After lecturing Timmy for nearly an hour about the danger he had thrown himself into over the course of the past few days, Tommy's anger finally settles into a slow but dangerous boil. His knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel too tight, and his chest is still heaving as he fights to keep his lingering anger in check. Despite his attempts, heat continues to surge through him; his heart pounds rapidly against his chest wall.
Tommy then recalls the horrid images that continued to plague his mind, how his visions almost became the truth. A cold chill rushes up his spine, causing him to shiver. I'm lucky to have found Timmy when I did, he thinks.
Tommy turns toward his son, a small hint of fury still flickering in his eyes. His cheeks glisten with moisture as the harrowing thought continues to replay in his head. Sniffling, he wipes his tears away and says, "Your mom and I were terrified we'd never see you again."
Timmy's shoulders sag; a look of despair displaces the anger that once covered his pale, freckled face. He glances towards the floor, looks up with tear-filled eyes, and mumbles in a soft, broken voice, "I guess I didn't realize what it'd do to you and Mom taking off like that."
"No, you didn't." Tommy's voice hardens. "Your mom nearly ended up in the hospital because of you."
Timmy's head snaps. The color drains from his already pale face. "Hospital? For what?" He gasps.
"Chest pains." Tommy swallows, jaw tight as he recalls what happened that night. "Thank God the nitro helped."
"I'm sorry, Dad, I…"
Tommy fixes his son with a sharp dagger-like stare. Fire shoots from his eyes. His temper quickly rises to the surface when he states. "You pull something this reckless again, and I'll unleash a fury on you like you've never seen before." Tommy slams his hand down on the wheel; through gritted teeth, he adds, "I mean it, Timmy."
The lad's fury rises again. "We wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't done what you did." Timmy argues despite his common sense telling him to leave it alone.
Tommy's anger surges through his entire body, hotter than before. "So, you'd rather I sit idly by while your mom and baby sister die?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Dad."
"What is it then, Timmy? Huh, what?" He slams his hands down on the wheel again.
"I just wish you would've found a better way, is all."
"What do you think I should've done, wise guy? What would you have done if you were unemployed, had a sickly wife in the hospital, and four young mouths to feed?"
Timmy shrugs. "I don't know."
"You're right, you don't, so stop judging me."
"But I…"
Tommy holds up his hand; every muscle in his body is both rigid and tense. Through gritted teeth he says, "Stop, Timmy, just stop before one of us says something we'll both regret."
They drove in silence for miles, each lost in their own thoughts.
Tommy finally says. "The way I see it, we have two choices: keep fighting and get ourselves killed or go back to our life in Iowa and forget this ever happened."
With a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head, Timmy fires back, "You may be happy the way things are, but I'm not. I mean, think about it, Dad. What's going to happen when we all want to get married and have kids? With the things the way they are right now, we'll be living our whole lives in constant fear."
"So, let's say we fight them and one of us is killed. Now think about how devastated your mother will be." He pauses long enough to let the words sink in before he adds, "The news might kill her."
"So that's it, we go back to our cabin in BFE?"
"I think it's the wiser choice."
"Well, I don't. So long, Dad." Timmy reaches for the door.
"Timmy, wait."
The lad turns with a huff, anger spewing from every pore in his body.
"If surrendering isn't an option, then we need a well-advised plan."
"Ty and I had one, believe me, we did." Timmy retorts in their defense.
"Going off half-cocked with a list and a loaded gun isn't a plan, son."
"No, no, Dad, you have it all wrong," Timmy says, his words tumbling out fast. "Ty and I have been planning this attack for years, but it all went south the moment I stepped foot in this place."
Timmy quickly explains what transpired at the park earlier that day. Finishing with how he was followed by the man at the lake. "They're everywhere, Dad," he cries, his voice trembling with every word. Timmy pauses. A confused expression crosses his face when he asks, "How did you find me, Dad?"
Tommy points to the lad's wrist. I downloaded your smartwatch app to my burner before giving your phone to the Berryville PD."
"You gave my phone to the police?"
"I was determined to find you, son, and was hoping something on it would help." Pulling his phone from his pocket, Tommy continues, "I'd forgotten I'd done that, but then with your pulse being as dangerously high as it was, it set off the alarm. That's when I knew that something was going on."
"I was scared shitless, Dad, with no weapon and nowhere to run."
"I could tell." Tommy's eyebrows knit as he continues. "So, getting back to your story, you claim Bambin's goons initiated the attack?"
Timmy nods. "We thought we'd gotten away, then they showed up at Uncle Jerry's house." He points at the house off to the right.
The headlights illuminate the front portion of the home when they pull into the drive. The small house seems unsettling somehow. All the lights are off, and the weathered-beaten screen door is swinging back and forth in the wind, rhythmically banging against the greenish-tinged siding
Climbing out of the car, Tommy begins to inspect the damage. The door has been kicked in, leaving wood splintering in the door frame. The three front windows are shattered. The sparkling glass slithers and decorates the porch and the front yard.
Tommy's breath catches in his throat. As he recalls how their first safehouse was in ruins after the mob tore through. Walls blown open, the furniture riddled with bullets, lying on its side, their lives forever shattered as precious memories lay scattered across the dingy, carpeted floor. A sense of cold dread settles in his gut.
Rushing inside, Tommy shouts Jimmy's name. His deep voice cuts through the eerie stillness like a shark blade.
Timmy grabs his arm to stop him.
Tommy spins around. "What, son?"
"He's not here."
His best friend lying in the morgue suddenly comes to mind. His legs begin to wobble, like they can no longer support his weight. "Where, where is he?" Tommy manages to stutter.
"Last time I saw either of them was at your old clubhouse, but that was hours ago." Timmy rubs the back of his neck, frustration simmering as he relives the warehouse events.
"He's alright?"
Timmy nods. "Thanks to Uncle Jimmy, we all made it out alive."
"Why would he take you to the club house?"
Jimmy found a few guys willing to help us with our quest, so we went to meet them. Turns out they all decided to back out."
Studying his son for a minute, Tommy asks, "So, what is it that you're not telling me?"
Timmy winces, lowering his head, and he mumbles. "I might've said a few things I shouldn't have."
Tommy lets out a slow exhale. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, he says, "So now you've got all my buddies mad at you?"
"Ty and Jimmy too."