Skylar Stevens' descent was sudden and swift. Evidence suggests it can be linked to a single moment, a single artifact: a necklace.
The necklace had belonged to Dale Turner's mother. Dale had begun carrying it in his pocket when he was ten years old. His mother had given it to him when she'd left him alone for the night, promising him he could hold onto her second most prized possession until she came back. He had pulled it out one night sitting on the couch with Skylar, and she remembered how serious he'd gotten as he spoke of his mother. He'd looked at her once, as if daring her to laugh, but he'd only seen the tears in her eyes. That was the first night they'd both slept in the living room.
She knew he had taken it with him the night of his initiation. She'd touched his hand as he'd reached for his pocket, and she'd kissed him in the doorway. He'd kept his hand in his pocket as he left, crossing the street and vanishing into the darkness.
When she'd woken up on the couch in the morning and discovered he still wasn't there, she'd felt sick. She'd dressed quickly, and stepped out on her front porch. It was so early that the street was empty. She stretched her arms and pulled her sweater closer. She had waited for him to return, until her eyes had become leaden. He had said he would be back that night. Since he had moved into her house, he had never failed to follow through on anything he promised. Nervously, she shifted her weight back and forth. She stopped when she felt something beneath her feet. Reaching down, she felt her hands clasp on a chain. She stood, holding it in her fingers, taking several seconds before she could look at it. Silver, with a long oval dangling at the end, small green rhinestones arranged around a pattern that reminded her of a snowflake. The back felt sticky in her hands now.
It took her several moments, clutching the necklace in a fist, before she let the first shudder come over her. Another followed, and another until she was gasping for air. She knew he would never throw it on the ground. And the last time he had been here, he had been holding onto it. What she felt, the stickiness on the pendant, and everything she had feared as she thought of him being initiated to the gang were exploding through her mind now.
She didn't call anyone for help. Times as bad as they were, she didn't expect a search party to form. The only thing that made sense was to go herself, she decided, after an hour of sitting numbly at the piano bench in the empty living room.
When she arrived at the compound, those greeting her smirked and watched her every move with lazy stares. By that time, her fury had taken over and she insisted on speaking with their leader. The bloodied necklace in one hand and her rage building as she walked forward, she met Mitchell Cafferty for the first time.
It is unclear what about her first drew him in. Limited reports that surfaced indicate he watched, slouched back in his chair, as she shouted, threatened, and pleaded with him to give her better news than she expected to hear. They say he grinned when he leaned over to whisper that Dale had failed his initiation. That he watched with rapt interest as her face took on the signs of one who is experiencing horror. That he expressed his condolences in a dulcet tone, and that her eyes flashed when he suggested she file a police report if she was so unhappy. How she stormed out and he watched her retreating back.
Between Mitch's office and the edge of the property, Skylar encountered a group of men. They laughed, fumbled with their big hands, and breathed on her. One of them tried to grab her sleeve. She pulled out the gun she had taken from her father's safe. The men laughed again. She shot once. She hit one in the leg and he yelped. She turned and went back to Mitch's office, demanding her own initiation. He smirked, as did his followers, but he brought her out back and handed her a crowbar. He threw Brian Phillips to the ground in front of her, explaining that he had gotten himself caught stealing in town again and almost hadn't escaped. Her task was simple: teach him his lesson.
The crowd that gathered to watch roared with laughter. The mine princess would never teach anyone a lesson, at least not with a crowbar. Skylar swung. Their laughs died away. She passed her initiation with flying colours.
Mitch watched Skylar with rapt interest for weeks. Had he known her before she moved to the compound, he wouldn't have believed she was the same person as the mine-owner's spoiled daughter. As it was, he marvelled at her. Her single minded determination to take what she wanted at all costs. The wild abandon in everything she did, from raiding the homes nearby to fighting over the best cuts of meat at dinner time. The fierceness she displayed so effortlessly, that unnerved even the most seasoned compound dwellers at times. After three weeks, he knew what he wanted.
The first three times, he was unsuccessful. He didn't worry. He knew half the fun of the game was the build up, and it wouldn't be as fun to end it too early. Every time she spurned him, threatened him, argued with him or retreated in a storm, he was encouraged. Everything he saw flitting in her eyes, fear, righteous anger, elation as she discovered the rush of enacting her own whims on a world that was at her mercy, stirred something in him.
