing you reinforces who did this. What happened here was retaliation for what happened at The Reich. Eight bodies there. Eight bodies here. According to the coroner, this took place after The Reich. That's where Brock is right now. According to him, the entire room is covered in blood." Kurt found himself wincing. Not for the loss of life of his former associates but because he knew what this meant. Retaliation. This was the start of war. This death in Amish territory had obviously been a message to Kai Proctor. Alison had been right. There had been a rift between The Brotherhood and their employer. Christ. He should have realized what Randall's death could have implied. However, he had only felt relief. Now, another threat had risen in wake of the man's death.
War.
They had to get ahead of this. Somehow, the department had to be the buffer between Kai Protect and Calvin Bunker. Obviously, arresting the both would end it things like this before it gained momentum. However, proving their involvement with either crime seemed out of reach. BSD had been trying for years, after all. Still, the gregarious way the two opposing sides lashed out might be beneficial, especially since they no longer had to worry about a corrupt District Attorney. They could work their way up. But that would take time. In the back of his mind, Kurt did not think they had the luxury. Things would only escalate further once Proctor heard about this. He could only hope this could be kept out of the news until they, at least, made the first arrests.
"Who called it in…?" Kurt questioned.
"That would be me," a new voice answered. All three men turned, gazes settling on a woman in uniform. Her long dark hair fell across her shoulders. With her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, she approached them. Her dark eyes narrowed, specifically on Kurt. There was vague recognition in his mind, but he could not pinpoint the why. Judging from her uniform, she worked for the Kinaho Police Department. "This isn't my jurisdiction, but I have my officers patrol around the area. To, you know, improve relations after what happened." The Sheriff's mouth twitched. "One of my guys saw the smoke and investigated. Called everyone in my department because of this."
"Officer Aimee King," Hood greeted with a tilt of his head.
"It's Sheriff…" The woman gave him a wry smile. "Sheriff."
"Oh, good for you," Hood said. "Congratulations."
"On days like this, it doesn't feel like it," King remarked. "As you may have already noticed, most of these people only speak Pennsylvania Dutch. Or choose to only speak it to outsiders even considering the circumstance. So, we haven't made any headway as to who could have done this horrible deed." Then her eyes cut to Kurt. "Until I saw that woman's reaction to you. You want to explain yourself, Deputy?"
"Now, hold on, Aimee," Billy protested the interrogation. "Kurt didn't do this. Clearly, this was a group—not one man."
"This is a peaceful community," King stated, gaze not faltering. Kurt pursed his lips, returning her hard stare. Inside, though, his insides shook under her scrutiny. "They would not have fought back, so yes, one man could do this. Where were you between the hours of nine and midnight?"
"Aimee…!" Billy sounded highly offended on Kurt's behalf. "Kurt's not like that!"
"I'm just covering all bases," she retorted. "The way they reacted to him was too extreme to not mean anything. If I'm wrong, then it would be eliminating a suspect."
"He's one of us," Hood said in his defense. Kurt tensed, feeling both moved and elated at the association. "I'm sure he was at home with his family after his shift yesterday. Isn't that right, Bunker?"
"Yes, sir," Kurt finally spoke up. He understood her animosity. Just because things had been going well for him recently did not mean others did not immediately associate him with… them. "After work, I went straight home. I didn't leave the house until this morning."
"I'm sure you were," King said, glower deepening.
"I know my physical appearance may be-" The woman interrupted him by giving a long-suffering sigh. Kurt lowered his head for a few seconds. Perhaps, it was not the time for his disclaimer. Hell, maybe he had already given it to her in the past. He still could not remember. "I know what I look like, ma'am—Sheriff—and you have every right to judge me. But I'm not who you think I am. I could not do something like this." He almost tacked on an 'ever' but managed to refrain. Who he had been might have become capable of this horrifying act. After all, his former associates had become capable just fine. On his brother's orders. Christ, Calvin…
"Listen," Hood said, diverting the fierce stare from the woman to himself. "You're right. That was an extreme reaction. I'm thinking more towards his tattoos than him. That tells us that whoever did this did not try to cover or hide themselves. Because they don't care about any witness. This was gang-related, and it's not gonna stop here. So instead of projecting your frustrations on my deputy about what happened with fucking Chayton, you should really start thinking about how the fuck we're gonna get in front of this. We need to start making arrests yesterday. So, let's use your improved relations and get concrete witness testimony."
A slight huff left the woman's mouth. Once more, her eyes narrowed in Kurt's direction but something the Sheriff said must have mollified her because she made no further comment. Instead, she stalked off, arms still crossed over her chest. Shaking his head, the Sheriff followed her. After a few seconds, Billy sighed heavily. "Don't take that personal, Bunk," he said. "She trusted a criminal before—Chayton—and he almost killed her for it. Even though they were childhood friends. The grudge isn't for you." Kurt only nodded. Chayton's siege had been a traumatizing event for everyone. "Anyway, Sheriff Hood already ordered sketch artists, but they won't show up for another hour. We're supposed to sweep the area for more physical evidence to give the lab."
"We already know who did this," Kurt grumbled.
"Yeah, but knowing isn't enough," Billy said. "Even Alison would tell you that." Kurt pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. "Let's get started."
