As evening waned to night, Jack knew she couldn't go home, but she also couldn't stand at the scene of the massacre, blood soaking the ground where Titus's body had lain and Clyde's body lying lifeless on the ground. Max and Margaret might return, and Jack did not have the energy to fight them again. Still, she couldn't return to her own house and listen for the sound of Donovan's motor revving as he prepared to leave.

Jack wandered away from Margaret's house, her body cold and bruised as the October winds swept over her. Images passed before her eyes every time she closed them. Donovan on his knees, bloodied and bruised. Titus falling to the ground. Julius shaking his head. Hannah's grief-stricken face when she saw Titus's body. Everything was all wrong.

How had this happened? The Slates weren't supposed to win. Titus was going to arrest them and take them to prison or have them hanged. Donovan and Jack were going to have a future beyond the present. Everyone was going to live happily ever after. But life had never turned out as Jack had expected. When she was young and naive, Jack had expected to marry Roy, travel the world, and come home to a farm and family.

Jack's feet led her back to Irvington, but she couldn't bring herself to go to the Benjamins. While she knew that Corrie would understand, how could she face Hannah after everything? Perhaps Jack hadn't been the one to shoot the gun, but she felt just as responsible for Titus's death. She was the one that had convinced him to help Donovan. She was the one that had begged him to help her find Donovan when he went missing. She was the one who failed to shoot Max Slate before his bullet found Titus's chest.

No, Jack couldn't go to the Benjamins. A part of her wanted to crumple into the street and sob, but she was fresh out of tears and her own weakness made her nauseous. She passed the Benjamins' and went instead to the Walkers'. Perhaps she could gain some solace from Christina's calming presence. Perhaps she could convince Oliver with her testimony to finally prosecute the Slate brothers. Perhaps.

Jack climbed the front steps to the grand house and used the brass knocker to bang on the door. She didn't care who she awoke. The entire town needed to know of the tragedies of the evening. The door opened a crack and Jack caught sight of a white shift and a woman with her hair held in a cap.

"Jacqueline? What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?" Anita hissed and Jack resisted the urge to scream at her.

Anita opened the door, her green eyes squinted and glassy. When she saw Jack, her eyes widened. Anita opened her mouth to speak but no sound came forth.

"Can I come in?" Jack asked, pushing through the door anyways.

"Jack, what happened?" Anita asked, aghast. "The blood..."

Jack looked down at herself for the first time since the events of the evening and found her dress smeared with blood and dirt and her white hands covered with the crusted liquid. She must look like an apparition from a child's worst nightmares.

"Titus...he's..." But suddenly Jack found she couldn't speak. The events were blaring through her mind with intensity as if she were reliving every moment.

Anita jumped into action, taking Jack's filthy hand and leading her into the house. "It's okay, you don't need to see anything. Let's get you cleaned up."

While normally Jack would have protested to any kindness shown her by her sister, she was too weak and exhausted to care and Anita's certainty let Jack's defenses fall. Anita led her sister to the bathroom and turned on the tap in the bathtub. The sight of the luxurious porcelain tub nearly made Jack weak; she hadn't bathed in one in years and the idea of washing off the blood and grime and guilt of the day was too much to resist.

Anita slowly helped Jack strip out of her clothing. Her apron was gone, used to clot Titus's wound, and her dress was soiled beyond repair. Jack retrieved Titus's diamond ring before the dress was discarded, knowing she would need to face Hannah and relay his final words. But for now, she let her worries wash away as Anita removed her boots and slip and helped her into the hot tub.

The scalding water soothed Jack's worries and she felt the tension in her body relax as the hot water lifted the dirt from her skin, leaving the water cloudy. Jack closed her eyes and leaned her head back, resting her neck on the rim of the tub.

Anita pulled a stool next to the tub and studied Jack's face, but Jack kept her eyes closed. How could she explain what happened? How could she put it into words? Would anyone even believe her? Besides Max and Margaret, only she and Julius had witnessed the crime. Dr. Benjamin and Hannah had only seen the results.

"Now, Jack," Anita said, standing up to fetch a hairbrush from the vanity. "I'd like you to tell me what happened."

She pulled her stool behind Jack's head and began to began to brush through her tangled tresses. The smooth, repetitive movement soothed Jack and the lingering tentacles of guilt dissipated.

"The Slates shot Titus Fletcher," said Jack, blurting the news in one hurried gasp. Anita paused for a moment, taken aback by the news, but she said nothing. "They kidnapped Donovan because they wanted him to sign over this deed, but he wouldn't, and I begged Titus to help me rescue him. I...I shot one of them, but the other killed Titus. They shot him dead."

Still Anita said nothing and Jack wondered how ludicrous her tale sounded. In modern times, men didn't face off and just shoot at each other for sport, but that very thing had occurred this evening like they were living in the Wild West in the 1800s. Anita braided Jack's hair quietly, and Jack wondered what she could possibly say to convince her sister she was telling the truth.