She didn't spend a lot of time reflecting in those days. She spent most of it reacting. Her thoughts were always racing and her pulse rushed to keep up with the highs and lows. It was the same thing, the first time she let Mitch Cafferty follow her into her tiny room and down to the bed on the floor – a reaction. His wild eyes, the sharp force behind his every move, and the power she seemed to have over him, making him gasp, jerk, reach farther and faster. She could please him, and she could aggravate him. He could terrorize her, and he could save her.
It happened again and again. Eventually she stopped returning to the tiny bedroom. The only one she'd ever slept beside before was Dale. He had been safe, comfortable, quiet. That was a distant memory now, like a black and white obituary in a stained newspaper. Mitchell was danger and triumph, burning and freezing, a constant struggle between fight and surrender. She knew what they were, a cat and a mouse, a fox and a rabbit, a snake and a frog. It was easy to see. It was hard to know sometimes which was the animal chasing and devouring the other.
As they grew closer on the compound, they became entwined off the compound as well. He loved to have her at the front of the expedition, thrilling at her barbaric contempt for their world as much as his own pleasure in wreaking havoc on those who would get in their way.
The people of Jericho soon learned to speak their names with fear. Later, many would have cause to speak the same names with anger, terror, and wrenching regret.
Skylar Stevens' life of crime ended as abruptly as it had begun. Once again, the difference was made by one object. This time, it was a baby doll with a dirty face.
It had been a hard winter, the hardest since the first year after the bombs. Food had been scarce everywhere, and they had felt it especially at the compound. By the time spring was merely days away, Mitchell's men wore permanently ravenous looks as they watched his every move. Though it was early for crops, he conceded finally to a raid on the farms. He sent his men in different directions, with instructions to take all they could get their hands on.
He and Skylar had chosen the Richmond farm. It was the largest and one of the worst defended. They'd easily made their way into the barn without being detected. It was here, amidst the shadows of machinery and hay bales, that Skylar stepped on the forgotten doll.
Even in the dark, she recognized what the shape in her hands meant instantly. A little girl lived in the house. The sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was unexpected. She had nearly forgotten, it had been so long since she felt it. She heard Mitch talking about going inside the house. She found herself struggling to argue against the idea. “They're not going to have anything we want in there. Why don't we take what we can from here?”
“Farmers have always got a stash where they live. And this one is all alone. He won't give us much trouble.”
She tried to say it casually. “There's a little girl living here.”
He stopped suddenly. She could hear the smirk in his voice as he continued. “So? What do you care? I'm sure she won't get in our way.”
Skylar could see the doll in the dim lighting now. She felt a panicky wave rising in her throat. “Why should we hurt her at all?”
“I'm not saying we plan to kill her or anything. You know how we operate, leave people alone as long as they leave us alone. I doubt a little girl will try to get in our way.”
Skylar's mind was reeling, putting together facts at a mile a minute. This was the Richmond farm. She'd heard the news of Bonnie Richmond's death a few years ago, and the next spring, Stanley Richmond had lost his tax woman too. Skylar vaguely recalled hearing she'd left a kid behind. “Her father will. He'll put up a fight.”
“Then I'll deal with him,” he said with a grin.
“And then there'll be a little girl alone,” she said carefully.
“Since when do you care about that?” he asked. “I don't think you were thinking too much about who you widowed when you hit Eric Green over the head with your gun.”
“That's not the same!” she snapped. “I didn't even know those people.”
It was true. She hadn't really known Eric Green or his family members. She had known - that night they stormed the Town Hall, when they cornered Eric Green in the back room, when Mitchell had killed him and she had helped - that Mitchell knew them. She wondered, now, if this reminder would have any effect.
He seemed to get what she was implying, because he shook his head. “It was just business, sweetie. Not personal. Green got in our way. He would have taken us down if we'd let him call his rangers.”
It hadn't been business, Skylar knew. She remembered Mitch telling Eric that Jake wouldn't find them, no matter where he looked. The way he'd goaded him about his sick mother, about what his wife would do without him. And the smirk on Mitch's face when Eric's eyes had gone blank. “Not personal?” she asked, feeling a little angry now. “You hated Mary Bailey, almost as much as you hate Jake Green!”