0-0
Weeping. His ears filled with weeping. He could not shake the feeling of being curled—trapped—in a hole with nothing but darkness surrounding him. He could barely breathe. However, he had learned to stop showing the pain. Another time and place, and he still heard the weeping so clearly. Last night had brought the weeping to the forefront of his mind. The sound drowned out the outsiders' attempts at speaking to him. He felt so much all at once, yet his body remained frozen. Numb to the things and sounds around him. Trapped. He was trapped in his own head. Reliving the memories kept within himself. So much weeping. From himself. From his mother and father as their bodies drained in front of him. From the women that surrounded him. They had tried to hide the sight. A fruitless endeavor. The image of his parents' final moments seared into his brain.
The tears had dried by now. However, most of them remained quiet. Did they not want justice for what happened? Those men's fate was in God's hands now. So, he had been told. God would dictate what happened next. Swallowing tasted of bile at the thought. Faith. They had relied on faith for him previously. While he waited in the dark, his community relied on faith for his return. He should have had faith after witnessing the murder of Lana. He should still have faith after this senseless violence against their people. Because things happened according to God's will. But it had not been the will of God that saved him. It had not been God's justice against the man that had killed his sweet Lana.
To think he had convinced himself that his dalliance with the Kinaho girl had been wrong. He had not been allowed to grieve her passing. Her murder still haunted him most nights, but he could never outwardly show it. Because she had not been one of them. She had been… temptation. His mother had made that very clear. However, now, his mother was gone. Murdered in nearly the same way. A blunt object to the skull. It had only taken one hit. Just like Lana. Squeezing his eyes shut did not squander the memories. They would remain for the rest of his life, and yet it was expected that he do nothing. No… Not again. To do nothing, again, was wrong.
Solomon Bowman wretched free of the women that surrounded him. Vaguely aware of their cries of protest, he continued. His quick strides led him away from the commotion. No one noticed. His heart thundered within his chest as memories flashed in his mind. All the hiding he had done—all the praying—meant nothing in the end. He still lost everything. His lover. His family. His community. He should have run away long before now. He should have run away with Lana. Her murder had been his punishment for uncertainty. No more would he falter. Barely a man, he made his decision. Solomon found the familiar spot. He had not visited this place for several years. The place where he had initially spotted Lana wading through the field of wheat. The place where they had lied for hours. The place where he had lost her.
He fell to his knees there, palms pressing against the compressed ground. No one ventured this far out. They staunchly ignored this place, especially after what happened. They were content to ignore and forget. Solomon had never forgotten. He swallowed again, easier than before, and then began clawing at the dirt. Every emotion he held back came through full force, unleashing as a choppy sob as he continued digging. Beneath the earth, he had buried everything to do with the outside. Physical or otherwise. Therefore, with each handful of ground removed, Solomon felt himself unraveling. Alone. But not for long.
Finally, he found the large plastic bag. He pulled it free from the ground, eyes hurriedly examining the contents. It appeared that neither dirt nor bugs had managed to get inside. Solomon untied the knot and spilled the contents on the ground. A metal box full of trinkets Lana had made for him. Money they had been saving up. A cell phone. The electronic device had not come from Lana. Rather, it had come from his sister. Rebecca had forced it upon him at their grandmother's funeral. Back then, he had said nothing to her. However, she had said much to him. With dirty fingers, he picked up the phone. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to turn it on. It still worked.
Solomon tightly pressed his lips together. Maybe the whispers had been right after all. Maybe their blood had been cursed. Cursed to shunning. Cursed to bleeding. Cursed to hurting. First, his uncle—who he had not known about—and then Rebecca. Now… himself. He gripped the phone while his other hand fumbled to open the metal box. Inside, he rummaged through the trinkets until he found the folded piece of paper. Instructions and a number. No longer faltering, he dialed the number. An unfamiliar droning, steady and rhythmic, filled his ears. Solomon swallowed again when the sound ended. An unrecognizable voice greeted with a common hello. A man's voice.
"Schweschdre," he requested. No response. Solomon grit his teeth. "Schweschdre…!" The repeat was louder and desperate. Again, there was no response. His shoulders slouched. Maybe this had meant-
"Bruder… Solomon." It had been so long, but he still recognized his sister's voice. "I never thought… you would call me." It was a relief to hear her now. Her voice sounded muffled, but it was good. "I can't hear you well. Put the phone to your ear." Solomon slowly followed the instruction. "… I gather mother and father found something they weren't supposed to?" Her voice sounded both dismissive and assuming. "Is that why you're calling me after so many years?"
"They are dead," Solomon told her. She said nothing in response. "They were… killed in front of me. You are the only family I have left." He breathed in deeply. "Kannst mir bitte raushelfen." His sister did not say anything for a long time. Then he heard her breathing. Strained breathing like her teeth clenched. He knew the sound all too well. Alone in his room, he would make the sound upon waking from a nightmare. To muffle and hold back the weeping. Then she sucked in a long breath, smoother than he thought anyone capable after learning of their parents' death.
"I'm coming to get you." He only heard the venomous tone from his sister once before. When she refused to forgive the parents that had casted her aside. "Don't say a word to anyone else. I'll handle this."
0-0
It was barely ten o'clock when Brenda burst in her office without knocking. The older woman had always been nothing short of polite, so the dramatic way she entered came as a surprise. Alison immediately lifted her gaze from the paperwork on her desk, quickly inspecting the secretary. Not a strand out of place, as normal, but her eyes were wide, and her eyebrows had disappeared behind bangs. It put Alison on edge, though she had no idea why. "Ms. Medding…!" Brenda exclaimed, making quick strides to her desk. "Have you seen the news?" The woman pressed her palms to the desk and looked her directly in the eye. "Everyone's in the breakroom!"
