Jax came so close to shooting Micah out there on that hill. His finger was taut on the trigger when it occurred to him that blowing a hole through Micah’s chest would be a gift, that it would serve him in the same way the woods had been a relief for Jax. Alone and unseen. Ignored. Jax fooled himself into thinking it was some kind of penance, when really it was an escape. When people stop looking at you, do you really exist? Fading away was the only way he knew to survive.

Stupid fucking Micah. Jax will never forgive him for what he did. To Bobby, to Jax and Paul. He can hear Paul crying in the next cell for his beloved Katherine. For Charlotte and their unborn child. The cruelest punishments don’t always come behind bars.

But Jax is still guilty. He still has to pay.

Maybe that’s what his sister, Pammy, means when she says everybody has their own cross to bear, a heavy burden that burns like a thorn in their flesh. Pammy’s thorn chased her to the church, Jax’s into the woods, his solitude a salvation and a damnation at the same time. In the quiet of the forest, Bobby only grew larger, louder in his mind. His laughter echoing in the trees, his shadow lurking behind every log. Every time Jax closes his eyes, it’s Bobby’s face he sees, floating behind the bubbles of his final scream. The desperation, the pleading, the terror when Jax went for Paul instead. The images will stay with Jax for the rest of his miserable life.

There’s a rattling at the door, a chinking of keys against the metal bars. Sam, coming for a statement.

Sacrifice.

Penance.

Atonement.

Justice.

In the end, we all reap what we sow.

38

Two days later, on a crisp Monday afternoon, Diana summons me to her house, a sprawling cottage of stone and shingle on the outskirts of town. She doesn’t tell me what for, or ask if I’ve been to see her son, languishing in the jail cell next to Jax’s. “I’ll explain once you get here” was all she would say, so here I am—too curious for my own good.

The door pops open, and I look back at Chet, watching with one hand draped over the steering wheel of the still-running Jeep, his fingers tapping against the dash. Chet thinks I should wash my hands of the Kellers, let them sort out their own drama.

But like I told him before he dropped me off, I’m not here for Diana or for Paul. I’m not even here for myself.

I’m here for another Keller, the one it is my duty to protect.