We are all evil in some form or another.
-Richard Ramirez, The Night Stalker
Her mother was buried.
Hours later, submerged from the waist down in her bathtub, Logan sat still fully dressed but barefooted. Her soot coated feet and hands soaked and her dress was completely ruined from her earlier efforts. Along the counter was her cell phone she'd used to call Caldron again and again until he finally answered. It took over a dozen calls before he finally picked up, barking "I'm busy, Logan!" Decidedly upset about her nuisance.
She hung up before he could.
These transgressions were meaningless. At least they hadn't claimed Caldron yet. That gave her some mild comfort.
Outside, beneath a shady mesquite tree, Logan had carved a hole into the ground for the remains of her mother. Still, her hands were missing. The box had also been disposed of with the help of John. In truth, she found it too disturbingly intimate of an act - to bury her mother alongside John Wick, who seemed a stranger now more than ever. John and her mother had never met, so why make him endure the heat, the smell, or the labor? Now that she considered it, there weren't many ways he could relate to her despair. Though, if he did, John gave no indication, and Logan felt entirely alone in the matter. She was alright with that.
Despite his offer to assist Logan with the burial, she assigned him to the box and they went their separate ways.
As she dug, she considered:
Involving the police was out of the question. No amount of forensic traces or judicial intervention could restore her mother. Furthermore, that would only shed light on the shadow that was John Wick, which was opposite of her intentions. Keeping Mr. Wick hidden from the public eye had been the initial priority. If they were notified, not only it would be time consuming, but an exhausting endeavor, an exercise in futility. Besides, Logan and John had their own skeletons to deal with; she'd blown a woman's brains out and nearly sawed another's head off. Where the repercussions were for both those transgressions, she didn't know. Both accounts seemed like lifetimes ago now. The bodies had, of course, been secreted away through one apparatus or another. No doubt the cops would scour her property as part of protocol. Then they'd find human remains, car carcasses scorched to ash. Discarded clothing, faulty weapons. Then the fresh grave that held the dismembered remains of Jennifer Lenore Ryder.
No plea for self defense could prevent her from seeing the wrong side of the bars.
With every hostile encounter, more blood stained the Ryder estate and with absolute certainty, it would continue, until every life with the audacity to stand between John Wick and the incoming fury had been claimed.
All for one man...
Logan scoffed. The sound accompanied the rippling, once clear water, now murky and clouded with a mixture of sweat, dirt, and someone else's blood. Perhaps if she avoided the word mother or Jennifer, she could dissociate from it. But such a lie could only last so long. If there were tears for Logan to shed, they hadn't arrived. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or concerned.
For once, she wanted to embrace whatever emotional purge she could conjure. All the anguish and despair now lodged in her chest like an embedded bullet. The unanswered questions, the lingering "why's" and "what ifs?" were forever lost to the grave. Logan would never know why her mother never contacted her or why their relationship was so estranged. Had she done something? Was she not the daughter Jennifer had envisioned? A prick of pain stabbed her heart and Logan waited, braced for the tears.
Nothing came.
The choking bitterness had taken refuge in her lungs, leaving very little room to breathe. She couldn't think or recollect fond memories, much less cherish what little time she had with her mother. Only the anger and resentment remained like the sharp, metallic tang of blood along the tongue.
Getting even...
In utter silence, Logan contemplated. She had the weapons, the ammo, and now the single-minded determination. Getting to her destination was far more complicated than just showing up, guns ablazing. What exactly was she dealing with? Who was her target? Where was she going? How would she find them?
The details were surmounting, but even still...
Something must be done; somewhere, someone knew something. Surely there was someone who could give Logan the answers she sought. Her mother's death indicated They were still after John. This was merely a warning, a ruthlessly savage harbinger, and meant for all who dare aid John Wick to heed, or else ...
Who would be next if John Wick was not handed over?
Her father?
The thought alone elicited a catalytic response. Her body started to shake with the thought of losing her father.
Absolutely not.
No one would come near her father so long as Logan breathed.
Today, she had buried her mother like carrion. There was no prayer or moment on silence. Just the shink report each time she drove the shovel into the earth. No mercy or consideration. She was a mere pawn they mutilated―an exclamation point to a message and Logan treated her as such.
Hand him over...
Though it was quite clear what they wanted, Logan intended otherwise. If anything, it elicited a far more sinister and calculated response.
Simmering beneath the quiet surface, keeping all other emotions staunched, was a seething wrath.
Getting her pound of flesh back, and settling the score involved tearing through them if it meant with her bare hands. Vengeance sat at the forefront of her thoughts. No one was safe from her.
She'd kill them.
All of them.
