Chapter Text
Pratt hasn’t been to the St Francis Veteran Centre in years, not since he was a rookie and got called out to deal with a vagrancy complaint. The place had been long abandoned back then, the courtyard choked with weeds and faded trash. Inside it had stunk to high heaven. Bird and animal shit and the remains of campfires caked the floors.
Today as he walks up the gravel road to the gates, it’s like stepping back into another era when the hospital was open and thriving. The front court is visible, for one thing. No ivy or knotweed strangling the iron gate, and the paving beyond is chipped but clean.
The new owner is one Jacob Seed. Pratt’s never officially met the man, though he’s seen him around now and again. Seed and his family—two brothers, plus an unknown number of hangers-on—rolled into Hope County a few months back after buying up a suspicious amount of property. The Sheriff’s Department started getting calls soon after. Just the odd one at first, but the longer the Seeds take root on this land, the more the locals are reacting against their presence.
Most of the attention is on Joseph Seed, the long-haired preacher who bought up half the island on Silver Lake and is setting up some kind of hippy commune there. Rumour has it he’s building a chapel, but in the meantime he holds open services a couple times a week in a big white tent on his land. Folks started going along out of curiosity at first, looking to sniff around what this weirdo and his barefoot harem were up to. Probably hoping there’d be naked dancing around maypoles or some such to tide them over in gossip until winter. But whatever Joseph has to say must be connecting with people because almost as many locals love him as hate him now. Of course, that’s only made family members more concerned. There’s already accusations of brainwashing and devil-worship flying around.
While the Sheriff’s Department isn’t taking such nonsense seriously, there have been enough complaints to the station by now that Earl Whitehorse finally agreed to address the issue. It’s been a slow couple of days at the department, so Earl has headed to Joseph's camp to cast an eye over things. His deputies are meanwhile tasked with visiting other Seed family properties around the county. Hudson to the farmstead by the Henbane; Ash to John Seed's ranch.
Staci isn’t over the moon at being sent to St Francis’, but Jacob Seed’s property is at the farthest reach of the county and he’s the only one who can pilot the chopper. He casts a glance back at where he set it down, on the grass at the point of the little lake out front of the building, then sighs and pushes through the gates.
The courtyard seems deserted. There’s a new-looking Jeep with Montana plates parked near the gate, and a couple of mud-spattered ATVs further back, but no one attending them. Over in one corner is a stack of rusting bed frames and other trash, leftovers from the hospital’s former life. Pratt strolls past a dried-up fountain towards the front doors. The weather's warming up, and the prickle down his spine and under his arms makes him wish he’d left his jacket in the chopper.
Pratt lifts the brass knocker on the lobby door. His four sharp raps cut like gunfire through the hush of the valley. He turns from the door to wait and idly examines the plastic-wrapped pallets standing by the entrance. Masonry paint, sacks of cement, plasterboard sheets. Most likely ordered from out of county judging by the volume. Pratt raises an eyebrow at the huge spools of razor wire.
A couple of minutes pass, and he knocks again.
“Hello?” he calls out, but only his own voice echoes back off the high walls around the Centre.
He considers trying the door and hollering inside, but the locals he’s talked to who had run-ins with Jacob Seed have described him as anything but friendly, so he decides against it. He wanders along the ground floor instead, hoping to catch a glimpse inside. It's useless; the windows on this level are guarded by iron bars on the outside and dark blinds drawn within. It seems a waste of time and fuel to fly out here for nothing, so he turns right when he reaches the corner to make a clockwise loop around the building. Along the western wall is a row of large boxes, each one almost as tall as he is, covered over with green tarps. Staci lifts a corner up to peek underneath. It’s not a box at all, but a metal cage. The kind you might keep a vicious animal or, say, a prisoner of war in. There must be six of them lined up.
“Great. Not disturbing at all,” he mutters to himself.
There’s more junk heaped up ready for a bonfire in back. Open dumpsters stuffed with dead weeds and other garbage. Not a living soul to be seen.
On the back wall of the hospital Pratt finds a window left uncovered. It’s barred like the others, but when he cups his hands around his eyes and leans in, he can make out the gloomy interior.
