Selena Kitt - Beauty

There are other ways. Abe’s voice came back to him. He’d worked closely with the old man, once they’d realized what Carlos was planning to do at the old White Pine Mine-re-opening it to get what was left of the copper with sulfuric acid, most likely poisoning the aquifers in the process, which included not only Silas’s land, but the local Indian Reserve land next to it as well. Sabotaging the sulfide mine had set Carlos back, Silas was sure, but it wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him, unless his brother was either dead or in prison.

Carlos had paid off all the mining safety inspectors to get the White Pine Mine opened again and had received all the necessary permits. While Abe and others on the Bad River reservation had been trying to draw attention to the issue, Carlos had been seducing the media on his own, telling them, “At this strength, sulfuric acid is a very diluted solution. This stuff is safe as lemon juice!” And, as Silas as pointed out to Jolee, his brother could be very persuasive.

But Abe had proof that the stuff was already leaching into the water. And Silas had dropped one of the dead rabbits he’d snared into a vat of the solution, watching the stuff eat away at its flesh, leaving it just a floating skeleton, in the space of a three minutes. The media wasn’t listening, the local mining safety commission wasn’t listening. The only way to get it all to stop was to use the media himself and get the EPA involved.

This spring would mark five years since Isabelle had died. That meant, this year, Carlos could have Silas declared legally dead and inherit all the land. Silas’s plan of self-sacrifice, to martyr himself for the cause, to die like the rabbit in a vat of sulfuric acid on the day of the spring mine opening with cameras rolling, had seemed like a good one back before Jolee had been thrown into the mix.

Before Jolee, life hadn’t been worth living. Silas had sacrificed far greater things than his own life, he realized, standing on his wife’s grave. And it was a good plan. It would work. With Carlos exposed, the media would run with the story, the EPA would get involved. Silas had already provided Abe with enough evidence to give them after Silas’ death to put his brother away for life-including plots of land where the bodies were buried and a long laundry list of detailed, illegal activity.

But for the first time since his wife’s death, Silas had found something-someone-

worth living for.

“Goodbye, Isabelle.” He pulled his mask off and threw it aside, turning and walking into the forest, heading for home.

* * * *

Jolee should have known. Silas would have been on guard the moment he walked into the yard, she realized later as she bounced up and down, once again locked in her husband’s trunk, zip-tied and duct-taped.

Right back where I started. Deja-fucking-vu

But hindsight was 20/20, and she’d been distracted, worried about Silas. Should she have stayed with him? What was he going to do? Would he be okay alone? So she didn’t notice the muddy tracks, men’s shoes, not boots, on the wooden back steps. She hadn’t noticed the tire-tracks either-definitely made by a car, not a truck-running up the rain-softened driveway. She hadn’t even noticed that the back door was open. Because she’d probably left it open, in a hurry to run after Silas, hadn’t she?

But she noticed all of those things on the way out, Carlos dragging her by the hair in a blind rage. She didn’t know how he’d found her and it didn’t matter. Silas was gone and couldn’t protect her, and while she’d fought as hard as she could, even managing to stab her husband in the upper arm with a meat fork-she’d been aiming for his jugular-hard enough to impale it three inches, it had all been in vain. She was still locked in his truck heading toward her death for the second time in a year.

And she still regretted that she’d never really loved a man who truly loved her back.

Carlos had never wanted or cared for her-to him, she’d been a trophy, something to win and display. And Silas? Did he love her? The last time she’d done this, she’d been full of thoughts of escape. This time, the ride was shorter, and she didn’t have as much time to plan, but she thought about Silas almost exclusively.

Would he believe she got lost? Or worse, would he think she left?

Or would he realize what had happened and come for her?

Even as the car bumped down the old familiar two-track and she flashbacked to that day last winter, her pants wet with fear, her heart hammering in her chest just as it was now, she couldn’t help hoping for the latter.

* * * *

Silas should have paid attention to his instincts. Miles from home, he thought he heard someone traveling on the old two-track.

Too wet out there,

he thought.

Gonna get stuck.

The rain had been heavy this spring, making everything soft and muddy. But he’d second-guessed himself as the sound faded.

Besides, he was changed, everything was different, his eyes just adjusting to a new light.

He felt off-balance and was trying to get his bearings. Or perhaps he needed new bearings.

He’d buried Isabelle and now he was going to see Jolee. And he was anxious to be home.

Even if she walked away after she saw his scars, he thought, stepping over a log and running a hand over the rough skin of his cheek-and some part of him was sure she would-he wanted to see her again, to tell her that he loved her, to give her that much, at least.

He saw the tracks in the driveway in the dappled afternoon sunlight as soon he stepped out of the woods, his senses immediately awake, telling himself it was a trick of the light and already knowing it wasn’t. The man’s footprints through the driveway, up the steps and down again-a second set of smaller tracks beside it on the way out-had his hunting knife unsheathed and ready as Silas slipped silently into the house. She wasn’t in there, he was sure of it, but he had to be ready just in case.

Silas’s assessment had been correct. The note on the kitchen table, written in his brother’s handwriting, confirmed that much. It was simple and wouldn’t implicate his brother in anything, of course, but it was clear enough.

Meet me at the White Pine. Bring the deeds.

And Jolee was gone. Her knitting was still on the table, another mask, this one black with a white skeleton face-for Halloween, she’d said with a grin, although he’d watched her making it and realized it would probably be his death shroud instead, because he didn’t plan on being around in October.

Excerpt now he very much wanted to be here, and he wanted Jolee here beside him.

Silas worked quickly, not knowing how much of a head start his brother had. He would take the four-wheeler most of the way and then do the rest on foot, he decided. And he took several things with him-but the one thing he didn’t take was a deed to any of his land.

* * * *

Kicking her way out hadn’t worked this time. Jolee couldn’t get the latch to pop and it did nothing except making Carlos even more pissed when he opened his now very dented trunk to drag her out. By the hair. She swore, if she got out of this, she was going to get it cut off so no one could pull her around by the stuff ever again.

“Fucking bitch! Look what you did to my car!” Carlos threw her to the ground and she sprang up almost instantly-the idiot had forgotten to zip tie her feet together-heading into a full-out run. He swore again and took off after her-he’d always been good about going to the gym and he was fast-catching hold of her hair and yanking her backward. She fell onto her back, hitting her head hard enough on the ground to make her see blackness and bright stars instead of blue sky and sun.