This Long Silence Part Three

[dugindeep]

Previous

Wednesday feels like every other morning.

Jensen rises, showers, and dresses. He tacks on his belt, holster, and badge, and checks the safety on his firearm before placing it at his hip. At the sink, he watches dawn bring light to his back yard as he eats a slice of toast and a few strips of bacon with his first mug of coffee in his other hand. The dishes are washed and in the drainer before he double-checks the safety on his gun and the locks on the back door, and heads outside.

The ride into town features three school buses headed in all directions, farm equipment running in the far reaches of pastures, and the slow roll of Main Street opening up for business. J.D.’s got the Morgan Corner Diner up and running. From a leisurely pass in his police pick-up, Jensen can see the counter packed around the bend. He pulls around the side and parks at the edge of the alley as always, intending to grab a cup of coffee, say hi to the regulars, and nab the mid-week edition of the County paper.

Inside, talk is excited while the air feels heavy. Upon Jensen’s entrance, everything hushes and each one of the patrons eyes him before looking anywhere but.

J.D. moves slower than usual, but he still fills a Styrofoam cup and drops a plastic top next to it on the counter with a nod. “Sheriff.”

“Hey, J.D.,” Jensen returns carefully as he looks down the line of the recognizable crowd.

There’s Tom and Sue Duffy, recent retireds who always offer up used farm tools to anyone who would have want for them, Carl Hardy with his head down low, and a sprinkling of other townsfolk he’s known since he could walk. No one will look at Jensen when normally they all have kind, respectful smiles for him.

“Everything going okay?”Jensen asks as he takes in the entire diner. Aside from the counter, there’re a dozen tables full for breakfast and paper-reading, but everyone is resolutely ignoring him. He ends his assessment with a firm look to J.D.

“Everything’s good. Slow morning.”

Jensen’s eyes again flip between the dining space and J.D., and he sees J.D. finally realize Jensen knows he’s hiding something. He makes a show of looking over J.D., the counter, and J.D. again, before he steps back with his coffee in hand. He keeps an eye on the crowd that’s purposely quiet yet busy as he grabs a paper off the newsstand near the door. With one last look to J.D., Jensen nods to the right and J.D. barely returns it with a tilt of his head.

At his truck, Jensen tosses the paper into the passenger seat and puts his coffee in the console, but doesn’t get in. After shutting the door, he walks to the front of the truck with his hands on his hips and waits only a minute in the alley before J.D. slips out the back door.

“What’s going on?” Jensen asks, voice pitched low with aggravation and suspicion.

J.D. wipes his hands on the towel hanging from his belt and grimaces. “Hardy says a cow dropped in his field.”

“You’re all hush-hush about a cow?” he asks, still wary.

“Carl says it was wrecked.”

Jensen’s interest changes and he stands straight, on guard. “What? Like a car hit it?”

J.D. scratches at the edge of his salt-and-pepper beard and gives Jensen a sideways glance. His voice is quiet when he says, “Mutilated.”

Jensen tries to work it out quickly. He’s never used that word to describe an accident in town, and he’s never heard anyone else use it either. “Anyone talk about missing equipment?”

Shaking his head, J.D. specifies, “It’s worse than Matty’s.”

“Has anyone asked Cathy about stray dogs?”

“Jensen,” J.D. says firmly as he fixes him with a long look.

He’s immediately shocked by the use of his name, but he gets it. This isn’t some random animal death; there’s something wrong with two attacks.

Spinning away with a quiet curse, he waves J.D. off and yanks the driver’s side door open, jumping in and turning the keys immediately.



Everything whips by in a blur.

Carl Hardy’s field is streaked in blood, the innards of his bull spread in unexplained tracks. The carcass is just skin and bones, if even that, with its coat ripped from the inside out and hanging in tattered ribbons.

Abel loses his breakfast in minutes. Jensen’s sure he would, too. He’s grateful he ate so little this morning and has been far too occupied to have finished his coffee.