The room within is mostly empty, just a few boxes near the door and a folding table with paint trays and rollers. If Staci smushes his face to the bars and peers all the way to his left, he can see through an open doorway into another room, and in there…
“Oh, shit.”
The section of wall he can see is lined with racks, and on those racks are guns. Lots of guns. Identical assault rifles occupy one full rack. The one beside it is harder to make out but he thinks he sees shotguns and a large hunting bow. In a glass-fronted cabinet under the racks he can make out the dark shapes of pistols against a red backing cloth.
He shifts from foot to foot, wondering whether he should take out his phone and try to get pictures. But he’s not supposed to be here, at least not sneaking round the back of the property like a burglar, and he’s wary of taking away any evidence he might regret later.
Suddenly all he wants is to get back to Fall’s End. He heads back the way he came and crosses the courtyard at a brisk pace. He glances back only once he’s halfway along the road. The hospital’s buttery yellow walls are catching the late afternoon sun, and Staci can’t help but marvel at what a beautiful spot this is, nestled in its own lush, wooded valley with the vast wall of Monument Mountain curving around it like protective arms, and the lake reflecting the clouds. It’s a damn shame it’s been bought up by a family of crazies.
Staci jogs up the grassy rise to the helicopter and around to the side. As he rounds the tail end he stops short, boots skidding on the damp grass.
Jacob Seed is sitting in the cockpit.
One foot on the landing skid and the other in the opening, his ass parked on the pilot’s seat as though he belongs there. A sleek black rifle leans against the body of the chopper within easy reach. He’s holding a rosy red apple in one hand, turning it slowly as he strips the peel into a long spiral with a pocket knife. In a holster at his thigh is a much larger hunting knife, black and menacing against the faded blue of his jeans.
“Evening, Deputy,” he says at last, not looking up from his apple.
Staci shuts his mouth and swallows painfully, throat suddenly parched. He tries to calm himself, squeezing his already sweating hands into fists at his sides. It’s fine. Just because Seed chanced upon the helicopter doesn’t mean he saw anything. Staci glances at the expensive scope on the rifle and gets the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’s seen everything.
“Mr Seed,” Staci replies. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth; makes him feel like a kid addressing a teacher. But he doesn’t know the man well enough to call him Jacob. Maybe he should have just called him Seed; he’ll remember that for next time. At least he didn’t call him Sir.
He's forgotten all the questions he was meaning to ask. All he can think of right now is those racks of guns. He takes a few steps closer to the chopper, but Jacob doesn’t move.
“Do you mind?”
“Mind what, exactly?” Seed sounds bored as he finishes peeling the apple and lets the coil of red skin drop to the grass. He looks up at Staci then, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue.
Pratt has never seen him up close before, and it’s hard not to stare at his scars. The ones on his face are most distracting simply due to their placement. His right cheek is marked worse than the left, pocked and mottled by what Staci assumes is a severe burn. The meanest scars are on his arms, angry red splotches against faded pink-brown, as though already damaged skin has been injured again recently. As though his first trial by fire hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. The thought makes Staci even more anxious.
He forces his eyes back to meet Seed’s. “This chopper is property of the Hope County Sheriff Department,” he tells him.
Jacob’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “That so,” he replies. He gestures with the pocket knife at the land around them. “Well, since all of this is my property, I think that means you and your chopper aren’t supposed to be on it without an invitation.” He fixes Staci with that bright blue glare. “And I don’t recall inviting you, Deputy.”
Staci clears his throat. He’s being challenged, but he’ll be damned if he makes himself look weak by apologising.
“We’ve had a couple of reports of strange activity on your family’s properties,” he says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Everything he does feels awkward and transparent. It’s maddening, and more than a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention by moving his hands again. He presses on. “I just came out to have a word, but you were nowhere to be seen.”
“You’ve found me now.”
Clearly the opposite is true.
Staci nods anyway. “Mind me asking what sort of operation you’re running out here?”
Seed completely ignores the question and takes a bite of apple instead, forcing Pratt to wait for his reply while he chews. He squints against the treeline thoughtfully and swallows.
