His Hostage

Rowan grows tired of this kind of talk, fast. “It’s everyone’s fight. If you don’t realize that, you’re going to get killed out there. The Hunters broke the sacred pact between the gangs of the four corners. We set these rules in place to keep our lives running smoothly,” he says.

“The way I see it, the rules are outdated,” the man says, brushing his unkempt beard aside. “Every gang for themselves is what I say.”

Iago turns the TV off and jumps up from the couch. “What did you just say?” he asks the man.

The man stands his ground, but in his eyes, he’s reaching. He knows he’s spoken out of turn and needs to rectify the situation. “I just mean, why are we listening to this man? He comes in our compound with his little girlfriend and barkeep, and thinks he can get us to fight his battles? Fuck that, man. I ain’t doing it,” he says.

Iago knocks him in the jaw and jumps on top of him, gripping his vest to bring him in for another hit.

Iago knocks him out, clean.

“That man and barkeep over there started this shit,” he growls at him. “Back before you were even rolling with any crews. Remember where you came from. You were nothing before you joined us. And we were nothing before the High Priests. Now, do you want to keep talking shit or do you want to stand up and get rid of our enemies?”

The man can barely get out a word. He spits out a tooth and nods. “I’m… sorry,” he says. “I want to fight.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, letting go of the man’s vest. Iago turns and faces his crew. “Anybody else got an issue?”

The entire room is silent. “Good. This isn’t a war. It’s a dispute. I want you to get that in all your heads. The Hunters have to go. They don’t have a place in the future of our businesses,” he says.

Rowan nods. “I’m not coming here to tell you what to do,” he says. “I came here because a friend of mine lost his life. We were ambushed by police during a deal. They took it as a personal attack, but we all know the cops kill whoever they want to kill. They’re just another gang for the U.S. Government.”

The room rallies around that sentiment, but Rowan isn’t done talking. “They killed my best guy, Ash. They killed him, and they killed Andy last night. They’ll kill all you too if you don’t fight. That’s all I gotta say.”

I watch as each man in that room stands up and grabs his rifle. They all nod in agreement, grumbling to themselves.

One man says, “Any enemy of the High Priests is my enemy.”

Another says, “I won’t sit by and let the Hunters take control of this land. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll die protecting any one of my brothers of the four corners.”

There’s a new air in the room, and it feels like triumph. Although, I have to wonder, what is the end game of all of this? What’s the real plan?

I grab Rowan and take him outside, while the men start to celebrate in the other room.

“What are we really doing here, Rowan?” I ask him. “Have you given a thought to any real plan?”

He sighs and drinks a beer he grabbed on the way outside. “I’ve got nothing,” he says. “My plan in the beginning was to hide out for as long as I could. Obviously, that plan has to change. We can’t go back from where we came from. I can’t head home to the High Priests either. I think I know that now.”

“So we fight?” I ask him.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Then what the hell do we do? ‘Cause I have to tell you, I don’t want to stay here for the rest of my life, Rowan,” I say, feeling concerned about everything. “I want a future for myself.”

“You mean, you want to go back home to Pennsylvania,” he says, angrily taking another drink. His eyes pierce through mine, and I take a step back.

“I never said that,” I whisper.

But he can read me better than I can read myself. I feel at home now, sure. But how will I feel about living this kind of a life ten years from now? Will I have the heart to stick around?

If I’m being honest with myself, the answer is no.

“It’s in your eyes,” he says. “I see it. You’re homesick. You hate this place. You’ve hated it from the beginning.”

“I haven’t, Rowan,” I say. “I’m not leaving.”

But he’s right. I miss the trees. I miss the green grasses in front of the brick homes. I miss waking up every morning to coffee and the morning paper, and I miss running in the cold weather.

I start to remember everything about Pennsylvania. My cold nose, my comfy home, my stupid, horrible ex-husband…