"No…" Alison replied slowly as she rose from her chair. In the breakroom, there was a large television. It constantly played some type of news outlet. National or local. World news, sometimes. Generally, she avoided news media in any capacity. Mostly because the news tended to be negative. Partially because she would rather spend her down time looking for updates on the latest Marvel movie. She could not wait to see Venom come October. Even then, she rarely took an actual break while at work. Only lunch, and she tended to take those in her office. Wasn't exactly endearing herself to the rest of the staff. "What's happening?"
Brenda urged her to follow, hand gestures wilder than usual. Furrowing her brow, Alison moved around her desk and trailed after the woman. As they moved out of the office and down the hallway, she prattled about how she came to hear of it. However, she did not explicitly inform what it could be. She, apparently, had gotten a text from her father-in-law because the announcement interrupted his daytime soaps. Heels clicking against the floor, they made it to the breakroom. Brenda had not exaggerated everyone. All ADAs, payroll, administrative, and HR personnel crowded around the wall where the plasma TV was mounted.
As far as Alison knew, everyone had been rather busy this morning. She had expected an increase due to the extra cases distributed between them. DA Franklin's sudden disappearance had surprised the lot of them. There were a few whispers of him biting off more than he could chew, resulting in his untimely retreat. Others had sounded relieved despite the extra work. Alison had already been justified in kicking him out but already hearing the positive made her feel better about her actions. After that, Alison had shut herself in her office in order to sort through the cases. She had expected others to do the same until the lunch hour. Therefore, the reason for this gathering had to be major. Local news, she guessed. Something that would affect them all.
Alison and Brenda stood at the edge of the crowd. Finally, she focused on the television. As she thought, the local news was on. Closed captioning. She squinted, eyes darted back and forth to understand the message even as the reporter's voice filled the breakroom. … Although police have not given pertinent information, witnesses' testimonies put the body count well over fifteen. A horrifying number of victims in one night. Banshee has never seen terror as real as it has today. Given the building full of dead Ukrainian bodies a few years ago, Alison wondered if the news might be leaning towards exaggeration. Still, that number was high, and with the melancholy way the woman spoke, some of those bodies—or all—had been innocents. The thought caused bile to form. We have Julia Maery, reporting live at the crime scene. Julia…
The newsroom immediately shifted to outdoors. A close up of young woman's somber expression made it even more real. Maybe this time the news had not exaggerated. With a microphone in her hand, the reporter paused a moment while waiting for her cue. Thank you, Cindy. I stand on the outskirts of Amish country where just hours ago, black smoke rose to the sky. As you can see behind me- The camera panned away and beyond the reporter. There were multiple police cruisers behind Do Not Cross tape. –The Banshee Sheriff's Department, state police, and even the Kinaho Police Department are on the scene to investigate this tragic loss of life. Many of Banshee's residents are left wondering who could commit such a shocking crime against our Amish brethren.
Alison stopped listening. Already, she could see the consequences of this. Someone purposely attacked the Amish. Someone purposely attacked Kai Proctor's birthplace. The man had cut ties from his family for years, and yet it had not stopped him from reacting when his nephew had gone missing. This was exponentially worse than a missing relative. Proctor would undoubtedly seek to destroy the one responsible for this. This appalling event was the final trigger. Alison bit her lower lip. Even without knowing a whole lot about what happened, she realized that only Calvin Bunker would issue this type of insolence. Going after the man's family—estranged or not—was nothing short of a declaration of war. And so, she could no longer remain passive about the impending doom upon Banshee. With this newscast, not one person had the luxury of time anymore. She had to stall this somehow.
Without a word, Alison turned and headed out of the breakroom. She ignored the mild protest from Brenda. Footsteps hurried, she made her way back to her office. Amongst the scattered case files, her cell phone lay underneath a few papers. She hastily grabbed it, too anxious to pause and smile at the screen as usual and unlocked her phone. She tapped, almost furiously, against the screen to get to recent contacts. She hadn't exactly memorized the number, but Alison immediately recognized which number to call. After all, she had called the same number four times in a row.
She released a shuddering sigh before dialing the number. Holding the phone to her ear, she listened to the ringing, becoming more anxious as the droning went on. Just as she thought it would go to voicemail, the line picked up. Alison could not hear anything, but she knew the man had answered. "Proctor," she greeted, voice strained. Still, he did not greet her in return. Jesus Christ. He had already seen the news as well. Or maybe heard about it ahead of time. "I know what you're thinking but more violence will not fix this. Do not seek justice for this. Let the police do what they do, and I will do my job, too."
"… This is ironic, Alison," Proctor finally spoke. "I recall us having the same conversation years ago. Only, the roles were reversed. At the time, I understood your reaction. Your needed to right the wrong by any means necessary. You are your mother's child, after all. I understood but I did not agree, so I denied you then. It would not have been best for you to go after those men, especially given your growing child. Not that I knew about her at the time. But now, I not only understand… I empathize."
