This Family

She’d been watching them, this family—a man, a woman, and a child—for two weeks. She usually watched women of a particular type, but not this time.

The man of this family had caused her immense grief, and he needed to atone for that grief. So, she sat in her dilapidated SUV, in the hot Florida sun, across from the park, watching this happy, beautiful family, watching them as they sat on the grass, on a blanket, eating a meal, all smiles and laughter. They had the whole park to themselves. Then, the father and son played catch with a baseball while the wife read a book.

They didn’t deserve to be so content, so jovial, this family. She suffered while they enjoyed their lives.

Just wasn’t fair.

She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, banged her head against it, and emitted a string of foul words. Tears sprang to her eyes as a knot of pain formed on her forehead.

No job, thanks to William Sullivan. No money, thanks to William Sullivan. And she was fucking tired of listening to her belly growl.

She blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks and ended her current tirade. She focused on the family again, grinding her teeth.

When was she going to make her move? She wasn’t sure. But her vehicle held the provisions for when the time came—duct tape, zip ties, a gun, a knife.

The family started to pack up their belongings. The wife carried a basket to the other side of the park, which was dense with pine trees. They’d parked over there.

Now was the time.

So, she drove to the other parking lot, parked next to their vehicle, saw the wife place the basket in the back of a car.

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William told his son to gather the blanket while he went to the car. As he approached, he saw the basket’s contents scattered on the ground beside his vehicle.

His wife was nowhere in sight.

William’s heart thundered as if about to burst from his chest and land at his feet. His hands shook. He ran around the parking lot, calling her name.

Then, he thought of his son.

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She smiled as she drove the highway toward her secret hideaway. In the back of her SUV, she had the wife, she had the son. Mouths duct taped, hands and feet zip-tied. They squirmed, and they cried.

What to do with them now? Actually, the question was...what not to do with them?

Regardless, all that mattered most was that...William Sullivan was suffering—this family would be no more.