The Devil Casts a Long Shadow- Chapter Thirteen: I See You Here

Jena was grateful to have Sue and Tiger-Blood safely inside her home.

They had both slept through the night after a substantial dinner, so deeply that Jena found herself checking on them several times.

Sue had gone to bed shortly after eating and had scarcely stirred.

Tiger-Blood slept between feedings, his tiny body seeming to surrender to exhaustion whenever he was warm, clean, and comfortable.

Jena wondered when either of them had last enjoyed an uninterrupted rest.

By morning, some of the color had returned to Sue's face.

She seemed more alert, and her usual warmth had begun to reappear.

Tiger-Blood was hungry again.

He drank his formula eagerly, clutching at the bottle with such determination that Jena wondered whether he had learned to expect it might be taken away.

She tried not to think too much about that.

Sue sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee while Jena prepared breakfast.

For a little while, the morning felt almost normal.

They talked about ordinary things.

The weather.

The boys.

The garden Sue hoped to tend once she found the time.

Jena had missed these conversations.

She had missed her mother's company without the constant interruptions and demands that seemed to accompany every visit to the cabin.

She wanted Sue to stay.

She wanted Tiger-Blood to stay, too.

The difference a single night had made in their appearance was enough to convince her

that neither was being properly cared for at Beau's house.

Sue looked less exhausted.

The baby was calmer.

Even the atmosphere seemed gentler.

Jena found herself wishing she could keep them there indefinitely.

But Sue had other grandchildren waiting.

And she had spent so many years making herself indispensable to Beau that the idea of leaving his household seemed almost unthinkable.

Neither Beau nor Thallea called to ask about Tiger-Blood.

Jena noticed.

She checked her phone several times throughout the morning, half expecting a message from one of them.

Nothing came.

She supposed Beau had learned not to ask questions when the answers might reflect badly on Thallea.

As long as the baby was somewhere safe, he apparently saw no reason to concern himself with how that safety had been arranged.

Sue insisted that she needed to return to the cabin.

"The boys will be wondering where I am."

"Mom, they can come here."

Sue smiled sadly.

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"You know how Beau gets."

Jena did know.

That was becoming the problem.

She had spent years accommodating her brother's moods, his decisions, and his insistence that everyone respect the life he had chosen.

Now she was beginning to see how much of that respect amounted to leaving him alone while other people endured the consequences.

"Let me come with you," Jena said.

Sue looked uncertain.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

"I won't start anything."

"Jena—"

"I just want to see the boys."

Sue hesitated.

Jena softened her voice.

"Maybe they'd like to stay with me for a while. You could all get some rest."

Her mother considered the proposal.

At last, she agreed.

They decided to drive separately.

Sue would arrive first, giving her time to speak with the children before Jena came.

Jena hoped the arrangement would prevent an argument.

She had begun to approach her own family as cautiously as she once approached strangers.

Sue reached the cabin ahead of her.

Jena followed in Nate's truck, which still felt top-heavy and cumbersome whenever she drove it on the narrow country roads.

As she approached the property, she saw the boys gathered near the porch.

They looked smaller than she remembered.

Or perhaps simply more tired.

Sue came toward the truck before Jena could get out.

She leaned against the open window and lowered her voice.

"They've been having a hard time."

Jena looked past her.

"What happened?"

Sue glanced toward the house.

"They've been staying with friends whenever they can."

"Why?"

Sue hesitated.

"Sometimes things get unpleasant here."

Jena felt a chill.

"What does that mean?"

Her mother looked down.

"They've even slept out by the creek a few times."

Jena stared at her.

"Outside?"

Sue nodded.

"When they didn't want to be in the house."

Jena looked toward the children again.

The oldest stood slightly apart from his brothers, watching the adults with an expression that belonged on someone much older.

Jena remembered him as a cheerful boy who had once talked endlessly about his favorite games and the things he hoped to do when he grew up.

Now he seemed preoccupied with keeping the younger children close.

Sue explained that he had been missing school to help care for his brothers.

Jena felt sick.