"Proctor-"
"My sister is gone. Well, dead. Let's call it what it is. She and her husband did not survive this unfortunate altercation," Proctor interrupted. Despite the context of his words, his voice managed to stay leveled. "Neither did my father. He succumbed to his brutal beating. My nephew—rightfully traumatized—is here, crying out for justice. My niece—she screams for it. The men who did this—they have demanded it. What am I to do other than to answer in kind?" Alison swallowed hard. Anything said in protest would be hypocritical because, like he said, this had been the same conversation when those men burned Kurt. The only difference between their situations would be the outcome. Kai Proctor was not a man that would stop even if a child lied on his path to justice. "There is only one response to this, Alison. And the police—your courts—cannot deliver. Goodbye."
The line went dead, and Alison grit her teeth. "Fuck," she said, lowering her arm. She roughly sat down in her chair. Truthfully, she could not care less if The Brotherhood shat on Kai Proctor's carpet. It meant that Calvin would be too distracted to think of any personal matters. Like his brother's supposed sin. She would have been content to let them destroy each other, and then let the law come into play to take care of the rest. But because Calvin had so malevolently gone after Proctor's family—killed his family—he had done more than just shat. The blowout would not just involve two factions. Now, it brought in innocent bystanders. And she could not allow that, and so Alison went to work.
She opened her laptop and brought up a template. The fingers of one hand quickly keyed in the blanks. She would be sending off the request for a warrant very soon but in the meantime… Her other hand scrolled through the contacts in her phone. She had amassed many… favors over the years. Most of them she found no need to cash in. But desperate times and whatnot. Narrowing her eyes, Alison found the contact she had been searching for. Wasting no further time debating, she dialed the number. The line rang, and on the sixth ring, it finally picked up. As it was a personal phone number, a simple hello came through.
"Phillip," Alison greeted, recognizing his voice. "This is Alison. How are you?"
"Alison…? Alison-fucking-Medding?" Phillip seemed surprised to hear from her. She almost allowed a smile to touch her face. Honestly, she liked when people referred to her as 'Alison-fucking-Medding.' Her reputation often preceded her. "Wow… It's been a long time. How are you doing?"
"You know how it is. Could be better," Alison said. "What about you? Still got that job with CPS?"
"That's right. Just got promoted a few months back actually," Phillip told her, sounding proud. Alison refrained from smirking. Perfect. "So, can I assume this isn't a social call? Do you need something from me?"
"You got me there," she admitted. "Actually, I was hoping you could return a favor. Yesterday, I reported suspicion of child abuse. I need that record pushed to the front, making an investigation a top priority."
"Child abuse…?" Phillip repeated. "I didn't think you and children mixed together. Unless you're working a case."
"Hm… I am merely a concerned citizen," Alison insisted. She heard the huff on the other end but chose to ignore it. "I know there's a process with these things, but I need the child removed from home and placed with a suitable guardian as quickly as possible."
"That is a last resort, Alison!" Phillip said as though startled by the suggestion. "We rarely ever take children from their homes! We have a system in place for these things."
"Fuck the system!" Alison retorted. "Your system, my system—they don't work when they should." She realized how heated she had become and took a deep breath. "Look—I'm not calling to argue with you or to rant and rave. I need this favor to happen." Phillip remained silent, seemingly not mollified in the least. "Let me put it this way… I don't need you to find a reason to take the kid. I doubt you'll find proper evidence of abuse or neglect. I just need you to make it look like taking the child is necessary while you conduct your investigation. I have reason to believe this child might die if he stays in that house longer than necessary. I need him removed within the week. Are you going to return the favor or not?"
"… Fine," Phillip sighed heavily. "I might be able to work that story. But I can't promise a slow investigation. If it takes a day, then it takes a day and the kid will go right back home."
"Trust me, Phillip," she told him. "If things go accordingly, it'll take more than a day."
With a click of her mouse, she sent the warrant request.
0-0
A knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Henry's lesson. Hank heard his teacher shuffle towards the door but did not look up from his desk. He had kept his head down for most of the day. His head hurt and he didn't feel good. Normally, he would have paid attention to anything new. He liked learning. But not today. He wished he could go home and go to sleep. He didn't want to learn. He didn't want to think. He just wanted the hurt to go away. Once again, his fingers lightly touched his cheek. He winced because the spot still didn't feel good. When Mrs. Henry asked what happened, he had lied. He felt bad about that, too. He shouldn't lie. So many grown-ups told him people shouldn't lie. But his mom insisted that he had tripped, and Hank nodded in agreement. He had been quiet for the rest of the day. He kept to himself and hoped it would be over soon so he could go home.
"Hank…?" The boy lifted his head. Mrs. Henry stood at the desk he shared with the other kids. Everyone looked at him. "Can you come with me please?" Hank shrugged, and then stood up from his seat. "Class, Ms. Augustine will be in to continue the lesson. Be good for her, okay?" The class chimed in agreement but kept their curious gazes on Hank as their teacher took hold of his hand. Mrs. Henry led him out of the classroom and into the hallway. "Someone is here to see you, Hank." He only shrugged again. "Don't worry, though. I'll be with you the whole time."
Hank did not respond again. He wondered if he was in trouble. Mrs. Henry seemed to be leading him towards the principal's office. Only bad kids were sent to the principal's office. Hank chewed on his lower lip, suddenly hesitant. Had he been bad? His teacher tried many times to get him involved in the day's activities. But he hadn't wanted to. Hank didn't think he had been mean, though. Worried, he curled his free hand around the end of his shirt, bunching the fabric. Soon, both he and his teacher stopped at the principal's door. Mrs. Henry knocked and opened the door.