He was smiling, she could tell, as he said, “Hey, I've got nothing but warm fuzzy feelings for Mary, and as for Jake, well, he's an old friend. And much as I'd like to catch up with him when he comes storming over here looking for us, I'd rather get out of here alive tonight. So that's why, that farmer gives us any trouble, we'll shut him up.”
Skylar frowned in the darkness. Mitchell moved past her, shifting his gun in his hand and opening the barn door. Skylar cradled the dirty faced doll in her hands. She could see his silhouette when the door opened, the way the parts of his body tensed in readiness, as they always did before something like this. Most of the time, she anticipated this, but now, holding the tiny doll, she felt a different kind of thrill running through her. It was more of a chill.
He was used to her being by his side, moving in sync with him, not even needing to exchange words when they got into a rhythm. He turned now, noticing her absence just as easily. “What'cha waiting for?”
Feeling her own body tense, she heard the words come solidly out of her mouth. “I don't want to do this. Not this place.”
He threw his head back, but he wasn't laughing like before. “You know, you're getting on my last nerve,” he growled.
Usually when she disagreed with him, she kept herself calm and cool. Usually she played along, deciding it didn't matter all that much, and she'd stalk away and punish something or someone else later if she was still annoyed. Now, standing firmly with her feet in the hay-strewn barn, she leveled a glare in his direction. She held it for an eternity.
Mitch did not seem affected by the acid darts she was shooting from her eyes. He shrugged and stepped out into the night.
Without a target for her steady eyes, Skylar felt her mind beginning to reel. It had to be mere seconds she stood in the barn, a child's toy clutched to her chest, but it seemed the pieces of her life were suddenly arranged in a row, dominoes ready to be toppled with the flick of a fingernail. She could see how the switch had flipped back on that fateful morning, how with Dale's death, she'd silenced that part of her that had lived so freely before. How fully and completely she'd kept that part of her at bay all this time, beating it down every way she could. Every time she'd felt it whisper or blink, she'd obliterated it, shooting at an animal or a lonely traveler with her gun; picking a fight with one of the guys in the recreation room, just so she could smack him across the face and then watch Mitch 'deal' with him later; and every time she fled to the stabbing comfort of Mitchell Cafferty, scratching her uncertainties into him or letting him grind away every last bit of her humanity.
It surprised her, in this moment, to see that part of it was still there, under all this ferocity she'd so carefully honed. Before the stack of dominoes, she could see the person she once was. The girl who'd hugged her father but not her mother when they'd left for New York, who'd tried desperately to keep up with her older cousins on their bicycles when she'd visited their house in Santa Fe, who'd cried for hours when Benjamin Negler dumped her in sixth grade. That girl was there, the wild animal was there, and another all imposing being seemed to be in her too, sorting through all those things with blinding speed in the few seconds.
That night, when Eric Green had coughed blood on the floor in front of her, she hadn't felt for him. She knew you could never take what you wanted from people if you let yourself feel their pain. She hadn't felt for Mary Bailey, the name Mitchell taunted their victim with that night. She wasn't like her, would never be like her or any of them again. She hadn't fallen apart for Dale, she certainly wouldn't fall apart for the other wives and lovers she left without husbands. She never felt for any of the men she stepped on as she dominated life at the compound. She could never have been on top if it weren't for the weaklings under her, and she would never be on top if she were one of them herself.
So long she'd told herself she wasn't any of them. So long she'd striven to be barely herself, with so much of her cut off and imprisoned inside her. Now, holding this doll in her hands, imagining the little girl who had absently dropped it here, who had loved it so fiercely she'd stained its face and worn out its clothes, who was probably sleeping down the hall right now from a father, the only family she'd ever known, Skylar knew she was her. She had been that little girl once, and that little girl could be her. Hugging her father goodnight one moment, alone in the world the next. Easy prey for whoever came along, whether it would be thieves, animals, or her own self.
Seeing all this, breathing through it all, the all knowing and all seeing being took over the other parts of her that were all warring within her. The crying sixth grader. The ferocious animal. Eric Green and Mary Bailey - for she knew now that she was them and everyone like them. The orphaned teenager. The little cousin. The terrified torturer. The feral lover. The child with the doll. The superior being pulled all of them together and forced her to start walking.
