i like ice cream in my coffee part three

Mrs. Sheriff John Young was staring out the Ford truck window, watching the scenery go by while listening to her husband banter with Sheriff Fred Sanders on his cell phone. She had an uneasy feeling about this whole trip, and abhorrence didn’t even begin to describe what she felt for her husband’s parents, who were the target of this journey to Oklahoma. They would be looking for the Indian reservation to which they had supposedly fled all those years ago.

What kind of name is Waterloo, she wondered as she read the name of the town on the sign passing her now. Sometimes Mary missed the sanity of New York City.

John had suppressed a memory from the night his twin brother’s wife was attacked and killed by wolves eighteen years ago. Seems his psychotic parents lied about their unborn grandson dying and actually kidnapped the baby, telling the brothers Rene and the boy were both dead.

That’s only half the worst part.

John had recently remembered that the wound causing Rene’s death was, in reality, a bullet wound from his father’s gun.

The parents left the next day never to be seen or heard from again but not before telling Joe he was a bastard and no longer part of the Apache tribe. That news alone had helped cause him to have a nervous breakdown years after the horrific shock he took from learning his family’s fate, which, as it turns out, isn’t exactly true.

They left John without any concern of what he experienced that abysmal night and left him in charge of the large multi-ranch operation, apparently disowning him too. No explanations, no goodbyes, no nothing.

John and Joe were barely adults at eighteen. It was all so unthinkable.

John blamed himself, and Joe blamed his own self. This real life nightmare was only becoming more dramatic.