Inside the room, Hank recognized the principal. He could not remember his name, but the old man had white hair and a nice-looking face. Black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Sometimes, Hank heard people comment on how much he looked like the KFC guy. With the principal, there was another man. Hank had never seen this man before. He wore a blue suit and green tie. The man gave Hank a smile that made his eyes narrow, so he might have been friendly. "Hello there," the man said, standing from his seat. "My name is Phillip Ruiz."
"Hi," Hank greeted, as he had been taught to be polite. "Mr. Roo-eeze." The name sounded weird, but it also sounded fun to say. He hoped he had said it right. Hank looked towards his teacher. She encouraged him with a nod and a smile. Maybe he was not in trouble at all. He then returned his eyes to the man. "I'm Hank."
"Yes, Hank, I do know a few things about you," Mr. Ruiz said. He gestured towards the unoccupied chair. "Would you like to have a seat?" Again, Hank looked towards his teacher. Mrs. Henry nodded again and released his hand. Slowly, he went to the chair. He had to hop up in order to sit down. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why a stranger is asking to meet with you." The man sat down in his own chair. "There's no need to be scared or nervous of me, Hank. I'm… something like a police officer for children. I'm here to protect and serve."
"Like Uncle K," Hank said, perking up a bit. Mr. Ruiz furrowed his brow, glancing at the principal. "My uncle is a cop, too."
"I… I wasn't aware that you had an uncle, Hank," the principal spoke up. "Your mother and father never mentioned an uncle to me."
"How long have you known your uncle, Hank?" Mr. Ruiz asked.
"Oh, we haven't learned measures of time yet," Mrs. Henry said. "But Hank started mentioning his uncle in class about six months ago. You don't think-" Hank frowned. He knew measures of time already, and it had been longer than six months since his mom introduced his uncle to him. It had been over a year.
"Do you like your uncle, Hank?" Mr. Ruiz asked. Hank nodded his head. "That's good. When do you spend time with your uncle?"
"Fridays and Saturdays," he answered. "Uncle K doesn't work those days, so mom takes me to his house after school." Hank liked talking about his uncle, so he bounced in his seat. "I taught Uncle K how to use my tablet because he's… he's technologically inept."
"Technologically inept…!" Mr. Ruiz sounded surprised. Then he smiled. "My, now that is impressive vocabulary." Hank lowered his head, feeling hot in his cheeks. He had heard it many times from Ms. Alison when she teased Uncle K. "You must be very smart, aren't you?"
"Hank is one of our best students," Mrs. Henry said. "Though, that is the first time I've heard him say that."
"I heard it from…" Hank trailed off, pressing his lips together.
"It's okay, Hank, you can tell us," Mrs. Henry encouraged.
"… From Ms. Alison," he finished. "She's not being mean, though. Uncle K only pretends when she calls him that. I think he likes it."
"Ms. Alison…?" Mr. Ruiz repeated. He blinked twice. "Who is that?"
"Uncle K's friend," Hank admitted. "She's brings her daughter over to play with me. I like Ms. Alison, too! She teaches me a lot and knows a lot of fun games! But she won't let me win at Uno. Ever." Mr. Ruiz hummed and rubbed his chin. "She let me help her make stuffed French toast this weekend! It was really good!"
"I see… And this daughter of hers… how old is she?" Mr. Ruiz asked.
"She's a toddler. I think she's two or almost two," Hank said. "She's my-" He suddenly remembered that he was not supposed to talk about Naomi." He lowered his head again, grabbing the end of his shirt. He wasn't supposed to say that she was family anymore. Even though she was. Hank never heard his uncle say it, but Naomi was his daughter, too. Ms. Alison and Uncle K were just like Hank's mom and dad. So, that meant Naomi was his cousin—family. But mom did not like that. Hank winced, hand reaching to touch his cheek again. He did not want his mom to get mad again. "I-I…" he fumbled with more words. "I still like them."
"I'm sure it's a good thing that you like your uncle's… family," Mr. Ruiz said. He frowned a little. "Can you tell me…" He stopped like he was thinking of what to say next. "When you play with Ms. Alison's daughter—how do you play?"
"Um… I… We…" Hank became unsure if he could really answer. His mom said that he couldn't talk about Naomi but… he shouldn't lie, right? Maybe it would be okay if he did not say her name or that she was his family. That would probably be okay. "We play on my tablet together. We wrestle sometimes, too. And play soccer. She's getting better at kicking the ball around. Oh, and we watch movies! Ms. Alison always brings the best movies!"
"You wrestle? Ah, I see. Is that where you got the-?" Mr. Ruiz gestured towards his own cheek. "This two-year-old gave you that?"
"No!" Hank protested. "She's a good girl."
"Oh, well, who's the bad girl that-" Hank winced again, louder than he probably should have, and Mr. Ruiz stopped. "Okay, Mrs. Henry told me that you tripped. Is that right?" Hank swallowed hard, looking down at the floor. Still, he nodded. "When did it happen?" Mr. Ruiz asked, tone gentle. "Were you over your uncle's house?" Hank shook his head. "Oh, so you were home?" Hank nodded. "It looks like a nasty bruise, Hank. Did your mom or dad put something on it? Like ice?" Hank shook his head.
"I… I was bad," he said. "So, my mom made me go to my room."
"… What did you do bad?" Mr. Ruiz asked. Hank felt himself curl up. He still didn't understand what he had done. He hadn't been wrong. "It's okay, Hank. You are not in trouble."