She crossed the barn quickly, and swiftly made her way over the grass, coming up beside Mitchell before he had reached the porch.
It took him a moment to notice anything was different. When she had first fallen into step with him, he seemed to relax, expecting tonight to be as any other. She took a calculated step forward, turning, stepping in front of him.
He looked at her in surprise at first, chuckling when she planted her feet firmly and said “I'm not letting you go in there.”
“Sky, you are not serious,” he choked out.
She stood, her arms at her sides, the doll clutched in one hand and dangling against her leg. “I am.”
He shook his head, looking her up and down. “What the hell's the matter with you tonight?”
“Nothing,” she breathed.
He folded his arms. “You pick up some kid's toy and suddenly you're telling me what to do? Is this some woman thing? Hormones or something?”
She closed her eyes as he scoffed, exhaling warm breath on her face. She opened them a second later and fixed him with a steely gaze. “I'm not telling you what to do. But I'm not letting you in there.”
He laughed out loud now, and took a step closer to her, so he was standing inches from her. “You're not letting me in there? You think you're calling the shots?”
She'd seen so many grown men flinch when Mitchell had gotten this close to them. Now, she felt the strength of all those people she realized she was, and she kept her face pointed up at him. “You can take whatever you want from the barn. But you're not going inside the house.”
Mitchell had lost all traces of laughter as he gripped her wrists in his hands. He shook the arm that held the doll with such force, Skylar felt her wrist smart, but she didn't let anything show on her face. “You realize what you're doing? For a toy? A stupid kid's toy!” he spat.
The doll had hit against her arms and torso as he shook her wrist, but she didn't loosen her grip on it as she answered, “It's not about the toy.”
Seething in disgust, he let go. “After everything I've done for you, you think you can just throw it all in my face -”
“I don't want to throw anything in your face, Mitch,” she interrupted, through clenched teeth. “I just don't want you to go in there and hurt...” She trailed off as his look changed from anger to cooler calculation.
“You don't want me to hurt anyone, huh?” he asked, leaning back as he grinned. “You don't want me to?”
“Mitch...” she began, taking a step towards him, tentatively stretching a hand in his direction.
“Well, sweetie, maybe you need reminding Mitchell doesn't do things on your orders.”
From the moment she'd met him, the first time she'd touched his bare skin with her hand, the first time she'd ridden beside him in a truck or lain beside him in his bed, the look he had on his face now had scared her. Then, it had been exciting at the same time. She'd let it build the screaming monster within her. Now, she only saw the horror behind it. What it would do. Mitchell took a step up onto the porch, a grin spreading across his features.
She took a step forward. “No!”
“I love you, Sky, but I can't have you thinking I run on your command.” The porch step creaked beneath his foot.
She glanced up at the house. It seemed a light was on upstairs, but Mitchell wasn't looking up there. He was watching her face, looking for signs that what he said was sinking in. “I'm going in to pay the farmer a little visit,” he continued tauntingly. “Give him back his kid's toy.” He reached down to wrench the doll from her hands, but she held on, stepping up to the porch herself.
“No, I won't let you!” she countered, in a louder voice than she'd used all night.
Mitch's gun was at his side, but she knew he wouldn't reach for it. Ammunition was in short supply and it was more fun to wrestle with someone who couldn't beat him. He yanked on the doll. Skylar was surprised to find herself still holding on, and still standing. Though her arms and body swayed as he jerked their arms, trying to pry it loose, her feet didn't stumble. He was losing his temper, she saw, and part of her was very satisfied. Even more strangely, the part that was satisfied was not the part of her that used to thrill when he turned his anger on other people. It was the part of her that no longer cared about her own insignificant body. The part that came from the little girl, from Eric Green, and all his loved ones, and all the others and their loved ones. This part of her caused her to smile. Faintly, a small line of her mouth. It infuriated Mitchell all the more.
“What are you doing, bitch!” he spat out.
“You – can't – have – it!” she struggled.
Mitch let out a string of expletives, Skylar continued to protest, and they continued to tug and yank, moving clumsily across the porch in a bitter dance. Suddenly, the front door swung open. Illuminated as light spilled out onto the porch, a wild-eyed Stanley Richmond leveled a shotgun in their direction.
