Chapter 2 - The Silence of the Hunt
I left the hospital room with a singular,
unbreakable objective.
I found the attending physician,
a tall man with tired eyes and a stethoscope draped around his neck.
“My daughter is not to have any visitors,”
I told him,
my tone leaving absolutely zero room for negotiation,
zero room for misinterpretation.
“No one.
Not her father.
Not her aunt.
Not anyone claiming to be family.
If Dennis Hawthorne steps foot in this hospital,
you will call hospital security,
and then you will call the police.”
The doctor looked at my face,
really looked at me,
and whatever he saw in my eyes made him nod immediately.
“I will put the note in her chart right now,
Mrs. Hawthorne.
She is safe here.”
“She better be,”
I replied,
turning on my heel and marching toward the exit doors.
The Nebraska sun was blinding as I stepped out into the parking lot,
the heat rising from the black asphalt in shimmering waves.
I walked to my truck,
a heavy,
reinforced diesel vehicle that had survived dirt roads and brutal winters.
I climbed inside,
slamming the heavy door shut,
sealing myself inside the quiet cabin.
I did not turn the key right away.
I sat there,
my hands resting on the steering wheel,
staring at the faded paint of the parking lines.
For exactly one minute,
I allowed the mother inside me to grieve.
I let the tears fall,
hot and bitter,
weeping for the innocence that had been stolen from my seven-year-old daughter.
I wept for the pain she had endured,
tumbling down those wooden steps,
terrified,
alone,
betrayed by the two people who were supposed to protect her.
Then,
the minute was up.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
The grieving mother stepped aside,
and the soldier took the wheel.
I turned the ignition,
the engine roaring to life with a deep,
guttural growl.
I pulled out of the parking lot,
merging onto the highway,
heading back to the town that thought they knew us.
My mind began to catalog everything.
Dennis’s habits,
his schedule,
his weaknesses.
He was a coward hiding behind a smile,
a narcissist who thrived on the adoration of his neighbors.
And Serena,
vain,
insecure,
always wanting what was mine,
always needing to prove she was better.
They thought I was weak.
They thought because I was quiet,
because I didn't brag about my deployments,
because I spent my days fixing broken animals,
that I was soft.
They had forgotten that before I was a veterinarian,
before I was a mother,
before I was a wife,
I was a combat medic attached to a special operations unit.
I had sewn men back together in the dark,
under heavy fire,
with nothing but a flashlight and steady hands.
I knew how to stop bleeding,
but more importantly,
I knew exactly how to cause it.
The drive took thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes of absolute,
calculating silence.
I did not turn on the radio.
I did not look at the scenery.
I focused solely on the tactical layout of my own home.
The front door squeaked on the lower hinge.
The back door lock stuck if you didn't turn it perfectly.
The windows in the kitchen faced the dense treeline,
offering a perfect blind spot for observation.
I pulled my truck off the main road,
parking it half a mile away,
hidden behind a row of tall cornstalks.
I would not announce my arrival.
I would not give them the advantage of warning.
I opened the glove compartment,
retrieving a heavy steel flashlight,
sliding it into the pocket of my jacket.
I stepped out of the truck,
May you like
my boots hitting the dirt without making a sound.
The hunt had begun.