He and Abel take to nearby residences, but no one knows a thing nor do they seem to be covering for anyone. This town’s so small, Jensen knows their tells and he can’t read a single one during his questioning.

Heading back into town, not caring how low the sun is slipping behind the horizon, he stops at J.D.’s for that coffee he never finished. The restaurant is now only half-full for a late dinner, and it quiets when Jensen steps inside. It’s a heavy silence but Jensen can’t worry about it as much as he did that morning.

“How bad is it?” J.D. asks as a new pot of coffee brews.

Jensen’s eyes roam the area but never meet anyone’s gaze. Not even J.D.’s. He’s used to exerting quiet authority or smiling for the folks, but he’s never had to consider something like what he’s experienced so far today - not as Sheriff - and he’s never had to explain it to others, either.

He’s known J.D. all his life; he figures he owes him the truth. “It’s not good,” he responds quietly.

“What d’you think it is?”

He pulls his ballcap off and breathes deep, sensing the tense, intent looks from many in the room. With his hat in hand, he scratches at his elbow. There’s no way he wants to relive that scene for everyone right now. “How’s that coffee coming?”

J.D. takes a bit too long to turn back to the coffeemaker, putting Jensen at even more unease. He fills a styrofoam cup and caps it, all while tossing Jensen a few looks. “You think there’s a pack of coyotes out there?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen replies quietly as he grabs the coffee. There’re no signs of which animal - or animals - are doing all this, but he can’t tie it to something like that. Not yet. He barely meets J.D.’s look before he nods, motions with the cup, and leaves.

It’s a longer ride home than he can ever remember. He barely drinks the coffee and only takes a large sip once he’s parked in his drive and gets out of the truck. The hour’s already in double digits, so he’s not surprised there are no noises or lights coming from Jared’s house.

There’s the draw of walking over, not even caring that he’s still in uniform and geared up. He wants to decompress, release all that he saw, and let it leave his mind. He wants to make sure it doesn’t invoke memories from a lifetime ago, but he can’t manage to share the visuals with Jared. He never does, and likely never will.

He tromps up his front stairs, through the house, up to the bedroom, and changes so he can collapse to bed.

But he doesn’t sleep. He can’t stop the flipbook of all he went through in the day. He replays his initial stop at J.D.’s, talking to Hardy, looking over the grounds and finding the long path the bull’s entrails had taken to the south, questioning the neighbors, circling back with Abel without a clue about anything at all. Worse yet, his mind flashes back to even nastier pictures of his time in the Middle East where fellow soldiers were taken too soon and villages had been ransacked and desecrated.

The coffee gets to him, too. He can feel his blood pounding with discomfort over the incident and the caffeine making it worse. He curses his last stop at J.D.’s, sure that he could have slept through his nightmares without coffee to keep him up. Instead, he relives them more vividly than he’d feared.

He’s sure it’s the middle of the night, and he must be dreaming, but he hears random pounding from beyond his house. He flips in bed and stares out the open window to his left. There’s a soft breeze rustling the weeds beyond his backyard, deceiving him into imagining a large hound walking through. A small corner of his brain can make out a man stooping low through the brush and pausing long enough to stare up at Jensen. Jensen swears there’s a quick sliver of moonlight reflecting in deep-set eyes, but it disappears a second later. He shakes his head and turns away for a second to pull himself back together.

When he chances another look out the window, there are new shadows in the next yard. The longer Jensen stays still, the easier it is to make out the noise of hammer to wood.

Jensen rolls out of bed, yanks a sweatshirt and his gym shoes on, and then stumbles with the speed of leaving his house to head to Jared’s yard. Jared’s working on the final chair, dressed in cargo shorts and a v-neck yet no shoes.

The sight is ridiculous at this hour. Before Jensen can make his presence known, he rasps through a dry throat, “What’re you doing?”