For one moment, everyone stood frozen. It was hard to tell how long it lasted, it could have been a tiny fraction of a second, but there was a tiny part of time in which Skylar felt herself in a tableau. She could see Mitchell, who still gripped her arms in his hands, looking up in shock as it dawned on him that his gun was at his side, in his pants, and the farmer's gun was pointed at him and could hit him long before he could reach for his own. She saw the look of surprise on Stanley's face too as he stared into the eyes of the two most sought-after outlaws in his area of the world, the ones who had terrorized the country-side for so long, who had killed his friend and countless others.
Stanley had expected to scare off the intruders. He had done this before. Wanderers, desperate for food and shelter, often came poking around the farm. He'd been ready to shout “Get off my land!” when he opened the door, and had been shocked to see these not so common intruders, engaged in some kind of dispute that had alerted him to their presence in the first place. He didn't register that they were gripping his daughter's doll between them. He only saw the looks on their faces. Mitchell, a look of malice etched on his features, as if daring Stanley to do something first, and Skylar, the girl, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.
He'd long had accounts of their villainy in his mind, even before it came out that they'd killed Eric. He'd come face to face with their men before, and face to face with Jake's anger over them as he drowned his sorrows at Bailey's or shouted his frustrations as they were supposed to be training the border patrol. He'd been there the night they'd found Eric, he'd gone to Bailey's himself to pass on the horrible news. He'd helped with the search, letting himself ignite with the rage they had all felt at the time. It had been a while since those days, and he still remembered the way people had spoken of these two back then. The way people still spoke of them. Actually running into them was something else.
His own anger rose now, and it had nothing to do with that night long ago, or his friends in town. He remembered instead his sister, struck down as she defended their home and family, his wife, who'd given her life trying to bring their child into the world, and his daughter, upstairs now, within earshot of his gun.
As his finger tightened against the trigger, his eyes whipped across the couple on the steps. Mitchell Cafferty, leering, staring defiantly back at the protective father on the porch, and her, the girl, still holding her hands in fists, still looking at him with a pained expression.
He remembered for a split second that she was Bonnie's age. She'd come to Bonnie's birthday once, and had been frustrated when she couldn't hit the piñata. Bonnie had joked with her that at least with a blindfold on, she could still hear people's cheering and goading her to hit the stick in one direction or another. Bonnie's comforting hadn't seemed to have an effect on the sullen party guest, who had only brightened when Billy Henson had finally broken the piñata and the treats had spilled out for the girls to grab.
Looking from one to the other, thinking of Bonnie and Mimi and his daughter and Eric and Mary and Jake, he pulled the trigger.
Skylar yelped as the gun went off, stumbling and falling down the porch steps. Mitch moved quickly too. Stanley shot again, missing them and hitting a tree this time. Skylar ran as fast as she could, around the side of the house.
Mitchell screamed and swore as he ran. Skylar saw the blood out of the corner of her eye. She came around the side of the barn.
“Skylar!”
He was clutching his side, slowing his steps against the side of the barn. She stepped and turned to look at him.
“Help me!” he staggered, flailing an arm helplessly by his side.
She watched as he crouched, crumbled against the wall, red staining his hands and his clothes. “Help me get to the truck!”
She said nothing as she looked. She felt the weight of everything passing between them for a moment longer, and then turned, walking slowly but swiftly away.
As she reached the other side of the barn, she found she was still holding the doll. She dropped it at the edge of the field and continued walking.
She walked along the small stocks of corn, silhouetted in the dark. She vaguely recalled driving out here with her mother once, for a birthday party. Her mother had missed the turn-off and they'd driven by lots of cornfields.
At the edge of the field, she stopped and sat on the ground. From the view she now had, she could see the grasses moving in the early spring breeze.
She crossed her legs under her and folded her hands. She vaguely wondered how long it would take the border patrol to come running. If Jake Green would be calm enough to arrest her when he arrived, or if he'd be playing by a different set of rules reserved for the bereaved. She wondered the way she'd once wondered about the plot of her favourite TV drama from one week to the next. Though her own life was about to change drastically again, it was strangely separate from this moment, this quiet night.
Before the sirens, before the trucks, shouts, and footsteps, Skylar Stevens leaned back, her hands on the grass, and let herself smile in the quiet of the night.