One Rough Man by Brad Taylor Page A

bags, telling him that it was finally over. He told her to stop. She told him to screw himself. He slammed her against her dresser and punched her viciously in the stomach, causing her to fall onto the floor. He calmly told her to unpack her things and left the room. She remembered lying on the floor in her own spit and vomit, gasping for air, the fake-tit whore stepping over her with a sheet around her body.
    She fled the marriage with the clothes on her back, returning to her mother’s house in McKinney, Texas. The next few weeks were a nightmare. The punch seemed to have done something internally. She had cramps so bad she was left doubled over in pain. Her period came early, and very heavy. She went to the doctor and in the same breath he told her that she had been pregnant—and had had a miscarriage.
    Jennifer shook herself. The memories always caused her to sweat, making her heart palpitate. That fucker . . . I should have . . . She took three deep breaths. Quit thinking about it. Think of anything else . . . Think of positive things....
    After the miscarriage, her family had been her anchor. She had lost her way, but they didn’t care. They had rallied around her as soon as she had come home. She didn’t tell her family about the miscarriage, fearful of her brothers’ possible retaliation. Sometimes, when the darkness came, she toyed with the idea of letting them in on the secret, knowing they would kill that sorry sack-of-shit with a cheese-grater. Looking back, she was glad she never did, but a part of her waited for the day when she could get retribution. On days like today, when she was left clutching a counter, taking deep breaths to control her fear, she wanted nothing more than to cause him the same agony.
    In the end, while it wasn’t a pleasant thought, she knew that the attack was the best thing that could have happened. She had understood that she could never win any legal battles in a system owned lock, stock, and barrel by the family, and that it was the fight alone that they were afraid of. It never entered their minds that something bad would happen to their son. They just didn’t want the embarrassment of the publicity. So, as they had been doing since robber baron times, they bought her off. They gave her an impressive little nest egg of two hundred thousand dollars, telling her never to talk about what had happened. She agreed. She remembered the moment well, thinking she should have crossed her fingers behind her back because if she ever got the opportunity, she would bury the family and sow their graves with salt.
    Now, standing in her kitchen a thousand miles away, she had had enough of the hate and fear. Maybe a night out would help. Just because the Windjammer had a bunch of drunken college men didn’t mean they were all like him.
    She glanced at her computer screen and noticed she had an e-mail from her uncle. She forgot about the Windjammer. He’s not supposed to come out of the jungle for at least three days. Obviously, once again he had failed to find the temple. She smiled to herself, thinking of him hacking his way through the jungle on yet another attempt. No matter how many times he failed, Uncle John remained optimistic. She admired that in him. Then again, she knew she’d find anything her uncle did something to admire. He had gone out on a limb to help her, getting her a fresh start at his own university based solely on the fact that she was his niece, telling white lies that could have cost him tenure. She would never forget that.
    She opened the e-mail and saw that it was nonsense. It said nothing at all about his trip, or his return. It was just a few MP3s containing some local music. She found this strange, but not unduly so, as her uncle was always doing goofy stuff. Last time he came home he gave you a real shrunken skull. Be thankful this is just music. Whatever had happened, he would give her the full story on his expedition when he got back. She hooked up her MP3