Whoever they were, wherever they were, she'd find them and tear out their throats, paint their lives in the same shade of red as they did to hers. Every single one of them would fall before they got to her father. If her mother's murder was their attempt to frighten and break her, to make her hand John over, then she had to do the opposite.
The fact of the matter was the fight was hitting closer and closer to home. The feeling of being cornered sat on her shoulders and back and she was running out of ideas. They couldn't wait in Comfort any longer. How they managed to last this long was mystery itself.
Looking around, the water had grown cold once Logan came out of her thoughts.
How long had she sat here? Where was John?
Why did she care where John was? She didn't, at least, she assured herself she didn't.
Every ending had a beginning. Jennifer Ryder's unexpected and vicious end began in New York. Something would be done and now that Logan could see no one around her could provide the right answers, she'd hunt for them instead.
On the far side of her bed, hidden from view of the doorway, Logan neatly positioned her luggage; two suitcases. As far as clothing went, she had to go light on the weight and dark on the color. She allotted herself three days to complete the objective. Three days max.
After hours of consideration, flying to New York with a plethora of weapons would only landed her in the hands of TSA and on the no fly list. Possibly place her under a more ominous radar. Her rank would also be questioned and her psyche, which would ground her from flights indefinitely. But her job was not the only thing at stake or in question. They knew her mother's name, which in turn, meant they knew Caldron and, of course, would lead them to John Wick. How much time did they have left? Would there be many? Were they already on their way? What could she tell her father?
The perpetrators had access to her property, she knew. So nowhere was safe. They both needed to leave. John could go to Caldron's, she figured.
Speaking of which…
She tossed in the last remaining items and zipped up her suitcase before heading downstairs.
John was sitting in the living room, without a drink or magazine, or a book, just sitting quietly. When he glanced up, she spoke.
"Do not tell Caldron," she stated simply. "I don't want him to know. Not yet."
John's brow furrowed as he considered the odd request. She could hear the queries amidst the silence, see them in his dark eyes as he gazed up at her so she continued.
"If he does find out before I tell him," she paused, searching for the words. "We won't be able to control his next move. For his own safety, it's best we keep this between us." Even to her own ears, Logan didn't sound or feel like herself. Perhaps that was also for the best. Logan gauged John's reaction as the words settled between them. He wasn't phased or confused in the slightest which made her wonder if he knew something she didn't.
Caldron possessed a savagely explosive anger. When triggered, that same volatility and determination―focused and channeled―could be advantageous. Because it involved someone Caldron loved, Logan fully knew he would put himself at risk in the haphazard fashion, which she intended to prevent at all costs. The entirely incentive was to remove the heat from her homestead and family, away from Wick, even. Caldron would bring it to New York in a hand basket. If Logan could get to New York and settle the score herself, then she could share the awful news to Caldron, and they could mourn her mother's passing, safely and together … and perhaps give her mother a proper deaths. The dirty work; it would be finished and Logan could leave everything behind.
John, Caldron, everyone.
This was not the life she chose to live, but she intended to do with it what she could, to focus on nothing else, until she achieved her objective.
Logically, rationally―John had no control over what happened to her mother. Emotionally, Logan couldn't help but blame him. If John wasn't John, if he hadn't come crashing into her life, bleeding and dying … touching her in ways she'd never experienced, she would still have her mother, estranged but alive nonetheless. Instead, she had these tumultuous feelings of anxiety and regret that ate away at her like a ravenous parasite. She'd let John get too close. She'd let everyone get too close. And now she paid the price, her mother paid the price.
Fear of losing another lit the proverbial fire.
Waiting was no longer an option.
Logan turned away and headed back upstairs.
short, but it got the point across.
Starcrier: Thank you!
Forbidden Moons: Wow, big compliment there. Thank you thank you thank you! I usually HATE OCs. I hate reading them, I hate writing them! But when I have to, I try to make them human as possible. Thank you again.
Arkantos Zalfright: I'm glad you enjoy the story so far! I enjoy sharing it with you! Thanks for BINGE READING OMG
Calista01: I appreciate you sticking it through
Sylarfan: I would never abandon a story. I might neglect it for some time, but damnit, i'm gonna try to finish it. The JW universe is not too broad but it does have some mystery in it. I'm just making sure my ducks are in a row before I jump off the deep end.
sayorii: Right? It's very unfortunate, BUT IT HAD TO BE DONE.
inkandtrees: Indeed it did effect Logan. My life is going well, thank you for the concern! JUST SO BUSY BUT IT's KAY!
The Power Cosmic: WELCOME TO MY JW UNIVERSE. Thank you for the review and I would love to hear more from you, of course!