BURDEN OF AN ANCIENT OATH by Joshua Brown (early reader books TXT) 📕

“Right, yes,” I said, driving a few houses up the road before pulling up to the sidewalk. Through the rearview mirror, I kept a constant focus on Oscar’s home.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay in there?” Gwen reached out and took my hand, clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. The thought of the threat on Anastasia Becket’s life hit me again and made me furious.

“If you’re not ready…”

“No, I’m ready. Let’s go,” I said. “Gwen, I want you to stay behind me, okay? We don’t know what’s going to happen in there, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I was the reason you got hurt.”

“Okay, Jack, I’ll stay behind you.”

“Then let’s get in there and end this thing,” I said, pulling myself out of the car. Gwen followed close behind as we approached Oscar’s home.

Chapter 15

Jack

Oscar Carlisle scattered around the house, from one end to another, without much purpose. Taking a moment to observe him from outside, we looked through the window with no curtains. There were no furnishings in his home, not that I could see anyway, with papers pinned to the wall.

Oscar was a short man, round like his mother, with a fading hairline. The patchy beard on his face felt fitting to his character. The black gown around his body was full of holes from cigarettes that he seemingly sucked back on one after the other.

Oscar was a mess, and maybe some time behind bars would sort him out, I considered.

He mumbled to himself, often shouting obscenities before maniacally laughing, then continuing on with whatever he was doing. I couldn’t help but think he was writing more devilish letters for Jane, Spencer, or someone in my crew.

After our brief stop outside, watching him from the fence line, Gwen and I approached the front door.

“You think he’s going to give us any problems?” she whispered into my ear.

“I don’t,” I replied. “I think he’ll drop like a kitten the second we bust down the door.”

Purely by the look of him, I saw a weak man. His enormous size had no strength behind it.

On the ride to his house, I had the delusion that it would end there that night. That we’d bust down the door and bring Oscar to prison, he’d confess to everything, and this case would be over. But looking at him, the waste of space that occupied this dead street, I knew this was only the first stepping stone to ending this thing.

We walked slow and steady up the staircase, weapons drawn. I clutched my revolver in one hand, looking over to Gwen, who inspected her Colt M1911. When her check was done, making sure the safety was off, I pressed a shoulder against the wall beside the door.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked, following instructions to stay behind me.

“I guess we go in weapons drawn and get him in restraints as quickly as possible. Once he’s down, clear the rest of the house and make sure that he doesn’t have anyone else waiting to help. Don’t open fire unless absolutely necessary,” I replied.

“The textbook approach then?” Gwen winked. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

I ignored the comment, staying as focused as possible. With a single deep breath, I pushed off the wall, bringing a boot to the handle. The door swung open without much give.

Keeping my gun in the air, focused on the entry door into the living room, Oscar’s last known location, I shouted.

“Oscar Carlisle, you are under arrest under suspicion to harm Jane Dench and Spencer Williamson. Come out with your hands up.”

I heard a heavy thud in the room over and approached with Gwen close behind. The first words I heard Oscar Carlisle say were, “I didn’t do nothing.”

Clearing left, then right, I fixed my gun on Oscar. Gwen did the same, clearing any corners I could’ve missed. Oscar remained on his knees, eyes wide, shaking his head.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he said again, shaking his head.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he repeated once more and then over again in fast, short bursts.

Gwen kept her gun fixed on Oscar while I neared, tucking my revolver back into the holster and drawing cuffs instead. They barely clicked over the second notch on his large wrists.

“Oscar, is there anyone else in the house?” I asked.

He shook his head, never breaking the phrase I didn’t do nothing.

As expected, Oscar’s home had nothing in it. The living room was empty, barring a chair and a table, with the papers hanging from the wall. A small TV stood in one corner but received no station feedback, instead, running with a low hum and static display.

The papers hanging from the wall were previous drafts of letters that never got sent—many of them with red underlining in pencils, where mistakes in grammar or spelling stood. Most, but not all, were written in the same calligraphy that everyone involved in the case had seen up until now.

As instructed, once we detained Oscar, Gwen and I made our way through the house, clearing room by room. It was a terrible, two-bedroom house, and much like the living room, no other rooms were furnished. The bedroom, the only other with anything in it, had a pile of dirty clothes and a mattress without a base.

In the bedroom, there was a laptop that we collected for evidence to perhaps stand a chance to furthering this case. Now that I saw him in person, I knew that Oscar Carlisle wasn’t our man. He was just a poor fool, maybe down on his luck, trying to do something he believed in.

And if he was the mastermind behind it all, he sure as hell fooled