The family had never been wealthy, but there had once been a sense of possibility in the boys' lives.

They had been children growing up with limited means, not children who expected to be neglected.

Now the oldest seemed to be carrying responsibilities that should never have belonged to him.

Jena looked at Sue.

"Mom, they can't keep living like this."

Sue pressed her lips together.

"I know."

"Then come home with me. All of you."

Her mother looked toward the cabin.

"Let me talk to Beau."

The front door opened.

Beau appeared in the doorway wearing a dirty T-shirt and boxer shorts.

He gripped the doorframe with both hands.

Even from the truck, Jena could tell he had been drinking.

His face was flushed, and he swayed slightly as he stood.

For a moment, she scarcely recognized him.

This was her brother.

The boy she had grown up with.

The man she had once admired for continuing to provide for his children after Tawny's death.

Now he stood in the doorway of a shabby cabin, drunk and unkempt, while his sons

lingered outside looking frightened and exhausted.

"Jena!"

She stepped out of the truck.

"Beau."

"You're not coming in here."

Jena stopped.

"What?"

"I said you're not welcome."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"I came to see Mom and the boys."

"Well, you can turn around and leave."

"Why are you acting like this?"

Beau tightened his grip on the doorframe.

"Because I said so."

Behind him, a curtain moved.

Jena glanced toward the window.

Thallea was watching.

Only the upper portion of her face was visible between the curtains.

She remained perfectly still.

Jena looked back at Beau.

"Beau, this is ridiculous."

"Get off my property."

"Your kids have been sleeping outside."

His expression changed.

For a moment, he seemed uncertain.

Then he glanced toward the window.

Thallea had not moved.

"That's none of your business."

"They're my nephews."

"They're my sons."

"Then start acting like their father."

Beau's face darkened.

"Don't you come here telling me how to raise my kids."

"Somebody needs to."

Sue hurried toward the house.

"Please, both of you, stop."

She passed Beau and disappeared inside without looking back at Jena.

The movement was so hurried and submissive that Jena felt a sudden pang of alarm.

Her mother had always been willing to excuse Beau.

But Jena had never before seen her retreat from him like a frightened child.

"Mom?" Jena called.

Beau stepped forward.

"I told you to leave."

"Why are you being like this?"

He seemed to struggle briefly with the question.

Then his gaze shifted toward Thallea's window again.

"None of your fucking business anymore."

Jena stared at him.

She wanted to argue.

She wanted to drag her mother and nephews out of the house.

She wanted to demand that Beau explain what had happened to the man she remembered.

But she could see that nothing she said would reach him.

Not while he was drunk.

Not while Thallea watched.

Not while he was determined to prove that he could control who entered his home.

Jena returned to the truck.

Before climbing inside, she raised her voice.

"Mom! Call me if you need me!"

There was no answer.

"I'll come get you. Anytime. I don't care what time it is."

Beau remained in the doorway.

Jena looked at the boys.

None of them spoke.

She climbed into the truck and shut the door.

Her hands trembled as she started the engine.

She had the terrible feeling that she was abandoning them.

But she could not think of anything else to do.

As she turned around, she glanced once more toward the cabin.

Beau still stood in the doorway.

Thallea watched from the window.

The boys remained on the porch.

Jena drove away before they could see her cry.

The journey home would take several hours.

Jena made it only partway before she realized she could not bear returning to the barndominium.

She changed direction and drove toward the care facility where her father lived.

It was closer.

And although he could no longer offer much conversation, she wanted to be near someone who had once made her feel safe.

She entered quietly and went to his room.

Her father was sleeping.

Jena settled into the recliner beside his bed.

She did not turn on the television.

She did not take out her phone.

She simply sat there, replaying the confrontation with Beau.

She thought of the boys sleeping beside the creek.

Of Sue rushing into the house.

Of Thallea watching from behind the curtain.

The image of Beau in the doorway troubled her most.

He had looked like a stranger.

A man who had somehow taken possession of her brother's face.

Jena tried to remember when the change had begun.

Had it been gradual?

