Thomas Hewitt: End Of The Line

Lady Mae

Upstairs, Luda Mae Hewitt stood in the kitchen, lost in thought. Her eyes were focused on the dirty window as her hands stilled in the sink underneath it. It had been a long while since housework had been able to keep her distracted enough to silence her worried mind, but this was different. The air around her seemed dense, threatening. It made it nearly impossible to remain comfortable in her own skin as the nagging sensation of trepidation poked and prodded at her. She had heard Hoyt's declaration loud and clear and though his voice had long since faded, his words remained in the house like that of a foreboding storm cloud hanging over her. The threat was there, rumbling out a warning overhead, one that was plain as a pikestaff. The distance that had once stood between her family and retribution had ceased to exist. A hard rain was inevitable, Luda could feel it in her frail bones and she had to take action. Without shelter, what chance did they have? She was the only one who could provide them a safe haven, at least for the heaviest part of the storm. Though there was no physical wind, the walls of the house wailed and whined from the pressure of an unseen force. It's howl was a call to arms directed right at her.

She could feel Hoyt's presence behind her, sitting with his legs spread and hands gripping the arms of the chair he was leaned back in. He was listening. She seldom saw him move from that spot in the last few days. He'd placed it far enough from the hole in the floor so he could remain hidden from them while he waited for his proverbial green light. Luda had barely spoken with him since her confession, aside from the inevitable exchange of words that pertained to household business. No part of her wanted to turn and face him again. Hoyt had never been kind, but that look in his eyes that she'd caught glimpses of in recent days was lethal. There was something in him that had latched onto the darkest parts of Hoyt and whatever it was had dragged them to the surface to overtake him. It had rendered him inhuman. He was a vulture, driven by hunger and a slave to his animal instinct. He clung to the scent of the weak and feeble, watching and waiting from his post with a wicked gleam in his blackened eyes. He was itching to descend upon them, twitching with piqued ears for any indication that his dinner bell had rung. Just like a vulture, a death rattle was the only thing that would move him. The promise of an easy catch.

Luda reached forward and unlatched the window with her brow furrowed in mock confusion. She raised it up, leaned over the sink and stuck her head out of it, which caught Monty's attention from the kitchen table.

"The hell you doin', woman?" He questioned as he set the paper he'd been so focused on down.

"Shush," Luda said quickly as she feigned interest in a nonexistent sound, "I heard somethin'."

Hoyt's head turned, she knew it had, "Heard what?" He said from his chair.

"Sounded like metal on metal," she said quietly as she waited to hear it again, or make it appear as though she was, "a crash."

Monty pushed himself back and wheeled over to her as he craned his head up, "I didn't hear nothin' and you're deafer than I am."

"I heard it, Monty," Luda insisted before she withdrew from the window, "but I guess it don't matter anyhow if we ain't got Tommy to cut 'em up."

Hoyt scoffed, "He ain't never been the breadwinner, you know that damn well."

Monty scratched his chin as he squinted at the window, "You really think you heard a wreck?"

Luda stopped herself from glancing at Hoyt. She knew she'd gotten to him with her strategically placed comment regarding Thomas, but he needed another push, just one. Thankfully, Monty was dumb enough to aid her in it.

She shrugged, "Thought I did. Mighta been wishful thinkin'."

"It has been awhile since we had anythin' substantial to eat, 'specially since you been givin' whatever you can find to those two," Monty said as he continued to itch at his grayed stubble, "might be worth seein' if you were right."