“What exactly constitutes ‘strange activity’, Deputy?”
Pratt decides to stick to the tamer accusations. “A lot of trucks bringing stuff in from out of county. Construction noise around the clock. Blocking off footpaths.” He shrugs. “All sorts of little things, but add it all up and it’s out of the ordinary for a quiet community like this.”
“Wasn’t aware out of the ordinary was the same as illegal.”
“It’s not. But it’s putting folks on edge. Maybe if they had an idea what was going on, it would set their minds at ease.”
Seed shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “Doesn’t matter where you go,” he sighs. “People can’t mind their own damn business.”
“Come on now, Mr Seed,” Staci says. “If everything’s above board, what’s there to hide? What are you doing out here?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” Jacob says. “You got a nice long look around. What’d you find out?”
Shit. Of course he saw him. Pratt pauses, considering whether or not to admit what he saw.
“You have a lot of guns,” he replies. “Sidearms and assault rifles mostly, from what I could tell. Not your everyday hunting fare.”
“Oh, I have hunting rifles too, Deputy.”
Staci can tell Seed is loving every second of his discomfort. He isn’t even trying to make himself look innocent. All that tells Staci is that he’s arrogant. Seed’s brother may be a fancy lawyer, but that doesn’t make him or anyone in his weirdo family untouchable.
“You care to tell me why you need that kind of firepower?”
Seed takes another big bite of his apple. “Security,” he says around his mouthful.
Pratt shifts his weight to the other foot. “Security for what?”
“For my family’s property,” he replies. “My brother Joseph is very trusting, very patient. I’m not. I told him there were gonna be people in this county who wouldn’t want to see him succeed. You just proved me right.”
“Succeed at what?” Staci blurts out.
Seed is out of the cockpit and on his feet in one swift motion. For a big man, he sure moves fast. Pratt has to steel himself to stay put rather than backing up a couple of steps the way he wants to. The way Seed is expecting him to. Of course, he has to be taller than Staci, only by a couple inches, but he makes sure to flaunt it as he moves closer.
“Are we done here, Deputy...” He peers down at the name stitched above Staci’s breast pocket. “...Pratt?” The hard consonants grit out from between his teeth, cold and clear as ice chips.
They lock eyes for a few seconds. Seed knows exactly how intimidating he is with his bulk and his scars and those intense eyes, bright blue like a gas flame. Staci doesn’t have any of his presence, but he stares back anyway, keen to show the other man he’s no cowering fool.
Eventually he nods his head once, holding the eye contact.
“We’re done.”
Seed steps back to retrieve his rifle. “I trust that I won’t find you trespassing on my property again.”
“As long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll have no reason to come back.” Pratt's attempt at a warning tone is laughable and they both know it, but all Seed does as he meets his eye again is tilt one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly.
“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Without taking his eyes off Staci, he says, “Here, Judge.”
Pratt frowns in confusion, mouth opening to say What? when a blur of grey and white fur flashes past him.
“Jesus Christ,” he stammers instead.
The biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen bounds over to Jacob Seed’s side and sits, sniffing his hand before turning big yellow eyes on Staci. A long pink tongue like a slice of bacon lolls from its mouth. How long was that thing watching them? There are wolves in these mountains, and the monster sitting next to Jacob Seed is either one of them or a close goddamn relative. Heart hammering, Pratt makes a mental note to look up what the law has to say about keeping wolves as pets.
Seed leans his rifle across his shoulders and saunters off with the giant hound at his side. Staci is furious. He climbs into the helicopter, slamming the cockpit door too hard behind him, and quickly checks over the control panel in case Seed decided to fuck with anything. Everything seems fine. He’s relieved, but also disappointed he doesn’t have anything concrete to pin on him. Jacob Seed is bad fucking news, and Pratt swears to himself there and then that he’s going to be the one to prove it.
He fumbles his headset on and fires up the chopper, scowling at the controls until he’s put air between him and the ground. As he tilts the craft in the direction of home, he glances down and notices Jacob still standing at the tree line watching him. Seed raises his right hand to his head in a mocking salute, and while he’s too far away to be sure, Staci just knows the bastard is grinning.
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