Had she overlooked it because she was occupied with Nate?

Or had Beau always possessed these qualities, waiting for circumstances that would allow them to emerge?

She wanted to believe that something had happened to him.

That he had been corrupted.

That the brother she remembered still existed somewhere beneath the drinking, the selfishness, and the hostility.

But she could no longer be certain.

Jena bowed her head.

She wished desperately that she could save her family.

She wanted her mother safe.

She wanted the boys to have ordinary childhoods.

She wanted Beau to become someone she could respect again.

Instead, she felt powerless.

It seemed that every person she loved had become trapped in a life that was slowly consuming them.

Jena wondered whether God had abandoned her.

The thought frightened her.

She had endured so much cruelty that she was beginning to wonder whether the world contained anything else.

Her father stirred faintly in his bed.

Jena looked toward him.

He could not help her.

Nobody could.

At last, exhaustion overcame her.

She closed her eyes.

She dreamed that something was listening.

There was no figure.

No voice.

No face emerging from the darkness.

Only the sensation of a presence somewhere beyond her sight.

It seemed to understand her sorrow.

More disturbingly, it seemed interested in it.

Jena felt as though she had been speaking for a very long time, although she could not remember saying anything.

She had begged for help.

For justice.

For some way to stop the suffering she had witnessed.

And now something had heard her.

The presence seemed to draw nearer.

Jena felt a terrible certainty that her plea had been accepted.

Then she woke.

Her heart was pounding.

The room was dark.

For several seconds, she was convinced someone else was standing nearby.

She sat upright.

"Hello?"

No one answered.

The only sound was her father's muffled breathing.

Jena looked around.

The familiar furniture stood in its usual places.

The door was closed.

Nothing had changed.

Yet the feeling remained.

She had the irrational conviction that something had followed her out of the dream.

Jena rose from the recliner.

She did not bother gathering her thoughts.

She left the room, hurried down the hallway, and walked out of the building.

Only when she reached her truck did she realize how badly she was shaking.

She started the engine and drove away.

Jena traveled the remaining distance home in a cold sweat.

By the time she pulled into the driveway, it was half past three in the morning.

She sat behind the wheel for a moment, trying to calm herself.

The barndominium stood dark and silent.

For once, she was relieved to see it.

She wanted nothing more than to check on her birds, crawl into bed, and sleep until the entire day felt like something that had happened to someone else.

Then she noticed a piece of paper tucked beneath the front door.

Jena retrieved it.

The message was brief.

Call me now.

Roman.

She recognized the handwriting.

The note contained no greeting, explanation, or apology for the hour.

It was so characteristic of Roman that Jena almost laughed.

She went inside and called him.

He answered immediately.

"Come to Turner's."

Jena blinked.

"What?"

"You need to sign something."

"Roman, it's almost four in the morning."

"Then don't waste any more time."

The call ended.

Jena stared at her phone.

She was too exhausted to be properly angry.

Whatever had happened, it was evidently important enough for Turner to summon Roman in the middle of the night.

And Roman, who never missed an opportunity to charge for his time, would undoubtedly be billing someone handsomely.

Jena considered refusing.

Then she remembered that Turner paid nearly every major expense associated with the house.

She put her phone away.

Without even removing her shoes, she went back outside.

The porch light was on when she arrived at Turner's house.

Through the living room windows, she could see Turner and Roman moving about.

They appeared to be discussing something.

Roman was gesturing sharply.

Turner looked irritated.

Jena reached for her phone to announce her arrival.

Before she could send the message, Turner opened the door.

"Come in."

She stepped inside.

Roman was smoking.

He turned toward her.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Jena stared at him.

"I went to see my father."

"Well, we've been waiting."

She was too tired to explain herself.

Turner walked toward the kitchen and poured another drink.

Roman gestured toward the couch.

"Sit down."

Jena obeyed.

A thick packet of documents lay on the coffee table.

Roman pushed them toward her.

"This concerns the other vegetable in your life."

Jena looked up sharply.

"What?"

"Your husband. Sign everywhere there's a red sticker."

