Book Five, Chapters 13: The Patchers

Morning came, a relief to all of us. We didn’t get time to sleep. We had a plan to enact.

“Alright, folks,” Antoine said as we stood in the town hall, “I’m just gonna cut straight to the point. We got a killer on the loose, and he’s coming after Patchers.”

Whispers went through the crowd. We had invited about thirty of the Patchers along with as many non-Patchers as we could find. Being alone in a room with a bunch of Patchers didn’t seem wise.

“If he’s coming after us, then it’s our business, not yours,” Merle Patcher said. It was clear that he was seen as a sort of leader among the family.

We tried to invite all the Patchers that we had met, including Corduroy Patcher, who owned the general store. We needed to keep him involved because we planned on robbing him blind, and that would be easier to do if… something were to happen to him.

“Why can’t you tell us more than this?” one of the Patchers screamed. “I’m a mother with children at home, and if I’m going to pull them out of school, I need to know why you think he is after us.”

They really wanted to know how we knew they were the target, even more than they wanted to know why they were the target.

Others called out in agreement.

“Listen,” Antoine said, “I understand your frustration, I really do, but this guy has taken out three of your kin, and one more looks like he’s on the way out at the clinic. We need to coordinate efforts to help keep you all safe.”

“We don’t need your help to coordinate efforts,” Merle said again. The ten years since we had last seen him had not diminished the man; he was a thunderstorm in human form. In fact, he was so notable in the presence of the other Patchers that I started to believe we had messed up by not getting to know him better in the Party Phase.

He seemed to be a key player.

“We cannot just sit around while more innocent people are slaughtered,” Antoine said.

“Nobody ever said nothing about just sitting around,” another Patcher said.

“I don’t understand,” one of the citizens who we knew for sure was not related to the Patchers said. “How do we know that this person is only attacking people of the Patcher bloodline? Why would they do that?”

The Patchers got real quiet.

“We’re not making any inferences about that at this juncture,” Antoine said. “If any of the Patchers have any idea why your family might be targeted, you can contact my office anonymously and feel free to let us in on that.”

“None of us are going to tell you anything in secret,” Merle said, taking offense at the very notion. “We are a family. Family is where we find our purpose. We don’t need your help.”

The other Patchers agreed vehemently. The man that I assumed was Merle’s son, Joshua, said, “We have our own ways of solving problems around here.”

Perhaps that was a bit too far; Merle looked at him with a scolding expression.

“The fact is,” Merle said, “we just are not impressed with the current leadership of the Sheriff’s Department. I have no reason to believe that you would be able to protect us, so we are going to protect ourselves.”

The meeting went on like that for another hour, with different Patchers throwing out one-liners for Carousel to pick through. We had been up all night, ensuring that no one came and stole Tamara Cano’s body. We needed to make sure that it got back to a medical examiner who wasn’t a Patcher, married to a Patcher, or the secret love child of a Patcher.

We weren’t sure if this was the right course of action, but we did know that the Patchers were all involved.

The best thing we could do was get them On-Screen and talking about it. We even managed to hide our cameraman in the room, his camera concealed under a pile of old sheets and rugs.

We were getting nearer and nearer to Second Blood, and we weren’t sure which direction the plot would take. There were so many potential Patchers to be killed; how were we supposed to know which ones were next?

Just as the conversation started to wind down, the final Patcher showed up and made a loud entrance as he ran into the room, nursing a wound on his hand and hollering to the heavens.

He was a Patcher by marriage; his name was Jeffrey Fields, the representative of Eastern Carousel. The years had not been so kind to him.

“He got Della,” was all Jeffrey could say. “He got Della. I tried to stop him, but he shot me here in the hand.”

Rustle shot him?

Antoine quickly rushed to the man and looked at his wound. He looked over at us and then back at the wound.

“He shot you, huh?” Antoine asked, holding up the wound. It was a bleeder, alright, a small bullet hole on the skin between the thumb and pointer finger. It was apparent upon close inspection that the gunpowder residue, which was always visible in movies, was on the inside of his palm.

“What are you trying to say?” Jeffrey said.

“Our suspect doesn’t use firearms,” Antoine said. “He uses a blade.”

Jeffrey went white.

“You let that man take my sister!” Merle screamed from across the room. He rushed toward Jeffrey and took his own look at the man’s wound.

“I should have never let you marry her. I knew you couldn’t protect her. Tell me that wound doesn’t look like it came from that little girl gun that you got,” Merle said.

“Merle, I swear,” Jeffrey said. “I did everything I could. I just didn’t want you to think…”

“How many times do I gotta tell you, boy? You can’t hide anything from family,” Merle said in a hushed and frankly terrifying voice.

“We gotta find her,” Merle said. “Everybody, go pray. We need to finish this.”

Off-screen.

Go pray?

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The Patchers poured out of the town hall and found their way to the gas station and the general store. I stood and watched outside, having no clue what was going on.

“She’s at Hidden Gorge!” one of them screamed. “She’s on her way to Hidden Gorge.”

None of this happened On-Screen, but it did happen in front of us, which meant we were supposed to see it.

NPCs would often guide us toward the next scene, and it was clear the next scene was back at Hidden Gorge, where we had found Tamara’s body. It wasn’t unusual to get directions like that, but the manner in which we had gotten them was confusing.

We all piled into Antoine’s police cruiser.

On-Screen.

We had played this game for a while now, and I knew exactly what we needed.

“You interrupted him when he was searching at Hidden Gorge,” I said. “Maybe that’s where he went. He might think her body is still there.”

Antoine nodded.

“That’s the best clue we have,” Antoine said as he put the car in gear.

Off-screen.

The needle on the plot cycle was on the precipice of Second Blood. Whatever was about to happen, it was about to happen soon.

For the second time, we arrived at Hidden Gorge before anyone who left before us did, despite all logic.

On-Screen.

Others were there already. Benny, his captive Della, and his mother Rose were a little way down the trail in a field next to the gorge.

Rustle must have already found that Tamara’s body was gone. He had brought Della here to see it, I had to infer.

“Rustle,” Rose cried out, “what have you done? It’s not too late, baby; just don’t do this.”

Rustle stood at the edge of the gorge. This wasn’t anywhere near the swimming area; if they fell from there, they would not survive.

“Rustle, baby, I know you’re angry, but revenge is not the answer. This is not what your father would have wanted.”

Benny held his sickle against Della’s neck. It was clear he was deeply troubled by his own actions.

“Why does he have her?” Kimberly asked.