Jared spins with the hammer raised in alarm. His eyes are wide until he registers Jensen in what little moonlight makes it through the thick clouds in the sky. Jared’s voice sounds just as strangled and tight as Jensen feels. “I just … I couldn’t sleep.”

Rubbing a hand over his collarbone, Jensen slowly nears Jared. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I heard what happened.” Jared’s head tips and he frowns before admitting, “I was worried.”

Jensen’s eyes soften and slide down to nearly shut. There’s enough wreaking havoc on Jensen’s mind, he wouldn’t dare impose any of it on Jared. “Worried about what?” he asks, even though he’s afraid to know Jared’s too focused on what’s going in their town.

Jared drops his hammer and steps close, and before Jensen can realize it, Jared’s arms wrap him up in a warm, firm embrace. “About you,” he says softly, face pressing into the curve of Jensen’s shoulder.

It’s dark as hell at this hour, but Jensen still feels his pulse pound as mightily as it had up in his bedroom as he tried to sleep. Jared close like this, outside, feels like too much, and yet not enough. He lets himself have the solid press of Jared against him and rings his arms right back around Jared to keep him in place.

Jared’s hands run small circles across Jensen’s back and he keeps his head tucked down. “You didn’t come by.”

He nods into Jared’s shoulder and rests his arms around Jared’s waist, fingers loose but holding onto the belt loops of Jared’s shorts. “Didn’t want to tell you about it.”

“I heard about it anyway.” Jared runs his arm across Jensen’s back with his hand curling over the curve of Jensen’s neck and squeezing. “Kids at school are saying a monster ripped up Matt and Hardy’s animals.” Jensen simply snorts as he shuts his eyes, mind coursing through a mental book of monsters that could’ve done something this nasty to a defenseless cow. “How bad is it?”

“It’s just two cows. But it looks about that bad.”

“They’re talking about a town-wide curfew.”

Jensen swallows hard and he’s unable to find a good reply. It’s not a bad idea, he thinks.

Jared holds tight for a few seconds then pulls back and strokes his hands over Jensen’s shoulders as he seems to assess him.

“I’m okay,” Jensen says. He feels it a bit, especially right now as he talks to Jared.

“I don’t believe you, but alright.”

Jensen takes a deep breath to steady himself and pats at Jared’s side. “I’m sure it’s just some stray dogs or something.”

Jared’s mouth twitches between a frown and something even more concerned. After a few beats, he asks, “You want to come inside?”

He closes his eyes, about to joke about Jared’s chair staying unfinished. But he can’t manage it right now and takes the offer for what it is: a reprieve from his ugly memories.

The second he nods, Jared pulls him in again. An arm rests protectively around Jensen’s shoulders as Jared directs them to the house.

Resting on the couch with Jared at his side doesn’t stop the terror from finding Jensen in his dreams - a mixture of slaughtered animals laid to unrest in the fields and young soldiers in a desert. And he can’t manage to work out the right words to explain all of his worries, but they’re a bit easier to stomach when Jared’s sure hands massage at his back and calm him enough to finally find some peace.



Jensen’s eyelids are heavy as lead when he pries them open to sunlight in Jared’s bedroom. It’s a foggy scene to wake up to as he just barely remembers when Jared had convinced him to leave the couch for his bed in favor of honest-to-goodness rest.

He’s conscious of having slept, but fitful dreams didn’t afford him much rest. All he remembers is falling to the mattress fully dressed and finally mumbling through all that happened that day, all he could still see behind his eyelids. He’d done nothing more than slip off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor without care for where they landed, and he must have yanked his sweatshirt off sometime in the night.

He slips further under the soft comforter and turns into the pillows all while ignoring the sounds of Jared moving around downstairs. He has no want to move. Breathing deep, he catches the fresh linen scent of the pillowcase over traces of Jared and his cologne. He definitely doesn’t want to leave this moment. Work is the last possible thing he could want right now, but it scratches at the back of his mind, reminding him of his responsibility and the mystery he still has to unravel.