She picked up the packet.

The pages were filled with legal language.

She began reading.

Roman dropped a pen onto the table.

"Just sign it."

Jena looked at him.

"I'd like to know what I'm signing."

"It's a legal document, Jena. That's why I'm here."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Roman exhaled smoke.

"Your mother-in-law is trying to have Nate's life-sustaining treatment withdrawn."

Jena went still.

"What?"

"She's filed a petition. Wants the court to authorize a change in his treatment plan."

"When?"

"Recently."

"Why wasn't I told?"

Turner returned from the kitchen.

"She had papers delivered here while you were gone. One of my people brought them to Roman."

Jena looked between the men.

"You opened my legal papers?"

"We made sure you knew about them," Turner replied.

Jena looked down at the packet.

She felt a familiar sense of being maneuvered into a decision she had not been allowed to understand.

"The judge already gave Ivy-Mae authority over his medical decisions," she said.

Roman waved a hand.

"That doesn't mean every decision she makes is beyond challenge."

"What exactly are you asking me to do?"

"Authorize us to represent your interests and contest the petition."

Jena turned another page.

Roman leaned forward.

"We're seeking emergency relief. If we don't act, the situation could move faster than you'd like."

"Then why wasn't I involved sooner?"

"Because you're never where anyone can find you."

Jena felt her face grow hot.

She had spent the day trying to help her family.

Now Roman was speaking as though her absence were some act of deliberate obstruction.

She looked toward Turner.

He was studying his phone.

"Do you agree with this?" she asked.

Turner shrugged.

"Roman knows what he's doing."

Jena looked back at the documents.

She was angry.

She was exhausted.

And she was painfully aware that she lacked the resources to challenge either man.

Roman pointed toward the signature lines.

"We can discuss every paragraph until sunrise, or you can authorize me to do my job."

Jena hesitated.

Then she signed.

She continued until she had marked every page Roman indicated.

When she finished, she pushed the packet across the table.

"There."

Roman checked the signatures.

"Good."

He gathered the papers.

Then he looked toward Turner.

"We're set."

Without thanking Jena, he collected his belongings and left.

The front door closed behind him.

Jena remained seated.

For several moments, neither she nor Turner spoke.

Then Jena looked up.

"What did I just sign?"

Turner rubbed his forehead.

"Roman's going to challenge Ivy-Mae's authority to make that decision without further review."

"I thought you said it was an emergency."

"It is."

"Then why does he need all that paperwork?"

"Because courts like paperwork."

Turner gave a tired smile.

"Roman's also arguing that you're too overwhelmed by everything that's happened to protect your own interests properly."

Jena stared at him.

"What?"

"He's asking for additional oversight of Nate's affairs. Says the current arrangement leaves too much room for bad decisions."

"Whose bad decisions?"

Turner shrugged.

"Everybody's, apparently."

Jena felt a surge of anger.

"Roman thinks I'm incompetent?"

"He thinks you're not in a position to handle this alone."

"That's not the same thing."

"No."

Turner took a drink.

"But it gives him something to argue."

Jena looked toward the door Roman had just walked through.

She wondered how much of the paperwork had concerned Nate and how much had been designed to give Roman greater control over the situation.

She had signed without understanding it.

The realization made her feel foolish.

Worse, she knew Roman had counted on that.

"Turner," she said quietly, "I don't think Nate is going to recover."

Turner looked at her.

"No kidding."

She frowned.

"I mean it. I've been visiting him for months. Nothing changes."

Turner gave a short laugh.

"He's as dead as a doorknob."

Jena stared.

"What?"

Turner's expression shifted.

"Bad joke."

"That's not funny."

"I know."

He looked away.

"Long night."

Jena continued watching him.

There had been something strangely matter-of-fact about the remark.

Not the casual cruelty she had come to expect from Turner, but something closer to certainty.

She wanted to ask what he meant.

Instead, she looked down at her hands.

She had spent so many months fearing Nate's death that she had begun to wonder whether the uncertainty was worse than the event itself.