"I…" Hank swallowed. "I yelled at my mom," he admitted. "I didn't mean to! Bu-But she said Nay-Nay wasn't… wasn't family. But I know she is!" He wrinkled his shirt, curling both of his hands around it. "I'm supposed to look after family. Everyone always says that family is important! Always, always! But mom sounded mean when she talked about Nay-Nay. She said she wasn't my family and that I can't talk to her anymore. So, she got mad and-and…" He swallowed again. It hurt on the way down. "She sent me to my room."
"Your mom didn't know about Nay-Nay?" Mr. Ruiz asked. Hank shook his head. "Does your mom know about Ms. Alison?"
"No. Uncle K said that we have to keep Ms. Alison a secret," he said. "And Nay-Nay… But mom found pictures of Nay-Nay on my tablet. So, I… I didn't lie."
"Do you have your tablet with you?" Mr. Ruiz asked. Hank shook his head. "I see… Now, Hank, I can see you're a bright kid just from this one conversation, so I'm going to ask you just two more questions. Do you think your mom should have… sent you to your room?" Hank slowly shook his head. "And last question." The man slipped a hand inside his suit jacket. After a few seconds, he pulled out his cell phone. His thumb slid up and down the screen before turning it to Hank. "Do you recognize this woman?" On the screen was a picture of Ms. Alison. She didn't smile, and her hair was shorter. She looked… younger, too, but Hank recognized her.
"That's Ms. Alison," he confirmed. "You know her?"
"She was my friend in college," Mr. Ruiz said. "So, you can trust me when I tell you that she wants what's best for you, okay?" Again, Hank nodded his head. He knew that. Ms. Alison didn't treat him any differently from Naomi. "You have been very helpful, and I'm sure we'll have another chance to talk at a later time. Thank you, Hank."
"You're welcome," Hank replied, though he still did not know the reason for this conversation in the first place. But Mr. Ruiz knew Ms. Alison, so it was probably okay to trust him. He had said he was like the police, too. Hank wondered why he didn't wear a uniform, though, like his uncle. "Can I go back to class now?"
"Yes, of course. For the time being, please don't mention this conversation to anyone outside this room, okay? This needs to be a secret for as long as you can keep it."
"… Okay," Hank said. This time he would keep the secret. He had to make up for Saturday. Because he was still a big boy. "I won't tell."
0-0
Drained might have been the only word to describe the way Kurt Bunker felt now. Today's working day had been… a day. Everyone had been on edge, and with good reason. They had obtained witness testimony and sketches. According to the survivors, though, it had been fifteen men. Only four working sketches could be used. Kurt recognized all of them. He hated that he did. People he used to run with had been capable of something like this. He would have been capable of something like this. Had he not run away, who's to say he wouldn't have just followed the order? Therefore, he didn't just feel the physical exhaustion. He felt it emotionally, too.
Everything happened today, so BSD had to wait for warrants to come through. The witnesses' accounts were enough for arrest but they still needed to wait for a judge to sign off. The Sheriff told him that more than likely, they would begin arresting his former brothers tomorrow. It was a good thing, yes, but Kurt felt a measly four arrests would not stop the coming war. Proctor would retaliate against any involved. The subordinates and the leader that had foolishly issued the order. Calvin. Kurt could not understand why his brother would do something so stupid. Yes, eight bodies showed up at The Reich, but to go after Proctor's family? It just didn't seem like something Calvin would do. Taking out Proctor's henchmen would have been the logical option. At least then, the threat would be contained. Bad guys versus bad guys. Not innocents.
With a sigh, Kurt lightly touched his chest. The first reprieve of the day had come at the end of his shift. Picking up Naomi had always put him in a better mood because she always greeted him so enthusiastically. Even though he had been a little late. About thirty minutes late, actually. Mrs. Park had been understanding. She had watched the news. Christ. Reporters. Despite crowd control, they had still gotten their story. If they had the will, they had the way. Just like with that twisted serial killer. Kurt had refrained from sighing in front of the owner of the daycare. But once he had safely strapped both himself and Naomi in his truck, he had released a sigh so heavily that his daughter had stopped babbling and gave him a strange look. Kurt had shaken it off. For a while, at least, he would only focus on his daughter and her adorable smiles and laughs.
Speaking of which, Naomi lightly patted his knee, drawing Kurt from his thoughts. He had been attempting to drown out his thoughts by watching the large television. Some movie about an unhinged time-traveling woman who intended to marry her enemy to save the world. It had not kept his attention for long. Kurt reached for the remote on the arm of the couch in order to lower the volume. When it came to conversations with his daughter, she would undoubtedly gain his full attention. "Dabun, look!" she exclaimed, holding up a sheet of paper. As usual, her art was chaotic. His daughter insisted on using all sixty-four crayons in the box. Some parts blended in waves and other parts swirled like a whirlpool. "It's pretty!"
"It is," Kurt replied. "Good job." He tapped her nose with an index finger while the other took the paper. Naomi grinned widely, and then climbed up his legs to sit sideways in his lap. She pointed all over, excitedly telling him about her chaotic art as though she were a true artist. Kurt chuckled and listened with rapt attention, though most of her words jumbled together. "You want to put this on the fridge?" he asked once she paused for breath. Naomi enthusiastically nodded her head. "Alright, let's do it now." He stood up with an exaggerated grunt, and his daughter squealed in delight at the sudden shift and wrapped both arms around his neck. "I bet mommy will like it, too," Kurt told her as he headed towards the kitchen.
