Cowering inside the front seat of his icy blue BMW 6-series Gran Coupe, the young ashen-brown haired man behind the wheel noticed he was shaking like that one time he’d drank six shots of imported French espresso in an hour. His frail hands, pale with manicured fingernails, were vibrating something awful as they clutched the leather wheel. He realized it was only the five or so time he’d touched the wheel of his own car—he preferred being chauffeured because the traffic patterns upset him and it allowed him to multitask on his way to wherever he was going. When Charlie, the family butler, wasn’t busy, he was usually happy to escort him, and Aeres found him to be good company. His mother, retired model Emelyn Taylor, though now she was known as Mrs. Skyfell, insisted that he no longer refer to Charlie as a butler because the term was becoming taboo and in poor taste; that was, modern etiquette dictated he be referred to as something gentler like a house keeper. Unfortunately, Charlie did not have free time off duty to drive him to the concert and party he’d received tickets for that evening. In his place was Soren, one of Aeres’ three elder brothers—or rather in his place had been Soren, one of Aeres’ three elder brothers. Soren, he concluded as his pale blue eyes drifted nervously to the passenger seat where a polished Springfield Armory EMP with a bullet missing laid, having been dropped from his own hand just minutes prior. Soren was now outside the car face down in the dirt with a bullet hole in his chest. Soren was—had been a bully like the rest, but still, Aeres never intended to kill him. Being the youngest of four boys was as uncomfortable as it was difficult, especially when they all had knacks for sports and competitions and social work that he did not. Ezra was the eldest, the favorite of his parents, barely bothered to visit home these days because he was too busy micromanaging their father’s land and development in Europe. Griffen, the next eldest, spend his time playing professional lacrosse and was always on the move. Soren, however, was the closest in age to Aeres, and happened to stay at least in the country, volunteering for charities and other disgusting, show-off things he did in between trying to find a job with his accounting degree. How Soren even managed to get a college degree was a mystery to the youngest brother, because he knew all too well that his brother wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed—he was kinder than the others and bullied him the least, handsome and well-dressed like his entire family, but he wasn’t blessed with intelligence and wit. Now he was outside of the car, lying face down in the dirt. Breaths shaking, the well-groomed twenty-one year old blinked at the scene, daring to peer out the window again. There was Soren, right where he left him—right where he’d shot him after he nearly rammed his car into a tree. No, perhaps that wasn’t right; the young man exhaled and tried to think again. Soren had gone quiet, he had let off the peddle and braked, he had complained of sudden illness and pulled over on the road a short ways away from where the party was to be held. He'd said something weird had happened to him earlier but that it would be fine to just see a doctor when they got back--he didn't want to go to some shabby little hospital in the middle of the farmlands. The strange barricades due to the thing going on set up around the city limits had made them late enough to miss the performance, but they agreed to attend to after party anyway—what was that thing going on? He slowly let his hands fall off the wheel and ran them through his ashen brunette hair in attempt to get a literal grip on reality. There was an ugly blood splatter on the designer button-up and custom embroidered velveteen tie that hugged his lean frame, the body that was never quite as muscular as those of his brothers. The gym wasn’t his thing. It smelled like body odor, even the one in his own estate home tucked away from the general population. Soren and him resided with their parents still, though the arrangements were far from crowded. The nine-thousand square foot estate allowed for him to keep an entire floor, the top one, to himself, though it had been awhile since he stayed there for a long period of time. He’d just completed his university degree in history with a specialization in the medieval ages, something his entire family shunned him silently for because it didn’t serve to increase their already full coffers. The other boys had jobs that could roll in the cash, follow in their father’s footsteps and take over land ownership one day to manage all the places they owned and rented, but he was simply interested in knowledge and the past. He spent his time holed up in various places with his skinny, defined nose stuck in books and texts with a tea or coffee cup nearby. Movement