After much research, I decided on hill country. The numbers are a little more predictable. Sometimes I dip my head to not see someone’s number and take a guess. 45 years of practice has made me scary accurate.

It’s not as weird as you might think. There’s a gap between old and new war vets where the numbers are lower. I get to laugh at the occasional braggart who claims a false war record. Bright ass zero sitting above his head. The old ladies who’s husbands passed recently at home of “natural causes”. The moonshiners coming into town for supplies and the occasional ruckus.

It’s rare that a number surprises me anymore. Mostly because of where we live. In fact I haven’t seen a new one in a while. I think they stayed so consistent for so long I kind of had forgotten about them.

It was a Tuesday evening during summer break. Rod and Irving (his mother’s choice. Her grandfather) were coming home from playing in the woods with friends. Both seemed weird. Almost scared. I’m ashamed to admit it took me too long to notice. There, above Irving’s head. A number 1. My stomach churned and I quickly vomited into the sink. Rod instantly knew something was wrong and began crying. Irving shortly after. I instantly sat on the kitchen floor. They came down to my level and began profusely apologizing.

Rod is 12 and Irving, 5. Once Rod could talk more calmly he explained they were playing on the old railroad bridge with friends from school. Chad had dared Irving to push Mark off the bridge. The river below is usually filled with enough water that it’s not uncommon for folks to jump. The boys had seen this happen plenty of times before. I don’t think Irving understood. He gave Mark a shove. I can only imagine he screamed before his teenage body gave a sickening thud. Neither boy was being that descriptive.

As other kids started getting upset, Chad’s laughter turned to anger. He started threatening everyone that the same would happen to them if they told anyone. He yelled at them all to keep their mouths shut and stormed off.

Before I could make it to town the sirens and craziness had already started. Chad made it into town and told a story of everyone witnessing Mark kill himself by jumping. Said he started crying that his parents would never understand him and leapt. I give him credit for keeping the story short. An easier lie to maintain.

What was I to do?! No one knew what I could see. Not even my boys.

I was still a month into planning our exit when I saw it. I had been keeping a close eye on him ever since.

Chad had his 1.

His own little brother was found dead in his bed that morning. He faked sadness well enough but I could tell it wasn’t sincere. At least my ability made it seem I could tell. It was probably bias.

I know what you’re thinking. You’ve watched CSI. They’ll have this case nailed down in 48 hours or less.

There was a reason I picked this place. Nobody questioned much and mostly kept to themselves. The Sheriff was two towns over and most times couldn’t be bothered.

I don’t remember how long it had been. I was a week away from moving us away when I got a notification on the video doorbell. There in the video, Chad with a number 2. Angry with the world and demanding the boys come with him or he’ll tell everyone what Irving did. Joseph was with him, holding back tears and trying his best to act normal. I don’t blame Rod for grabbing Irving and going along. He probably thought it was the best way to protect his brother. The look into the camera let me know he was scared but confident. I don’t know how I was able to make out his lips over the grainy video but I know he mouthed one word.

“Bridge”

I drove as fast as I could. No cops and no one caring made it easy. I made it to the pullout and am still not sure how the car came to a stop and into park. It felt like I jumped while it was still moving.

As I ran, I heard what I thought it sounded like for Mark. The scared scream followed by a gross thwack. My stomach churned like that night but I didn’t have time to puke.

He and Rod begin struggling for control of Irving. I got there in time. Time enough to break Chad off and with a fist full of shirt and the angriest growl I’ve ever made, I sent him flying off the bridge. I don’t know if he screamed and frankly… I don’t care. His body hitting the rocks below didn’t sound grotesque. It sounded… justified.

There we stood looking down for a moment. Both my boys grabbed me and started sobbing. I did too.

Every day I struggled. Knowing that leaving now would only draw attention. We were never questioned. The sheriff closed the case in a matter of days. Rambling writings of a deranged teenager led them to believe he was behind everything. Eventually taking his own life as well.

I’ve internally forgiven Irving. I probably did that day but now I barely notice his number. Just as I rarely notice any living in the Pacific Northwest. Surprisingly they’re fewer. I must’ve avoided this area to avoid the surprise of seeing someone with a number.

Mine still stares me in the face every morning in the mirror. I have some guilt here and there. Mostly from being among those with a number. It’s humbling though and helps me be objective.

I’m in my 80’s now. The world seems a little darker these days. Not metaphorically. Like, literally getting dim. My boys being here leads me to believe they’ve been told my time is short. The beeping machines are fading by the hour. Irving had just come back from getting some coffee. The hospital staff leave in a panic as an alarm down the hall blares. As my vision fades to black everything stops for one crystal clear moment. I look at Rod. He and his family still zeros and happy. I don’t know how I became so blind to it. How had it escaped me. When did it go up? When did it become a 3? As the alarm and all other sounds fade. My family’s sobs. The beeping machines. Rod notices I’m in pain and attempts to comfort me. Irving stands in the doorway. My last site. His number vanishes but quickly returns. A 4. Damn you Chad. I’ll see you soon.