Soon enough, there’s the soft shuffling of Jared in the room. The bed dips as Jared settles next to Jensen, sitting up against the headboard and nudging Jensen’s shoulder with a quiet, “There’s coffee.”

It’s about the only thing that will force Jensen up this morning, and he shifts just high enough to take the coffee without spilling. His belly warms with the hot coffee and Jared’s soft touch between his shoulder blades.

“I know you want another ten hours of sleep,” Jared starts before Jensen interrupts.

“I slept fine. I can get up in a few minutes.” When Jared raises a skeptical eyebrow, Jensen sips more coffee without looking at him again. “It was warm as hell, but I slept. If only the county could tap into your body heat. They could start up a geothermal system to heat water for decades.”

“Well, aren’t you progressive,” Jared returns with a soft smile and roll of his eyes.

“It’s sustainable. I figured you’d like that,” he replies with a sleepy, forced smile.

“I do,” he agrees before dropping his voice and speaking slowly. “As I was saying, I know you want to sleep the rest of the day away, but Jake called.”

The thought turns his stomach. Someone from the department, someone in town, is looking for him at Jared’s. He’s horrified that they would immediately think to find him here. He can’t look anywhere but into the pit of his nearly-done coffee as he tries to keep his cool. “For what?”

“Theresa Franklin was brought into the clinic with some nasty dog bites.”

“And he called here?” Jensen asks tightly

“No one could reach you at your place and he asked me to check on you,” Jared replies easily as his fingers tap out a pattern on Jensen’s back. Jensen relaxes to both the explanation and the easy touch. “You should get some more coffee in you before you head out.”

“I can stop at J.D.’s,” Jensen mumbles before finishing off the mug in his hand and placing it in Jared’s lap. Jensen rolls the other way out of bed and grabs his sweatshirt from the ground as he rights himself and shoves his feet into his shoes.

He’s near the bedroom door when Jared murmurs his name.

“I’m fine,” Jensen replies in a fairly level voice. He even convinces himself of it.

“How long have you been having trouble sleeping?”

Jensen has the sweatshirt pushed up his arms as he stares at Jared. His mind puts numbers together, borrowing and carrying through the equation. “Seventeen years,” he admits quietly. He tugs the sweatshirt over his head and into place so he doesn’t have to see the sad eyes he can imagine Jared has for him. Moving to the doorway, Jensen pauses long enough to look back but his gaze never rises higher than Jared’s foot at the edge of the bed. “I’ll come by when I’m done tonight.”



By the time Jensen’s entering the Medical Clinic, there’s an undercurrent of worry. Chaos controlled but not altogether over. He nods at Stephanie behind the desk, a recent high school grad of a receptionist, and immediately inquires after who he really wants to see.

“Where’s Danneel?” he asks, tipping his head to look around the lobby and back office area that’s strangely empty.

Stephanie eyes him and he’s sure it’s for requesting the nurse’s assistant rather than the town doctor. He trusts Danneel’s word - and emotions - better than anything. Has for the last two decades of their friendship. He regrets calling for her, though when she appears at a side doorway and her eyes are solid on him with her lips tight to refrain from frowning. He knows this look, and it’s nothing good.

When he first approaches her, they can be heard by Stephanie, so he casually asks, “Where’s everyone at?”

Danneel’s still frowning, leading him back the way she came. “We’re busy this morning,” she says strangely.

As soon as they’re deeper into the hallway and alone, he gently holds her elbow. “What’s going on?”

Danneel’s eyes slide to the right. “Theresa was bitten pretty badly.”

“How bad? Why’re they calling me?”

She shrugs one shoulder and begins to chew at the corner of her mouth. He simply watches her. He’s not sure his patience can last through this, but for her, he’ll try. After a long moment, she rolls both shoulders and meets his gaze. “Moses bit her bicep and tore at the artery,” she explains, pinching the underside of her own arm to reference a spot close to her armpit.

