The Chosen

  The Chosen

  J.S Donovan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  2. The Sound That Shook Jasper

  3. Lone Rider

  4. Shattered Lives

  5. The Wall

  6. Dejected

  7. Freedom

  8. Generational Curses

  9. Canary’s Grave

  10. Hostile

  11. Tunnel Vision

  12. The Murder

  13. The Tree

  14. Buried Deep

  15. Decay

  16. Dead of Winter

  17. Golden Dawn

  18. The Man in the Snow

  19. Submerged

  20. The Send

  21. Revival

  22. Three Targets

  23. Terrified

  24. The Calling

  25. Blizzard

  1

  2

  The Sound That Shook Jasper

  Thin as a razor’s edge, the sun peeked over the horizon.

  Wearing a slightly wrinkled waitress outfit, Mary-Beth arrived at Sunshine’s Diner. A cheap hair tie held her greying blonde hair in a loose ponytail. Her homely look and lopsided smile could brighten any stranger’s day.

  She entered the diner and cheerfully greeted Lamar, the chef. “Good morning.”

  Through the kitchen window, Lamar, a giant of a man with broad shoulders and a bald head, grinned widely. “That it is, Miss Mary-Beth.”

  Humming, she scribbled her John Hancock on the time card.

  A logical-minded person would say there was no cause for her joy. Paid in nickels and dimes, Mary-Beth lived alone in a small trailer. She had no car, no savings, and her shifts lasted long hours. Nevertheless, the simple life satisfied her. Some people needed extravagant riches or a huge life mission. Not Mary-Beth. For the last twenty years, she’d been in the business of serving up biscuits and good cheer.

  A little gold bell jingled as the front door opened.

  James John and his seven-year-old boy entered.

  “Dad-gonnit, you are growing up on me!” Mary-Beth said, just to watch the boy smile. “What grade are you in now?”

  “First, Miss Mary-Beth,” the boy replied.

  “I won’t be surprised if you’re grey like your old man the next time I see you,” Mary-Beth teased.

  The boy made a disgusted expression toward his father’s bushy grey beard.

  The joke snapped James out of his tired gaze. He ordered the usual: smoked sausage and biscuits baptized in white gravy.

  More locals arrived. If Mary-Beth didn’t know their names, she knew their faces. As she brought out steaming plates, she overheard the Holand boy talking about breaking a new horse. The elderly Smith couple claimed their usual booth and ate in silence. Seated at the counter and smelling of cigarettes, two unfamiliar truckers hunched over their grits. Mary-Beth had seen them before, probably six years ago. Jasper was like that. Located in the midwestern part of Oklahoma, truckers came and went like Wall Street bankers through a revolving door. Some may take a decade or two, but they eventually found their way back to the small town.

  The sound of forks scraping plates and low murmurs filled the small diner. Mary-Beth spied on the gas pumps. Like clockwork, Jesse Tucker pulled up in his Toyota truck.

  After topping off the tank, the cowboy parked and entered. Wearing all black like Johnny Cash, he had a square head and a big cowboy hat. He took a seat at the counter.

  Mary-Beth put a hand on her hip. “Well?”

  Jesse let out an exaggerated grunt and pulled out the baby picture. He was a fat baby, akin to a Butterball turkey.

  A wry grin grew on Mary-Beth’s face. She snatched the photo out of his hand. “I think that’ll look mighty nice on my fridge. What do you think, Lamar?”

  A deep voice responded from inside the kitchen. “That it would, Miss Mary-Beth,”

  “Woman, you never said nothing about keeping it!” Jesse joshed. “You know what my old lady will think if that goes missing?”

  Mary-Beth slipped the picture into her apron pocket. “A bet is a bet, Jesse. Sandra will just have to deal with it.”

  Jesse conceded and asked for a cup of joe.

