Sienna woke up to a click. She'd fought and struggled and twisted and pulled against the restraints, wearing herself out. Jane had been of no help. Called over, her little fingers had explored the locks at her mother's direction and found no weakness. She couldn't even get the door open.
She looked down at the open metal binders wonderingly. They must have a computer in them? A timer? An antenna to receive a signal?
It didn't matter.
Jane had cried herself to sleep in the bathroom, and Sienna picked her up, holding her protectively. "C'mon, we're gonna go home."
Home. The word didn't have much meaning now. Couldn't stay with Jessie anymore, not after this. The woman was crazy.
The bedroom door didn't open. Forcing it, shaking it, twisting the knob, it refused to budge. Sienna almost swore, but remembered she shouldn't. Not around Jane.
Nothing in the bedroom looked substantial enough to batter the door down. The bathroom yielded only the toilet tank lid. "Stay here," she told her daughter. "I'll be right back."
The thin, hollow-core door splintered under assault from the heavy porcelain, and her body ached after battering enough of a hole in the top half of the door to reach down and push the chair out from under the knob. She dropped the lid on the bed and pushed the door open, feeling foolish at her stealthy movements. Anyone in the house would've heard the destruction.
Sienna held her breath when she reached the bottom step, and she peered around the lower level suspiciously. Was Morgan here? Jessie, waiting to attack her again?
It was night, snow falling across moonlit farm fields, and if it weren't for the pain and worry she felt, she would've found the scene through the patio door beautiful. Instead, she was apprehensive. No way to leave, no way to communicate, no way to know what was coming.
A metal cylinder on the kitchen counter caught her eye. It weighted down a piece of paper. Jessie's baton, and a note.
She didn't want to read it, but she picked it up anyway, held it with trembling hands, and started at the top.
"Dear Sienna
If you're reading this, I'm dead.
Isn't that how all dramatic notes start in books and movies? In this case though, it's not just a cliché, it's the truth.
Morgan is dead too.
You're free.
As Gary would say, good trade.
The Brotherhood of The Red Flag of Milwaukee doesn't exist anymore, and even if they reconstitute, without Morgan, they don't have a leader, much less a reason to come after you.
I've left you the house and some money. A lot of money actually. Don't spend it all in one place, LOL. The number for my attorney is at the end of this letter. Call him and he can guide you through receiving it, taking care of it. Reach out to McKenna as well, when she gets back. She's always been a good friend to me, and I like to think she'll help you out too.
I'm not going to put this as a condition of receiving the money, but it's something I'd like you to do anyway. And I can't verify that you did it, so I'm just going to trust that you did, ok? My lawyer has the telephone number for the facility where Gary and I stored our...stuff. I'd still like you to be a surrogate for me and him. Please.