"Why?" Anita finally asked, her fingers cool and soft on the nape of Jack's neck. "Why would they do something like that, Jack? What did you do?"
The words made Jack spin in the tub to face her sister, the cooling water splashing over the edge of the tub and onto the white tile floor. She hugged her knees to her chest and glared bullets at Anita.

"We didn't do anything!" Jack cried. "The Slates killed Donovan's brother and sent his nephew overseas in the Army because they want his land. Then they tried to kill me, and now they've killed Titus. I swear to you, Anita."

Anita studied her for a moment, her eyes flickering. Please believe me. "This isn't some tall tale, is it, Jack? An exaggeration?"

"No!" Jack rose from the tub and reached for the fresh towel hanging nearby, draping it over her dripping body. "I swear, I saw it. Julius Booker was with me too, and Dr. Benjamin and his sister came to get his body."

"Are you sure, Jack? You're distressed. Perhaps you..."

"No," Jack repeated, keeping her voice calm and flat as she clutched the clean slip and dress Anita offered her. She dressed quickly, pulling the dress, far finer than any of her own, over her body in angry yanks. "I watched the bullet go into his chest, Anita. I swear."

Anita's lips tightened and she wrapped her arms around herself. "But you and Mr. Booker were the only witnesses?"

Jack's heart sank--of course no one would believe them, an old spinster and a black man. If she couldn't even convince her sister, her closest flesh and blood relation, then how could she expect to convince the town or the mayor?
"This isn't good, Jack." Anita tapped her fingers against her arm as she started to pace in front of Jack. "You know that...well, Oliver won't want to prosecute the Slates. They're very influential men."

"I know," Jack said with a sigh. "Donovan wants to give up, but they're crazed...dangerous."

"Well, obviously," Anita said with an uncharacteristic snort. "They shot the sheriff. They're obviously deranged."

Jack looked to Anita with a triumphant smile. "So you believe me, then?"

Anita let out a long sigh, pursing her lips. "Well, you might be crazy, but you've never been a liar, Jack. Plus, there was all that blood on your clothes."

"Then we just have to convince Oliver. I guess he's the sheriff now that Titus is dead," Jack's head ached as she considered the uphill battle before her, which she would have to face without Donovan by her side. She closed her eyes to hold back the thought. She couldn't consider Donovan leaving right now.

"I'll wake him though I don't know if he'll listen. Just promise me one thing, Jack" Anita said. "Don't tell him you shot one of the brothers. He could have you prosecuted as swiftly as the others." Jack listened to Anita's words with horror. She had been trying to rescue Donovan and defend herself, but did anyone besides Julius and Donovan know that? Who would hang for Clyde's death.

Jack nodded to Anita breathlessly and followed her to the foyer. She sat on a long bench in the foyer for a moment before she began to pace, her eyes greedily searching the sprawling staircase for the mayor. When he appeared, Jack stifled a giggle at the crooked hat he wore with a giant gold tassel on the end. He managed to cover the rest of his pajamas with a silk robe as he imperiously stormed down the stairs, his face red.

"What is the meaning of this, Jaqueline!" he cried upon reaching the first floor.

Jack recounted the events of the evening as quickly as she could with a sense of disassociation. Had that all really happened in the past few hours? Was Titus really dead? Was Donovan leaving? As she spoke, Oliver pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his ample stomach.

"This is ludicrous," he said when Jack reached the end of her tale. "The Slates wouldn't have killed anyone. They're fine, upstanding citizens."

Jack stared at him in abject shock. "But I saw it!"

"Your testimony is little more than an old wives' tale to me, Jacqueline. A man is dead and still you're spreading rumors?" Oliver demanded.

He looked as angry as Jack felt though for what reason she couldn't tell. "Two men are dead today," Jack yelled back at him. "Dead because of the Slates."

"Or dead because of that Indian. Did you ever consider that he is responsible for this? That he's the one who has brought violence to this town?"

Jack sputtered for words but she couldn't deny that Donovan's arrival had caused terrible violence and destruction.

"The Slates have a warrant for his arrest, yet you and Donovan go barreling after them with guns. Our poor Sheriff Fletcher must have been caught in the crossfires." Oliver shook his head in mock grief and revulsion turned Jack's stomach.

"But they shot at us!"

"I thought it was you that went after them, showing up at the Hunt farm with rifles?"

Jack was again speechless. What had she been thinking? In her desire to kill Donovan, she had doomed them all. She had led an attack on the Slates and brought both her and Donovan into even more danger.

"But they shot Titus!"

"And somehow one of them is dead as well while you, your paramour, and the Booker man are fine and well. Doesn't that strike you as suspicious?" Oliver hissed.

Jack, exhausted and worm, struggled to come up with a response. She knew they were in the right, but if Oliver didn't believe them and Max Slate had a warrant, what were they supposed to do? How could they fight any of this?

"Now, Jacqueline," Oliver said, his voice low and serpentine. He stepped towards her and rested an arm around her shoulders in a fatherly caress. "I understand this must have been a traumatic night for you. No woman should be exposed to such violence though I'm afraid you've brought it on yourself. Why don't you sleep on it tonight and then we'll talk in the morning and see if we don't agree on what happened. I would hate to see you pulled into this mess."