"Why are you fighting Ivy-Mae?" she asked.

Turner glanced at her.

"What?"

"Why does it matter to you whether Nate stays on life support?"

"Because he's my business partner."

"He hasn't been involved in the business for months."

"That doesn't mean I want his mother making decisions without anyone challenging them."

Jena considered the answer.

It was reasonable enough.

Turner had invested heavily in the company he and Nate had built.

Perhaps he was simply protecting his interests.

She was too tired to investigate further.

She rose from the couch.

"I need to go home."

Turner watched her.

"Jena."

She stopped.

"What?"

"Did you still need help with Beau's woman?"

Jena hesitated.

"Not really. She's out of the house."

"Good."

"It's just..."

She looked toward the floor.

She thought of Sue.

Of the boys.

Of Beau standing drunk in the doorway.

Of Thallea watching from behind the curtain.

She wanted to explain.

But the story was too long, and she had no idea where to begin.

Turner seemed to recognize her difficulty.

"If you keep things steady with Nate," he said, "I can help you with whatever you need."

Jena looked at him.

"Whatever?"

"Within reason."

He smiled faintly.

"You know I have ways of getting things done."

Jena felt uncomfortable.

She knew enough about KT Construction and Turner's business dealings to understand that his methods were not always conventional.

The offer sounded generous.

It also sounded like something that might eventually come with a price.

"I'm tired," she said.

"Fair enough."

"Call me if Roman needs me in court."

Turner nodded.

"Will do."

Jena left.

By the time she returned home, she felt as though she had been awake for several days.

She entered the barndominium without turning on the lights.

The house was silent.

She did not check the kitchen.

She did not look through her messages.

She did not even remove her shoes.

She went directly to her bedroom and curled up on the bed.

Then she began to cry.

At first, the tears came quietly.

Then the sobbing became so violent that she struggled to catch her breath.

She cried for Sue.

For the boys.

For the brother she no longer recognized.

For her father.

For Nate, although she was no longer certain whether she mourned him or merely the life she had imagined they might have had.

She cried because she was frightened.

Because she was angry.

Because she was exhausted.

And because every attempt she made to improve her circumstances seemed to leave her more dependent upon people she did not trust.

She remembered the night of Nate's birthday party.

Back then, she had wanted something simple.

A divorce.

A chance to move in with her mother.

A little peace.

She had believed that ending her marriage would allow her to begin again.

Instead, Nate's overdose had left her trapped in a house she could not control, bound to legal proceedings she scarcely understood, and dependent upon a man whose generosity increasingly resembled ownership.

She thought of Roman ordering her to sign the documents.

Of Turner offering to help with anything.

Of Beau threatening to call the police if she tried to see her nephews.

Everywhere she turned, someone else seemed to decide what she was allowed to do.

Jena pressed her face into the pillow.

She had become both a pariah and a possession.

An unwanted member of her own family.

A tolerated occupant of her own home.

A woman whose future depended upon the goodwill of men who had never given her much reason to trust them.

Eventually, the sobbing subsided.

She lay motionless, too exhausted even to change clothes.

The house seemed unnaturally quiet.

Jena remembered the strange sensation she had experienced in her father's room.

The feeling that something had heard her plea.

That something had been listening.

She closed her eyes.

For a moment, she imagined that the darkness around her was waiting for an answer.

She had asked for help.

She had asked for justice.

She had asked for a way to save the people she loved.

And Turner had offered her the means to obtain almost anything.

The coincidence disturbed her.

Jena pulled the blanket closer.

She told herself that she was being foolish.

Turner was simply a wealthy man with questionable manners and considerable influence.

There was nothing supernatural about him.

Nothing mysterious about a lawyer protecting a valuable business arrangement.

Nothing sinister about someone offering assistance to an old acquaintance.

Those explanations were reasonable.

Jena preferred reasonable explanations.

But as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, she remembered Turner's words.

I can help you with whatever you need.

She had spent much of her life wishing someone would take responsibility for her problems.

Now, for the first time, she wondered what might happen if someone actually did.

And what they might expect in return.