Jensen swears softly, thinking of the boisterous black Labrador the Franklins took in a few years ago. The dog’s always been something to chuckle at because while his long string of energy is often too much for one couple to handle, Moses is a loveable, loyal pet. “How bad is it?”

Her eyebrows lift, as if surprised he’s even wondering.

“Can I see her?” he demands more than asks.

Danneel sighs and shifts her eyes away, likely hiding irritation at his tone, but he can’t worry about sensitivity right now. She leads them to the busiest room in the clinic and Jensen gets one good look in the window beside the closed door.

He sees Theresa Franklin, thirty-seven and normally a lively, lovely homebody. But now she’s barely able to keep her head up as the doctor takes her vitals. Her left arm is bandaged but it can’t stop the bleeding; red seeps through the wrappings wound around her upper arm. She’s pale and sluggish with the blood loss, unresponsive to those tending to her.

Jensen sighs at the scene, rubbing at his mouth before he can form the right words.

“They’re gonna put Moses down, aren’t they?” Danneel asks from behind him. Jensen looks back, and she’s again gnawing at her bottom lip with worry. “Everyone’ll think he got to Hardy’s cow, too.”

“Maybe he did,” Jensen mumbles, even when he doesn’t feel too confident with that idea. He can’t believe Moses tore up his owner like this, let alone took down two cows in the last forty-eight hours. But apparently Moses did.

Somehow, it still doesn’t feel right. Jensen can’t honestly imagine that Moses went after two cows, but thinking otherwise leaves more to worry about.

He ties up the conversation and leaves Danneel with a small, forced smile.

His next stop is to the Franklin’s ranch. Theresa and Tim Franklin have been married for just over twenty years, having met the county judge soon after graduating high school. Both have remained young - physically and emotionally - always running across the yard with Moses and inviting in-laws and high school friends out for Sunday barbeques.

For all that Jensen’s ready to talk nice with Tim, he can’t stop for a single breath when he gets out of his truck because there’s a shotgun firing off behind the house. Jensen races around the home to find Tim jogging out towards the waist-high grass that’s barely hiding Moses escaping his owner’s aim.

Jensen unlocks his holster and his gun as he jogs near, shouting at Tim to drop the gun. He’s not ready to draw aim, but he gets antsy when Tim turns towards him with the gun still in his grip. “Drop it, now!” Jensen yells again.

Tim does just that and kicks the ground. “Goddamn dog,” Tim shouts at the tall grass that shields his dog. He puts a good deal of space between Jensen and himself, and spits at the grass before releasing a hard sigh with his eyes trained in the direction Moses ran off. “Was a good dog, Jesus,” he mutters with one hand going to his side, palm pressed in tight and fingers tucked together.

Jensen puts his gun back, locks it, and then nears Tim. He tugs on the man’s wrist and flinches at the stain of blood on Tim’s shirt. “You okay there?”

Tim lifts his hand and uncovers tears in the fabric giving way to a fresh wound. He places the hand back and puts more pressure on his side, but winces with the effort and stares at the ground. “Stupid dog came at me when I went back to check on him just after I took Theresa in.” When he lifts his head, tears build in the corners of his eyes. “He went at Theresa.”

“I heard,” Jensen says with all the sympathy he can muster. He’s never been close to the couple; they were a few years ahead of him in school, but no one turned a bad eye on them. No one deserves what the wife’s facing right now. “What happened with Theresa? Why’d Moses go after her?”

“It was breakfast time?” he offers angrily. “Lord if I know.” Suddenly, Tim turns sad and nearly begs. “Sheriff, you know Moses is a good dog. You know he’s never gone after anyone before.”

Jensen rests his hands at his waist and looks over the land. He licks his lips as he tries to find the best words. “I know that. Except that he’s gone after the both of you now. For no reason,” he finishes with a quick glance at Tim. After a few quiet moments, he asks, “You know two cows have gone down from animal attacks this week?”