"Mommy loves it!" Naomi said.
The assorted colorings already on the refrigerator attested to that. Alison Medding was nothing short of a proud parent. Smiling, Kurt set his daughter on the edge of the counter next to the refrigerator. "What magnet should we use?" he asked. Naomi pointed to a bright green magnet in the shape of a seahorse. "Good choice." Kurt stretched his arm to grab at the magnet. He made sure to continue standing in front of his daughter while he fastened the coloring to the freezer door. Just in case. "You're putting up the next one."
"Okay!" Naomi agreed with a clap. "Can I have juice?"
"We're about to eat dinner," he told her. Naomi visibly deflated and poked out her lower lip. "Just a few more minutes until we eat."
"Pleeeease!" Naomi whined. "Gave you present!"
His daughter was too smart. Already, she knew how to deal. Kurt suspected she watched her mother a little too closely. Smiling, he tapped Naomi's nose. "Listen you, I don't normally accept bribes but I'll make an exception just this once," he said. She only grinned. This was not the first time he had accepted a bribe from her. It would not be the last either. Kurt reached up and opened the cabinet above Naomi's head. He pulled out a sippy cup. His other opened the refrigerator door to grab the apple juice. "If mommy asks, this is just water." Naomi readily agreed with an enthused nod. Shaking his head in amusement, Kurt pour the juice into the cup. Once done, he replaced the cap, and then handed it to her. She immediately began drinking. Going as far as to tilt her head back. "Hey, not so fast!"
Paying no heed to him, Naomi only pointed her finger to the floor. Feigning a stern look, Kurt picked her up from the counter in order to comply with the silent demand. Naomi scurried off to the living room without a backwards glance. And why would she? She had already gotten what she had been after. Sneaky little tyke. His daughter certainly had him wrapped around her finger. Kurt shook his head again before he looked towards the stove. The timer was still counting down. Another ten minutes. He should start pulling plates.
Kurt moved to do just that when he heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. He paused, body tensing. Then, he heard the horn. Two quick beeps. He relaxed, knowing that it was Alison. He walked to the window and drew back the curtain. Expectedly, he saw her car, coming to a stop beside his. Good. She was home. Kurt released the curtain and moved to the door. He unlocked it and twisted the knob to pull it open. Within a few moments, Alison opened the screen door and entered the house. Kurt smiled at her and she returned it. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and then leaned forward to press her lips to the corner of his mouth.
"Welcome home," Kurt greeted, returning the gesture.
"I see you've been having fun," Alison said. Kurt furrowed his brow. She smiled wider, the hand on his shoulder moving to his face. She pulled a sticker from his forehead. Oh. Yeah, Naomi had a blast with the pack of stickers at the bottom of her toy chest. Kurt shrugged. "How was your day? I suspect it was worse than mine?" He pursed his lips. Of course she already knew. Alison wasn't one to watch the news but she would have been told. "Let me put my stuff down, and then we'll talk." Alison moved past him to head into the living room. Kurt absentmindedly nodded his head. Calvin's actions changed what they had already talked about. "Mommy's home!"
"Mommy!" Naomi cheered. "This is water!"
"Is that right?" Alison asked, a hint of amusement in her tone. Kurt pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Have you been bribing your daddy again?"
"… Yes," Naomi said with as much mischief as a toddler could manage. He could hear the grin in her voice. Then he heard dual laughter coming from the living room. Kurt shook his head. Definitely her mother's child. "Dabun loves me!"
"That's right, so he's the only one you can bribe," Alison said.
"I can hear you!" Kurt called out, faking insult. He received more laughter for his efforts. He could not stifle the smile. Moments later, Alison walked back into the kitchen. She had removed her heels and her dark blue blazer. She had also left her workbag behind. "There's still a few minutes on dinner if you want to take a shower first?"
"No, let's talk," Alison replied. She left out a huff and sat down at the kitchen table. Unfortunately, the impending conversation caused the amusement to vanish. Kurt sat down next to her. He swallowed hard, watching as Alison clasped her hands together. She stared down for a moment. "I saw the news," she finally said. "Is it really as bad as they said?"
"There's sixteen bodies and two crime scenes," Kurt answered truthfully. Alison sighed. "Fifteen suspects, according to witnesses. We don't have any leads on what happened at the second crime scene—The Reich. No evidence was left behind there. We're thinking multiple assailants, though. One guy couldn't have done all that by himself. At least two based on injuries. Bullets and stab wounds." Alison shut her eyes, rubbing fingers against her temple. "So far, we only have four working sketches on the ones who attacked the Amish. They'll be circulated tomorrow but the Sheriff says we'll be making arrests because I recognize them, along with some physical evidence."
"That's… That's not enough," Alison said.
"I know that," Kurt said, frowning. "The others wore… face coverings, so we have to do a lot more digging to bring them in."
"I was not expecting…" Alison sighed heavily again. Then pressed her lips together. "The most I was expecting today dealt with sorting through Mark's bullshit. You know, he had hidden files with the charges the police brought to him. Just collecting dust. It would have taken months to go through everything. A year, maybe, to make the arrests and years after to get them sent away. Mostly politics and deals would stall the sentencing. But I understood and was content to wait. Because The Brotherhood is no longer protected from the law."
