𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

ten

Must be déjà vous, Tara thought to herself. This had already happened before. She lay there, her back cradled by a stack of hay, a gun pointed right at her pale face. And while she faced an impending death, like she had been doing far too often lately, all she could manage to think was, it must be déjà fucking vous.

Tara had busied herself with the heinous task of ridding cobwebs off the high ceiling. It was a miracle she managed to find a ladder tall enough, but she wasn't lucky enough that Vern would think to help her.

She stood on her tiptoes at the second last step of the decrepit ladder, sweeping away at the disgusting corners. Tara knew very well the way she was standing could have her plummeting to the floor in seconds, but the blonde was just too eager to get this nauseating task over with to care.

Tara had survived the life of a wanted criminal, changed her identity and stowed away over the seas, she wasn't gonna die by fucking ladder now.

Tommy had been planning to stop by Vern's yard for days now, his schedule keeping him away from the canal side property. Vern had been off the radar for a couple weeks, accepting his due deliveries silently, so he thought it was time to stop and pay him a visit.

Upon entry to the Stoke's house, Tom looked around for the owner. "Vern, Where've you been?" He called out, anticipating the approaching shuffle of footsteps. He waited, nothing. "Vern?" He called a little louder. No reply.

Tom looked past the corner into the kitchen, about to continue his exploring when a noise from outside caught his attention. "Vern, that you?"  

When no reply came, his suspicions heightened. He took one look behind him again to see if Vern had appeared and continued towards the door, lightening up his footsteps and putting a hand to the holster at his waist, heart running a tad faster at the cusp of a fight.

Tara struggled with the ceiling. There was a particularly defiant lump of black she just couldn't budge. The blonde couldn't figure for the life of her what it was, and she felt it was best not to know. Whatever it happened to be, a broom handle was not the best choice to tackle it.

She carefully shifted to the side, throwing her broom down onto the pile of hay below. She overshot terribly and it clattered to the ground a metre away. Tara scrunched her nose at the too loud sound it made before straightening up fully.

Her hands patted around her pockets for a couple seconds to find the knife she'd stolen tucked into one. Tara pulled it out, having a quick look over it. She hadn't figured out a way to sharpen the currently blunt butter knife, but for now at least, it would help with the unstoppable patch of mould.

Tommy peaked his head into the barn with the slightly ajar door. He glanced around, not finding his uncle, but rather a young blonde clutching a knife on an old rickety ladder. He'd never seen this woman around here and Tom doubted Vern would let some stranger hang around his place.

She reached her hands up too fast, losing her balance for a moment as the ladder swayed uncertainly. Her arms were out at either side, trying desperately to keep her from falling. The rocking subsided after a moment.

Tara breathed out a sigh of relief and a small smirk reached her lips.

The ladder hadn't bested her yet.

Tom had refrained from making any slight noise of surprise at this stranger's presence and now his lips turned to a subtle frown. He flicked his gaze down to the stack of hay laying at the foot of the ladder. An odd precaution taken by the nameless woman, he thought, but it would do.

He narrowed his icy eyes at her. "Oi!" His voice bellowed around the room, reaching Tara's ear with a startling suddenness. She jumped of fright, her left foot slipping past the narrow ridge that had kept her upright.

A cry of surprise escaped her as she felt her body tilting past the point of no return and plummeting to the floor, only to smack softly against the pile of hay she'd laid earlier.

While she lay winded and caught off guard, staring at the ceiling in shock, Tommy approached, skilfully detaching his gun from his waistband and aiming it square to her face. He was about to question the stranger when her bright eyes opened, resting on the barrel centimetres from her and... she laughed.

Tara actually laughed. The comedic irony wasn't lost on her here and she couldn't help it.

Seeing that her reaction had bewildered the man above her, she slowed her chuckles to explain.

"I'm sorry, just the other week I was on this same haystack with a gun pointed at my gob, over in that corner right there." Tara tilted her head to the side to show the spot she'd previously faced death, but the man didn't take his eyes off her for a second.

Who was this strange girl?

❖

Vern hung his head. His hand still gripping the washcloth to clean his kitchen counter.

He'd spotted Thomas slipping into Mary's barn through his window. She was probably dead by now.

He flipped the cloth over his broad shoulder, dragging his feet to the back door as he shook his head. He liked that girl, it really was a shame.

Vern lifted his head to the skies to observe the weather as he walked. It was dry enough to dig her a shallow grave a little ways away. Not the worst of days to die.

He rested his palm against the wooden door to push it further ajar. Inside, he spotted Mary lying on a haystack with a shit eating grin on her face and his nephew pointing a pistol at a spot between her pretty eyes.

His brows pulled together in confusion, speaking up before Tom's trigger happy finger could shoot.

"Tom, what the fuck are ye doin'?" Vern drawled with a tired frustration.

Tom pulled his eyes from the blonde to look at his uncle. "Where were you?" He questioned incredulously. Tara flicked her eyes between the two as they spoke. Evidently, they knew each other. 

"Taking a shit, what's it to you?" The younger man cleared his throat and sheathed the gun, gesturing to Tara. "Well who's this?"

Vern laughed, bitter sarcasm dripping from his tone. "She's not one bit your business. What are ye doin' here?" Tara watched their exchange with raised brows. They acted like bickering brothers, but Vern looked a little old to be this man's sibling.

Tom straightened his coat, pursing his pink lips for a moment as though unsatisfied with the answer before moving past it. "Looking for you. We need to talk."

He sent Tara one last indecipherable look and took off past Vern outside.

Stokes gave the now sobered Mary a hard glance. He would deal with her later. He followed the testy man out the barn, leaving her to wonder what on earth had happened.