Tim raises a sharp eyebrow, disbelief filling his features. “And you think he did it? Hell no.”

Flipping fingers out from his belt, Jensen motions at Tim’s injury. “He did that.”

There’s no immediate answer, but Tim breathes deep before he speaks. “Can you just promise to not gun him down?” Tim makes a face and shrugs awkwardly. “I know I was about to, but man, that dog’s getting on my bad side right now. Just, if you could, maybe you can grab him and let me be there when Cathy puts him down?”

Jensen makes a skeptical face, but he quickly trains it to something more professional. “No promises. But we’ll do what we can.” Jensen points at Tim’s hand, still tucked tight at his side. “You should get that looked at.”

“I bet the Doc’s all wrapped up in fixin’ Theresa,” Tim says with a strangled tone.

“Get it looked at,” Jensen insists.

Tim nods then runs his free hand over his mussed-up short, dark hair. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a doctor, and now both me and Theresa are gonna be there.” Jensen nods sympathetically as he leads Tim towards the front yard. “Is she doing okay? She was bleeding pretty bad on the way.”

He lies with a swift nod and careful smile, because there’s no reason to deliver bad news right now. “She’s doing good.” Then he gives a direct look to make his point. “You go straight to the doctor, do whatever they tell you, and then you call me the second you see Moses.”

“Cross my heart,” Tim replies solemnly.



It’s late, but Jensen keeps his promise when he’s done with his day, and heads over to Jared’s. He’s still in his uniform, but he’s intent to make the immediate stop no matter the hour.

Jared eyes the firearm at his hip as he holds the side door open for Jensen.

“It’s locked,” Jensen promises of the gun once he’s in the kitchen, though Jared still seems uneasy with its presence.

“How bad is it?”

Jensen doesn’t bother to ask what Jared’s wondering about. The whole town already knows. “They took Theresa to Mercy over in Randall County, and Tim got a few stitches. Right in and out.”

Jared leans at the sink, crossing his arms and giving Jensen a long look. “She’ll be okay, right?”

Just to distract himself from the image of Theresa’s sunken cheeks and glossy eyes, let alone Jared’s stare, Jensen moves to the fridge to grab himself a beer.

“Right?” Jared repeats.

“She’ll get help at Mercy.”

“How bad is it?” Jared repeats with more worry in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Jensen answers. His tired shrug caps his annoyed tone as he slumps against the closed fridge.

Jared gives him a hard look. “Jensen.”

“I’m not a fucking doctor, Jared,” Jensen returns with a similar look and opens his arms in anger.

“I’m just asking-”

“And I’m just saying,” Jensen snaps back.

Jared throws his hand out in aggravation as he turns to the counter and stares out the kitchen window.

Jensen sighs and drinks while tugging his uniform shirt from the belt. They’re not saying a word to one another and Jared’s more focused on his backyard.

There’s something tight to the air, making Jensen question how he can breathe with the tension between them. For all the times they’ve talked, it’s never felt like this. It’s never been hard to keep conversation going between them, but Jensen lacks patience after this long day. He doesn’t have the will to answer each of Jared’s questions with I don’t know and face Jared’s doubt or concern.

Jensen’s seconds from putting the beer down and going home when he see an odd tilt to Jared’s head as he keeps staring through the glass. When Jared leans further over the sink and turns his head to look to the right, Jensen stands straight.

“What is it?” Jensen asks quickly.

Jared doesn’t answer. He just leans a little closer then tilts his head even more sharply.

Jensen joins him at the counter to catch whatever it is that has Jared’s attention. “What’d you see?”

“I don’t know,” he says, though it sounds more like a question.

“Moses?” he asks quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jared replies, strange once again. Then his breath catches loudly and Jensen slips closer to watch the yard. “There,” he whispers and points, drawing Jensen’s gaze to grass sweeping with shadows darting through the far end of his yard.