  Mary-Beth topped off a mug, unable to contain her smile. Jesse was ten years her senior, but a good friend. She didn’t know one person who hated him. One year, when the town was losing money, he sold his family home and gave half of the earnings to the mayor. He used the rest to buy a small house on the prairie lands and paid some of the local high school troublemakers to help fix it up as a form of rehabilitation. If Mary-Beth were to ever marry again, it would be to someone like Jesse. Maybe after his wife passes on…

  Mary-Beth stopped pouring, shocked that she’d let a thought like that pass through her mind.

  She placed the hot mug down in front of Jesse. He pinched a few sugar cubes from a ceramic crucible and dropped them in the coffee.

  Mary-Beth gave him a convicting look.

  Jesse paused briefly. “I ain’t got but a few teeth left. Might as well enjoy myself.” He flashed his gummy mouth.

  “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard,” Mary-Beth replied.

  Jesse locked eyes with her and took a big, long sip.

  Mary-Beth rolled her eyes.

  Jesse spat the black coffee back into the mug. His eyes watered. “Hot.”

  “Serves you right,” Mary-Beth replied.

  The two of them shared a friendly smile.

  The gold bell jingled again.

  Jesse and Mary-Beth glanced at the front door. It slammed shut behind forty-four-year-old Ben Clawford. He wore a wrinkled shirt with dark sweat stains, scuffed jeans, and old boots. His thin brown hair was uncombed. He had a glassy-eyed gaze like a traumatized soldier.

  Jesse swiveled on his stool. “Ben! C’mon over here, boy. Coffee’s too hot, but the company’s good.”

  Ben was as stiff as a board. His sun-tanned skin looked abnormally pale.

  He was one of the few people to match Jesse’s chivalry. He was always good to help out when a tractor broke down or to lend a hand in a time of trouble. He volunteered at the soup kitchen every Thursday night and never badmouthed anyone. Years ago, he even saved the Holburg girl from being kidnapped. The stoic man had a big heart.

  The patrons glanced over at Ben, unsure why he hadn’t moved from the entrance.

  Mary-Beth sensed something strange. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Ben, darlin.’ You okay?”

  Ben reached behind him and drew out a massive chrome revolver from the back lip of his jeans.

  Gasps interrupted every conversation.

  Ben held the gun at his side. He mumbled to himself and stared aimlessly at the floor.

  Mary-Beth shot Jesse a tense look.

  He gave her a nervous shrug before addressing Ben. He smiled awkwardly. “Hey, buddy, maybe you should put that thing away before someone gets hurt. You nearly gave us all a heart attack.”

  Ben slowly turned to his bloodshot eyes to Jesse and lifted the revolver. He trained the sights on him. “I’m sorry,” Ben said with a slow, miserable drawl.

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  Jesse, turning his friendly demeanor to stern anger, slipped one cheek off the stool. “That’s enough, Ben. You need to --”

  The gun thundered.

  Jesse collapsed.

  Mary-Beth’s ears rang. She watched Jesse’s head leak across the checkered floor.

  Petrified in fear, she glazed at the other frozen patrons.

  The truckers had scrambled out of their seats. One held his hat close to his chest in awe of the dead man. The other couldn’t hold his jaw shut.

  The elderly couple dared not breathe.

  The youthful Holand boys eye
d their knives but stayed seated.

  Lamar was silent in the kitchen.

  Tucked in a booth, James held his son close to his chest.

  Ben aimed at the next target. “I’m sorry.”

  3

  Lone Rider

  The low rumble of an engine echoed across the endless yellow plains. Burnt orange and rusted around its wheel wells, the 1970 Dodge Challenger raced down the lonely road. Dust clouds billowed out from its back tires. The dry Oklahoma air rushed into the hood scoops and across the bulky frame.

  Thirty-two-year-old Clarice Holburg kept one hand on the rippled steering wheel. Her other arm rested on the rolled-down window. She wore aviator sunglasses, a blue-and-white plaid shirt rolled up at the elbows, Levi’s jeans, and women’s cowboy boots. Her long platinum hair blew in the wind. Tan from a history outdoors, she had a rugged beauty birthed out of heartache and hardship.