"Years? With you in court? I don't think so," Kurt remarked. She turned her head to look at him, slight smile on her face. Boldly, he placed a hand on her thigh. She didn't flinch. "We can still do that. We're starting tomorrow. With the DA gone, they will do real time."
"No, Kurt," Alison shook her head. "We can't wait for this back and forth retaliation. Proctor's father died. His sister died. His only surviving relatives are his niece and nephew—both want justice. And he's going to give it to them. Your brother has done the stupidest thing. He made it personal. It's not going to be thugs versus monsters anymore. Because of that, we cannot wait on the law to pick up the pieces afterwards."
"What are you saying, Alison?"
"After I saw the news, I made calls," she stated. "I spoke to a judge who will sign off on a search warrant for Calvin's house." Kurt's eyes widened. "All you need to do is find evidence, any evidence, linking him to a crime."
"On what grounds?" Kurt questioned.
"Watts might have gotten out but he still had to follow protocol," Alison said. "His parole officer hasn't heard from him in days. On top of that, a certain deputy overheard a conversation between the man's… associates and they were talking about him in past tense. The warrant will be sent to BSD, so along with these other four arrests make sure you arrest the leader, too." Kurt wanted to kiss her so bad now. However, he got the sense that Alison was not proud of herself for taking shortcuts. He wondered how many favors she had promised in order to get this done. Then again, Calvin's reckless actions set this in motion. The disappearance of Randall Watts was only a stepping-stone. "I'm hoping Calvin's arrest will pause Proctor's retribution. Among other things."
"… What other things?" Kurt asked. "What you've done is going to prevent a disaster in Banshee. What else is there?"
"I wish I could say my motivations were so noble, Kurt," Alison admitted. "But the truth is… Like I said, Calvin made it personal, not stopping to think what's going to happen to his own family after he attacks another." She bit her lower lip, yet her gaze did not falter. "While Calvin is being investigated for heinous crimes, it will look like fuel to Child Protection Services for an unfit environment. Hank will be taken away within the week."
"What?!" Kurt blurted, stunned.
"I can't guarantee that Proctor won't get revenge even if Calvin's behind bars," Alison insisted. "Hell, he might think it's the perfect opportunity to strike. Even without The Brotherhood under his command anymore, he still has thugs at his disposal. Guns at his disposal. I won't risk Hank's life like his father. I love that boy, Kurt. I refuse to let the sins of another end him." Her candor came as a surprise. It had been a short time since she had met Hank, and yet… she was willing to bypass standard procedure for him. Affection and pride was a hard thing to quell. However, there were things that worried him.
"Is that really the answer?" Kurt asked. "I mean, making sure he's safe is one thing but ripping him from his family? Putting him through the system? Is that really a good idea?"
"There are no other options," Alison said, clearly steadfast in her decision. "His immediate family is a danger, so he needs to be removed. Besides, he won't be put through the system. A friend of mine from college works for CPS. He'll see to it that Hank is placed with a suitable guardian while he's conducting his investigation."
"Who?" Alison only raised a brow. "Me? I'm a suitable guardian? But-"
"They won't know what you look like until they drop him off," Alison said. "As far as my friend is concerned, you're Hank's uncle, you're a cop, and you have been babysitting him for the past year and a half. Plus, he… regrettably… knows that you have your own child. Even if there were other family members to take him, you would be the most suitable on paper." She shifted in her seat, turning her body to face him. Her hand covered his, fingers curling around his. "Listen, Kurt, I know I shouldn't have-"
"No," Kurt shook his head. "You did what you had to do." In the end, nothing could stop her when it came to those she loved. "I'm not saying that this is a bad plan. But I'm worried, Alison. He already knows about Naomi. He's already struck his own child for loving his cousin. If he finds out that we took his son… I don't know what he'd do."
"He won't do anything," Alison said. "He'll be arrested. His son will be… behind enemy lines. He won't be able to do anything. Not only will Hank be safe from Kai Proctor but he's also a form of protection from The Brotherhood. Hank living with us will be temporary but his stay will be long enough for Proctor to seek his revenge elsewhere and be done with it. Then you can arrest him, too. This will be good for us all."
Admittedly, it sounded good. Alison tended to be good at her job. Under pressure, she tended to be great. Like a diamond. However, this quick thinking about this particular situation, Kurt found himself still worrying. Mostly, her plan centered on what two men would do. Alison wasn't wrong. Men like them were easy to read. Kurt, himself, had thought the same about his brother. Because he knew his brother. But he never thought his own brother would do the things he had already done. Burning him. Killing Watts. Going after the Amish. They were all acts that Kurt would not associate with Calvin Bunker, and yet…
"Okay," Kurt murmured. Still, he could not shake the dread. Even as Alison lifted her hand and caressed his cheek. Even as she gave him a comforting kiss to his lips. Something inside still twisted at the thought of the outcome. The result. The retaliation. It would not be as black and white as Alison made it sound. He wanted to believe it, though. But he did not have that luxury. Not with two kids to look out for now. He couldn't put it off anymore. He would have to speak to Job sooner rather than later. "When will Hank…?" he asked.
"By the end of the week," Alison said. "We should have more time for us to do our jobs and maybe stop this for good."
"I hope you're right," Kurt said.
However, further preventive measures meant nothing.
The war had already begun.
0-0
So... I realized that I want to touch base on a little more than I anticipated.
So yeah.
This is not the final chapter.
I still hope to finish this story by the end of the year.
Only got two months to do that, but I'm hopeful?