Jensen’s out the door before Jared can say a word, even though Jared keeps up with Jensen’s jog across the lawn. Jensen pulls his gun out, unlocks it, and holds it tight between two trained hands. He shuffles quickly, moving to the east end of the yard, and fully prepared to aim and fire if needed.

And he thinks it is because he can see something. He’s sure it’s an animal crouched down and darting through the cornfields that neighbor Jared’s yard with stalks rising chest-high. His heart races and fingers tingle with adrenaline.

He pushes at Jared away and points sharply. “You stay here.”

“What?”

“Go back to the house.” Jared’s eyes widen and he straightens his shoulders, proving his height. Jensen can’t care for a second and points at the house. “Go inside and don’t open the door until I come back.”

“Really?” Jared gives him a wild-eyed look then huffs at him. “Like you don’t need help trapping a rabid dog? Let me help so neither of you get hurt.”

“Jared,” he says firmly, but with less anger and more concern. “Please.”

“What’s been going on? What’s going on that I can’t help with a dog?”

Jensen’s intense glare is enough to force Jared to step away, shaking his head and muttering on his way back to his house.

Eyes focused even in the dark, Jensen combs the area and his ears are alerted to the soft whoosh of dark leaves sweeping against each other. He shifts to the right and slips as quietly as possible into the cornstalks, twisting his shoulders this way and that to avoid making a sound. The animal keeps moving ahead of him, darting from side to side with more speed and noise, and Jensen steps with every swish of stalks as the animal rushes within the overgrown maze.

The sounds halt and so does Jensen. He crouches so his eyes are just above the tallest leaves, and his gun remains cradled in a sure grip. His finger is tucked against the trigger as he hones in on the soft, manic breathing just over his right shoulder.

Jensen lets his eyes wander toward the noise, head turning inch by inch as he logs the dark shadow huddled behind him. Maybe ten feet away, if that. He sends a silent prayer into the atmosphere then spins toward the animal, only to be shocked into action when it charges him.

Jensen turns forward and runs between jagged stalks, ignoring how his arms are cut up by each one he passes. As fast as he gets, he still can’t outrun the beast on his tail. He’s counting its steps and his own, counting down the seconds until it reaches him. When there are just a few heartbeats left, Jensen twists towards it and he jumps back as it leaps at him. He raises his gun, imagines a blue and red bull’s-eye, and fires right at the center of its upper body. One-two-three bullets dig into the animal, and it cries out in pain as they both fall to the ground.

The gunshots echo and pound in his ears along with his adrenaline-fed heart, and his mouth falls open as he gulps in the cool night air. He clamps his palm around the butt of his firearm as he shifts just a foot away and then faces the animal, ready just in case there’s any life left to it. But there isn’t, and even in the dark, the horror of what lies next to him is obvious. He shoves himself back a few more feet and he gasps in shock, eyes wide in horror to the sight of Tim Franklin lying among broken cornstalks.

A quick once-over tells Jensen that the man’s hands are bloodied and his jeans are nearly shredded, exposing more wounds. Ones Tim had likely gotten by racing through these crops on his hands and knees. Worse yet, his cheeks are sunken and force his eyes out, and his lips are a mess of broken skin like he’d chewed on them for days on end. Jensen last saw Tim Franklin twelve hours ago and he looked healthy aside from the worry for his wife and dog. And now, he lies dead by Jensen’s weapon.

Back in the desert, in his late teens and early twenties, Jensen had shot at a good number of people. He’d hit some and killed a few. They were all armed enemies.

In Morgan Falls, he’s never fired his gun at anything that wasn’t painted in a red-ringed target. He’s never seen someone fall lifeless from his own hands and had to face them just after. That, added to the horror of being chased down by a man he’d interviewed just this morning, shocks Jensen into silence. With his gun held tight, he raises his hand in anger, pressing the back of his wrist against his mouth to trap sickened noises inside his throat, but he can’t stop the tears building in his eyes.

“Jensen!”

Jared’s voice is more frantic when he yells for him again and again.