  Six years ago, Clarice had left Jasper in the dust. She never said goodbye and cut off all means of communication. Now, she was running back.

  The town of twenty-seven-hundred locals was a bridge between dense woods and rolling prairies. A blip on the Oklahoma map, Jasper was a junction point between wild and tame, and was seemingly isolated from the rest of the world.

  Vaguely remembering the various crisscrossing roads around town, Clarice stuck to the “local highway,” a series of single-lane roads that were poorly marked and relatively unmonitored by cops. Cutting into the wooded area, Clarice floored the gas pedal. The engine roared. The world blurred outside the car windows, turning trees and plants into multi-colored brushstrokes. Clarice tightened her grip. The speed consumed her every thought. For a moment, the car was her heartbeat.

  She raced past a few tree-enclosed ranches. Up ahead, acres of rolling farmland grabbed her amber eyes. A portal made of skinned timber logs marked the ranch’s entrance. A piece of driftwood was nailed to the horizontal bar at the threshold’s top. It was engraved with the words, Holburg Family Ranch.

  Slowing down, she followed the snaking driveway and rolled to a stop outside the large house. After a moment of hesitation, she grabbed the heavy nylon duffel bag from the passenger seat and stepped out. Boxing her shoulders, she walked to the house’s front door and knocked.

  She scanned the breathtaking property and grand horse stable, familiarizing herself with her childhood home.

  A lock clicked.

  The knob twisted.

  A man opened the door.

  In his sixties, he was an old cowboy who took the leisure lane through life. He had snowy white hair and a handsome, clean-shaven jaw. Square glasses with magnifiers rested on his big nose. Though an avid preacher of hard work, Davis Holburg avoided confrontation like the plague. Wrinkles rippled up his forehead as he looked down at Clarice.

  She mustered a weak smile. “Hey, Dad.”

  The man wrapped his bear-like arms around her and pulled her close to his soft features. Over the years, meat had covered his lean muscles. “Oh, baby girl.”

  Clarice hugged him back tightly. “I missed you.”

  “We missed you.” Davis Holburg released Clarice and noticed her dyed hair. “Gosh, you look different. Where have you been? How have you been?”

  “How about I get settled before we play twenty questions?” Clarice deflected.

  “You’re--” Surprise raised his brows. He glanced at the clunky muscle car and Clarice’s nylon duffel bag. His expression softened. “Right. Come in.”

  He moved aside, letting Clarice step inside. Nice hardwood floors captured the ceiling light. Decorative farm equipment, paintings of horses, and expensive family portraits hung on the walls. The house’s familiar soft, earthy scent engaged her senses. A hundred childhood memories came alive and seemingly played out in front of her. The verbal sparring matches with her mother, the times she wrestled with her brothers, the way they laughed at dumb jokes and cried when they lost a horse, and the various exchange students that introduced Clarice to a world outside Jasper.

  She noticed her mother enter into the back of the room. Short hair hovered over her bony collarbones. Hannah Holburg was a skinny woman, but her age and small frame couldn’t keep her from riding. She owned a ruddy Quarter Horse. It was quick on its feet but had a short fuse.

  Davis turned to her, as giddy as a kid on Christmas. “Hannah, we have a visitor.”

  Hannah gave Clarice a deadpan stare.

  “Hi Mom,” Clarice said, feeling the tension in the air.

  Davis said. “Hannah, get the stove going. I’ll invite the boys over, and we’ll have a good meal tonight.”

  Hannah silently left the room.

  Clarice pursed her lips.

  “Don’t mind her,” Davis whispered. “You caught her off-guard. She’ll warm up.”

  Clarice nodded, knowing that wasn’t even close to the truth.

  She headed down the hall and entered her bedroom. Old posters and strung-up Christmas lights decorated the walls. Clarice grinned slightly and let the duffel bag slip from her shoulder. It plopped down at the center of the room. She walked over to the bookshelf, brushing her finger across the dusty spines of the books she used to devour. Books on metaphysics, religions, and other resources regarding spirituality packed the selves. Most of the material was hogwash, but that was back in the time when Clarice was looking for answers. She still was, but now to a different question.

