Chapter Seventeen

Deadly Insanity

J oan didn’t know how long she’d sat beside Carrie’s small, fragile body. She allowed a fog of sorrow to overcome the rage for a short time. Max lay beside her, pressing his warmth against her leg, offering comfort. Her anger built again along with the ache of failure. She couldn’t shake the memory of staring straight into Jeb’s eyes when he pointed the shotgun at her. She’d had her chance. She could have pulled the trigger, ending his reign of terror. Instead, she’d run, and the shame of it gnawed at her insides.

She brushed the track of tears from her face. Thinking this way wouldn’t get the job done. That job was killing Jeb Hogg. He wouldn’t just pay for what he’d done to Carrie and Susan, he would pay for Sammy’s death, Willow’s incarceration, and most of all, Joan’s failure to end Todd’s life so Willow didn’t suffer for it. She shook her head sharply, the ballcap slipping from her head and landing in the dirt, as her grief pivoted into a focused, hot rage. Jeb Hogg would pay, and she would remember Carrie’s bruised, fragile face forever. His only chance now was to kill her first.

A prickle ran down the back of her neck. Jeb was coming; she felt it.

“We’re going to circle around and head back to the bad place,” she murmured to Max, resting a hand on his scruffy head. “Hopefully, it’ll throw him off long enough to buy us some time.” She set her cap back on, turning it backward, not caring that her white hair stuck out in every direction. Max followed her as she took off in the opposite direction of her property. Two of Jeb’s sons were dead, and possibly a third. Her odds of getting help from the remaining son were slim. Still, she had to take the chance.

The ridge ahead was steeper than the others she’d climbed that night. With every step, her body protested, pain tightening in her muscles, especially her calf. She pushed it down, forcing her mind into steely resolve.

Then, a low whine broke the silence. She stilled, her hand reflexively going to Max’s collar, calming him as he released a quiet grumble. Out of the darkness, a dog emerged, its body low, tail wagging cautiously. Joan’s heart sank. It was one of Jeb’s. Faint squeaks and tiny grunts sounded from the bushes.

“Crap,” she whispered, crouching low and extending her hand. “Hey there, mama,” she cooed softly, her voice gentle and high-pitched.

The dog approached slowly, her tail wagging with hopeful energy, even though her body language suggested she expected a strike. Joan’s heart clenched at the sight. The dog sniffed her fingers, ignoring Max, who stood calmly beside Joan. After a tentative sniff, the dog leaned in, allowing Joan to run her hand over her thin fur. The whimpers in the bushes grew louder, and Joan glanced toward them.

From her pocket, she pulled a handful of dog food, letting the mother lick her palm clean in a matter of seconds. “Thirsty?” she asked gently, unscrewing her water bottle and filling its cap. The dog lapped it up gratefully, and Joan refilled it twice more before the animal finally seemed content. “Can I look at your babies?” she asked in a soft murmur.

The dog continued licking at the cap. Joan stepped closer to the bush, parting a few low-hanging branches. She saw them. Four squirming, black-coated puppies, nestled into a small hollow. Max sniffed at the air, his stub tail giving a friendly wiggle. He’d always loved other dogs, thanks to the dog park trips Joan had managed, even if they were rare these days. But Max had learned to socialize young, and he stayed back, letting the mother feel safe.

The puppies looked like perfect little replicas of their mama, with shiny black fur and small, soft bodies, though one had a white spot on its hind leg and backside, a sweet mark of distinction. Joan wondered how the mother had kept them alive, how she’d stayed so gentle and trusting after a life with Jeb. There was something almost heroic about her resilience.

Reaching into her pocket, Joan emptied the rest of the dog food onto the ground. Max didn’t protest. He understood that the other dog needed it more than he did.

Joan poured more water for the mother, watching her drink it down with desperate gratitude. The poor dog’s sides heaved, her ribs sharp and visible beneath her dark coat, and her swollen teats sagged with milk. Joan estimated the puppies were about three weeks old.

She rubbed the dog’s head. Somehow, Joan would find a way to save this mother and her pups. The dog had fought too hard. She could do the same.

It suddenly occurred to Joan; Carrie had to be the reason this mama escaped. Carrie’s kindness was instinctual and somehow survived despite the abuse. She’d often told Joan about the wildlife she tried to help. Joan’s sadness almost took over again, so she pushed it back with rage.

“If I can, I will come back for you, girl,” Joan whispered, her voice barely steady as she poured one last capful of water for the dog. The mother drank eagerly, her tail giving a hopeful wag. Joan lingered, rubbing her hand along the dog’s head one more time, as though making a silent promise.

With a final look, she turned to go, leading Max away from the small family. The mother dog followed them for about twenty feet, torn, before turning back to where her puppies waited, releasing a small whine that hung in the air like an unspoken plea.

It took more than thirty grueling minutes to circle around and approach Jeb’s property from the main road. By the time she arrived, her legs felt as if they might give out beneath her, but Max leaned in as they walked, his warm weight holding her upright. Without him, she wasn’t sure she’d still be on her feet.

She glanced ahead. The fire pit was nearly burned out. This would be the real test.

The barn.

The structure stood ahead of her, newer than the other buildings. Yet, despite the newer construction, the double barn doors looked battered and worn, the wood splintered and hanging loosely from its hinges. The doors radiated neglect, and a sense of foreboding filled Joan. She steeled herself, moving forward. She gave the right-side door a careful push. It creaked loudly, an agonizing sound that made her freeze, her heart pounding.

A chorus of barks erupted from within, loud and frantic, filling the air with wild, fevered energy. Max bristled beside her, his lips pulling back in a low growl.

“No,” she whispered, bending down to look him in the eyes. “If you can’t be quiet, I’ll leave you out here.” Her voice was firm, and Max went silent, his gaze steady, as though understanding the gravity of the moment.

No dogs came rushing to investigate, and that only confirmed her suspicions. They were caged, or worse, chained up and unable to move. She took a deep breath, and slipped inside, closing the door behind them.