“The sheriff will live,” the doctor told his wife. “There’s just one thing. He won’t ever walk.” They’d found him where he’d been guarding Jimmy. Every bone in his right leg was broken. Compound fractures. His knee joint was missing, completely pulverized.
The officers at the safe house who were guarding Jimmy hadn’t been as lucky. Things like exiting buildings from the 3rd floor, backwards, through a window, never ended well. Neither did falling off roofs, putting your face through a car windshield. I really wished I hadn’t had to use such force.
They’d been protecting Jimmy. Keeping him safe. They’d fired their guns and shot holes into walls, cars, street lights, and anything else around. They didn’t find Jimmy. He was gone.
When they did find his remains, they noted how he was where they’d found Michelle’s body. His face had run into something. Hit it so hard, it kind of pushed into his head. He’d been shot, right where no man ever wants to get shot. More than once, too.
They found a note held to his chest with a railroad spike. “One less problem in the world.”
Pastor Greg sat on the first pew in his church, stared at the symbolic cross placed above the pulpit, and cried. He’d tried to keep his brother safe. Prayed his brother would learn. Asked God to take Jimmy in, and keep him safe.
I still had a couple of details to take care of.
Only 3 parts left in this Armor 17 story. It’s Week 337 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.