To Jen

CHPTR 5

I stood there, staring at the soft orange glow amongst the snow, for the moment, I fell into my own thoughts. How could Don have done what he has. We were supposed to be family, Blair was supposed to be family. He hurt us in a moment when we were healing and I knew I was going to make him pay. Through blood and whatever other means necessary. The adrenaline must've been keeping the frost at bay because despite the clearly violent snowstorm that had appeared when we were nearing the lake I felt fine. Sam kicked me out of my thoughts by getting down onto all fours and slowly making steps towards Don, each movement of her feet and hands left a deep cut in the snow covered ice.

I joined her march towards Don. Each step for me made a soft crunch in the snow which was widely different to Sams who sounded like she was trying to gouge a hole into the ice. Pushing hard and scraping her nails into it. I would've kept going slowly if I hadn't heard a cry from Blair.

"DAD, PLEASE.."

She sounded like she had been crying for hours and was whaling without the true idea if I would've heard or not, just a desperate 'SOS' cry more than anything. The idea of that riled a fire in me and despite all Injuries, despite the wierd snowstorm, despite Sam I ran ahead until I could finally make out the shape of a campfire, as soon as I did, I screamed. I screamed so loud I felt like I would've thrown up blood, every sheer ounce of aggression, every grief, the thought that he took away a place so special to us, so special to Jen. I screamed with intent to kill, not hurt, not beat, kill.

"DON, YOU BETTER FUCKING RUN OR YOU'LL WISH THAT THING CAUGHT YOU BEFORE ME"

As I finished the sentence Don came into view, I was seeing too much red to think of the surroundings so I jumped onto him, dropping the things I held without looking for Blair and launched the both of us down onto the snow hitting his head hard against the ice. He had this expression of shock on his face, like he had seen a ghost standing in front of him. Or like he was dreading the idea of something I did. In a pathetic and weak voice he mumbled out.

"No y-you, you don't understand I-I would've helped you after I just. I knew you wouldn't-"

I cut him off with a punch in between his cheek and his nose. Blood painting the snow beside his face leaving him with a mark on his eye and a slight dent in his nose. Not enough. Not nearly enough for what he ruined. What we needed, the comfort Blair could've had, her mother's family, the family we loved, the one he was supposed to love. So I kept punching. Left cheek, right cheek. Black eye and a crooked nose. left cheek, right cheek, then straight down onto him entirely shattering his nose. It looked dislodged, cracked even, It still wasn't nearly enough. Left cheek, Right Cheek, Jaw, Nose, over and over and over before stopping, out of breath. I stared at him for a full minute admiring the battered and bruised appearance I had struck down onto him. As soon as I stopped he titled his head onto his right side and coughed out a pool of blood alongside two teeth which both seemed to still have their roots intact.

I was kicked out of my anger with the sounds of my Daughter sobbing and calling out for her Dad softly. I looked up and saw Blair strung up onto a wooden cross made out of branches all tied together and stuck with some kind of moss. In my blinded rage I entirely forgot to prioritise her. I quickly got up off of Don and untied the ropes binding her to the cross. When I released her left arm I noticed a bandage under her sleeve but I didn't comment on it. She was sobbing profusely and hugged me before I could ask what Don had done. She was so cold. So fragile. I felt terrible about what she had to see. I pushed her out of our hug and got down onto my knees, grabbing her shoulder in turn realising how bloody my hands were from Don's beating.

"What did he do to you, sweetheart."

She tried to stop herself from crying to say something. I wanted to tell her it was okay and to lead her out of that lake but as soon as I was about to speak more I was cut off by the sound of a gun being cocked. I turned to my left to see a broken mess making his final stand. A black eye, blood staining his jacket and trousers and the snow around him, a broken nose with a crooked jaw and topped off with two swollen cheeks. Despite the shaking from either the cold or the pain he was aiming straight at me, I wasn't stupid enough to assume it was a bluff. I put my hands up and carefully looked around the ground for the shotgun but couldn't see it. Don kept one hand holding the rifle at me and used the hand that was supporting it to pop his jaw back into place, a clashing sound of bone to accompany it. He spit out blood before opening his mouth.