caught his eye and yanked him out of his own head, hands grabbing onto the wheel again. For some godforsaken reason, his bother’s body was twitching. After he’d gotten out of the vehicle, Aeres had remained inside with the windows rolled up, waiting as he claimed to need fresh air—the windows had saved him as his brother turned back around and began ramming himself against the car, clawing to get inside, smashing furiously like a mad dog until he caused himself to bleed. In a moment of insanity and fear of his own life when Soren began fumbling around like he might try the door, Aeres had pulled his handgun from the glove box and rolled down the window, shooting him through the chest. Five or ten minutes had passed and he hadn’t even phoned the police. The latest smartphone was in his back pants pocket, buzzing from notifications, but he felt frozen. The window had been rolled back up, but now the body was moving. Maybe he hadn’t killed him—he didn’t know. He’d never shot anyone before. The gun was for his own protection in an emergency, and it had been, as far as he could tell, a severe emergency. Starting the engine, it didn’t take a moment’s longer of hesitation before he pressed on the gas and sped the BMW up ahead, running over the wriggling remains of his brother. He continued on ahead, but stopped again when he saw commotion in front of him. Figures moved in the distance, some of the fast, some slow, and he squinted to make out what was happening. The sudden clarity sent him into a wild reaction of panic and he snatched his cell phone, pressing the power button rapidly five times until it autodialed the police. The audio came on his car speakers through the Bluetooth connection and he mumbled, “Hello,” he began, his throat dry and feeling scratchy, “this is Aeres Skyfell and I’ve just shot my brother, Soren Skyfell.” His voice, although somewhat shaken, was shockingly calm, or at least he felt it was. He couldn’t really tell what was actually happening anymore. “I’m sorry, sir, can you repeat that? Can you repeat your name please?” came a woman’s voice, the reception somewhat poor—that’s what he got for driving out to the middle of nowhere. “Aeres Skyfell. Aeres, with an extra E, like the god but with an E, Skyfell like the sky just fell down.” He’d been saying this all his life. Why had his parents made things so difficult for him? As if their last name wasn’t odd enough, they wanted to make him as weird as possible to all people he met just in case someone thought he might be average. Sometimes he wished his name was just John or Tom or Will. “I shot my brother. Then, actually, I ran him over. He was acting crazy. I think he wanted to kill me.” “You shot your brother? Is he dead?” came the receptionist’s concerned voice in response. She had been trained, clearly, to keep her cool in tight situations, and he almost wanted to praise her. It was nearly like they were having a normal conversation over breakfast between the two of them. “I don’t know,” Aeres replied stalely, his blue eyes wandering to the mirror to check the distance behind him. “I think something’s wrong with him. I just got into Fairburrow. We were headed to the concert venue.” “Can you explain what happened to your brother? Can you explain his behavior before you shot him?” asked the patient woman, but Aeres jolted as an awkwardly stumbling body drifted into sight in front of his vehicle. The woman was bloody but moving, and in his anxious state of mind, he thought no further than to react on his instincts. “No, I can’t, I’ve gotta go, I’m so sorry but I’ve really got to go now,” he muttered, the words rolling out joined together, “goodbye.” He pressed the end call button on his touch screen and drove off. ----- The car was out of control. Johnny motioned for her to stand back, but the gesture would do little good against the careening car. The tires kicked the soft soil and sprayed it the same way a broken faucet leaked water. Sarah shielded her face from the debris with her arms, but her jeans and her light green jacket were both covered with brown dirt. Looking away from Johnny as he vomited in the dirt, she stood anxiously becoming more impatient by the moment as she silently urged him to hurry. As much as she sympathized, it had been the most difficult thing in her life to watch Ethan pull the trigger on her father, they couldn't stop now. Once the man finally started talking sense, Sarah reached out to tug on his arm. “Then lets go,” she pleaded, her tone insistent. The woman turned to head one way, but paused when her lax grip no longer had a hold of Johnny's hand. The man had gone in the opposite direction, advancing towards the careless vehicle rather than away from it to safety. The blinding headlights only allowed her to look for a moment noting the dark shadowed outline emerging before she was forced to look away. White