  She went back to the main part of the house, overhearing her father on the phone. “…I know it’s short notice, but this is family…”

  Her mother was pulling out pots and pans in the kitchen.

  Clarice sheepishly approached her.

  “Hey,” Clarice said softly.

  Hunched over at the lower cabinet, Hannah glanced back and brushed a bang away from her face. “Yeah?”

  Clarice wanted to apologize, but the words were locked up in her mouth. She opted for something simpler. “Can I help?”

  Hannah straightened up. “Will you leave halfway through?”

  The comment was a verbal jab to Clarice’s gut. Lips pursed, she shook her head no.

  Hannah scrutinized her before extending a handbreadth of trust. “Get the potatoes from the basket over there.”

  Clarice did as she was told. She skinned, diced, and mashed the potatoes while Hannah seasoned the pork chops. Her parents always bought more than they needed. They never knew when guests would show up or how many. Their large quantities of food was also a point of pride. The Holburgs were one of the wealthiest families in Jasper, so they had to extend their hospitality. Generosity was part of their brand.

  Their property swept over dozens of acres. Over the last century and a half, the family had sold off many chunks of land and invested the money into horses. Collectors would come from every corner of the Midwest to purchase a rare breed or try out the Holburg stock. The key to their success was keeping horses strong, happy, and healthy. You couldn’t do that properly unless you loved the animal.

  Putting dinner together, Clarice and Hannah didn’t talk much. It seemed like every moment Clarice was going to speak, Hannah pointed her to a new task.

  Two hours later, the family arrived. Clarice had two older brothers, Luis and Peter.

  Luis, the firstborn, brought his wife Katie and their twin eleven-year-old sons, Jack and Bowers. The moment the kids stepped foot in the house, they started running and shooting each other with fake guns.

  Luis shared similarities with their father. He had a cowboy look to him and a strong jaw. The difference was his naturally stoic demeanor and slow drawl.

  Peter, the middle child, was tall and lean. He had devilishly handsome features and proudly held the reputation of a troublemaker since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.

  After greeting Clarice with hugs, handshakes, and a million questions she expertly redirected back to them, they all sat around the family dinner table and dug in. Seeing that they weren’t getting any answers from Clarice, they decided to tell Clarice about their lives.
>
  Luis had purchased his own ranch and was currently building up a nice selection of cattle. His twin boys were four the last time Clarice saw them. Unlike their father, they were rowdy and talkative. The moment they were allowed to be excused from the table, they scrambled down the hall to play the newest shoot 'em up video game in the basement theater.

  Luis’s wife, Katie, was a sweet, conservatively-dressed woman with a shy smile. She seemed intimidated by the changes Clarice had undergone since the last time they’d seen each other but tried her best to engage in a healthy conversation. Peter cut her off frequently to tell Clarice about the fish he caught last week and the shenanigans he’d been a part of at the local bar. Father was none-to-impressed that his thirty-five-year-old son was still wrapped up with the same crowd he’d rolled with since high school. None of Peter’s friends had matured past the party-all-night phase. As for Hannah, she was bitter from Clarice’s unexpected arrival. To be honest, Clarice thought that she’d have a few days of quiet before their first family dinner. As per usual, Davis had other plans.

  After dinner, Clarice volunteered to clean up. Hannah insisted that Katie help instead. Being the humble woman she was, Katie did so without complaint. Davis asked Luis about when he’d want to move his cattle back over to the family farm. Luis protested, saying that he was perfectly capable of taking care of his livestock without his father’s guidance.

  Davis replied, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  To avoid any more needless family drama, Clarice headed outside and rested her folded arms on the balcony railing. Tall floodlights illuminated the stables and small horse track. They didn’t do much racing, but it was a good place to practice riding. Hannah taught private lessons three days a week. Davis took care of the business side of things.