Jensen looks up to the sky, cheeks now wet with tears. His voice is rough as he calls out, “Yeah,” and wipes each side of his face against a shoulder. “I’m okay,” he yells back, not believing it himself, but answering on command.

When Jensen rises to his feet and walks out from the brush, Jared’s halfway into the yard. Jared’s fists are clenched at his side and his eyes are big with worry, trained on the gun still tucked in Jensen’s right hand.

There’s no way Jensen’s letting it go right now, no matter how much Jared always jumps at the sight of it. Not when his nerves are shot and he has to pull himself together to do his job right now.

He marches past Jared with just a quick glance and a quiet, “I said to stay inside.”

Jared steps beside him as they walk back to the house. “What happened? You shot it?”

“Yeah,” he replies succinctly.

“And?”

He spares another quick look to Jared but he can’t meet Jared’s eyes for long. “And he’s dead.”

There’s a soft, sad noise and Jared slows his feet. “God,” he whispers. “Poor dog.”

Jensen stops in place but can’t bear to turn to Jared, and he drags in a hard breath.

“He was going after you, right? You had to,” Jared says softly. He places a warm palm on Jensen’s back. “Right?”

Jensen’s grip tightens on his firearm at the memory and he flinches when Jared says his name again, finger tapping the trigger. Mind getting into gear, Jensen makes quick work of locking the gun and placing it in his side holster. He takes a deep breath and looks beyond Jared to the spot where he swears he can make out Tim Franklin tucked within the corn stalks. It’s just his imagination, but he can still vividly picture Tim’s body hunched over on itself, mouth dropped open and eyes rolled back to show only white.

Jensen wipes his hand over his mouth then covers it as he tells himself, “Gotta call Cathy. And Abel.”

“Jake? For what?” Jared steps in front of Jensen and holds onto his gaze. Jensen hurts with the burden of telling Jared who he shot in the field. “You can’t handle a dog?”

His eyes search Jared’s face, debating what all to say. Like tearing bandages, he just does it.

“It was Tim.”

Jared doesn’t react, eyes staying on Jensen like he doesn’t get it.

“Tim Franklin. I shot Tim Franklin,” he clarifies, voice breaking and dropping off near the end of his admission.

“Are you serious?” Jared asks on a hard breath.

Jensen lowers his gaze before cautiously finding Jared’s eyes again. He slowly nods.

“Are you kidding?” Jared asks with disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he was chasing me!” Jensen explodes, shoving both hands out towards the field. “Because that crazy shit was running after me like a damn attack dog and I had no choice but to shoot!”

Jared’s eyes are unearthly wide and he pushes his hands through his hair as he looks in the direction Jensen’s pointing.

“He was coming right at me, Jared,” he tries to explain, but Jared’s still staring into the field.

Jensen can’t stand the shock and fear on Jared’s face, so he turns away and marches around the back of the house to get to his own. Jared keeps after him, trying to get his attention, but Jensen stays on his course. He refuses to stop and see just how scared Jared is of him at the moment.

He had no choice, he tells himself. No choice at all. Jared can’t judge him for this. He shouldn’t judge him.

Jensen reminds himself that there’s no time to consider all this. He has a job to do and a body to account for. He steels himself against the panic and pulls his phone out to make an immediate call to Abel, instructing him to head to Jared’s with the insistence that Jared will fill him in - even when he knows Jared can’t report much. Jensen refuses to wait and rehash the moment or continue to see the horror on Jared’s face.

Jared grabs him at the truck and throws the door closed before Jensen can get it fully open. “Stop and talk to me,” Jared demands. He forces Jensen against the driver’s door so he has to face Jared and see the anger that’s now overwhelming his normally handsome features.

Jensen hates this look more than the one he’d been dreading the last five minutes.

It’s a staring contest, and Jensen loses when he looks towards the dim headlights of Abel’s truck heading down Marcum Road just a few miles away.

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