spots lingered in her vision with each blink of darkness. Sarah made the difficult decision not to wait. To that end, she respected Johnny. The man was willing to loiter, risking his life to check on the two individuals not only making sure they were safe, but that they remained that way. She, on the other hand, was not a hero. Self-preservation won. If he said anything more to her, she didn't hear. Sarah had taken off through the fields looking back over her shoulder to see Johnny leaning over the glass window speaking into the car. They saw him, honing in on his location. Another smaller group began to flank him on the side. She wasn't sure if he noticed them, but she knew she couldn't look anymore; she couldn't watch him get torn apart like the other poor souls at the party. Only one thought flashed through her mind and she focused on it as if her life depended on it. Get to the Parsons'. There was no logical reason why she thought it would be safe there. Sitting on five acres of land, the Parsons' small orchard had evolved over the years into the Vineyard—the only other notable thing about Fairburrow other than being Johnny's hometown. Out of habit, Sarah continued to call it the orchard as did most everyone else from town. She knew she was getting close when she climbed over the fence coming face to face with rows of golden spice pear trees emptied from a recent harvest little less than a month ago. Their pear cider with a dash of cinnamon was the best cider she'd ever had. Beyond that were hundreds of grape vines. Wine was where the Parsons' made their money, but Sarah couldn't attest to the taste of it like she could for the pears. It seemed Sarah wasn't the only one seeking shelter at the orchard. Cars were lined up and angry people waited, shouting outside. Squeezing through the crowd, she could see Mr. Parsons standing in front of the door to their home in his sweater-vest. “We have no more rooms,” he drawled. The man adjusted the thick black-rimmed glasses on his face. Unfazed by the hostile cries of outrage, he maintained a stoic demeanor. The epitome of calm under pressure, he remained passive and almost bored. “You'll have to try the motel back in town.” Most of these people were strangers, Sarah realized. Only when she overheard someone speak did she discover they were all refugees from the city, fleeing when they had the chance and coming to seek shelter in their small haven. Squeezing her way through trying to make it to the front, she heard her name being called. “Sarah? Sarah Hanson, you get over here.” Turning, she found Mrs. Parsons scurrying from the side of the house towards the main building. It'd been years since she'd seen the Parsons. Not since junior year of high-school when her relationship with their son, Wes, effectively ended. The woman's brunette hair now possessed silver streaks from age. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were more prominent and her figure more plump than she remembered. Her white apron had cherry stains splattered on it and in her hands was a bucket filled with dark red liquid. Noticing the way Sarah's eyes fixated on it, she tried to move it from her sight. “So many people were injured up at that Johnny Blackburn's party. The hospital is overflowing. You can't even get to the ones in the city what with the checkpoints and all. Wyatt brought a couple of them back here.” Wyatt was Wes' brother. “C'mere, my dear,” she cooed, taking her into a one armed hug which Sarah awkwardly returned. “You've been though so much.” The heat from the headlights radiated on her and Sarah could feel drops of sweat forming along her back. Once Mrs. Parsons released her from the hug, she shook the jacket from off her shoulders and tied it securely around her waist. The fitted white t-shirt beneath it was damp from running through the fields with dirt stains caked on it. “You're a mess. Come inside and we'll get you cleaned up.” “But I thought the place was full, Mrs. Parsons.” The woman waved off her concern. “How long have I been asking you to call me Julia?” she asked with a small smile. “It is. To the brim. We've even taken on more than the fire marshal would allow.” A look was exchanged between them translating to I won't tell if you won't. Sarah's body was still shaking from the party. Her eyes looked over her shoulder through the vineyards for signs of an enemy approaching. Off in the distance she could hear the faint sounds of terrified screams piercing the silence and she hoped none of them belonged to Johnny or the people he had stopped to help. But she needed to focus on herself, her own safety, and her own sanity at the moment. Giving one final announcement to the crowd, the Parsons and Sarah retreated into the house. The sounds of the shouting crowd were drowned out through the brick and mortar until, with no one left to engage them, they finally dispersed.