Sawyer Estate.
Heather unlocked the large iron gate, drove along the winding road, and stopped in front of a beautiful house. She took a moment to examine it before pulling out a keyring and unlocking the front door.
Inside, the house was exquisitely decorated.
Under different circumstances, Heather might have been thrilled.
But right now, she had no time to admire the place. She walked straight to the basement wine cellar door.
Instead of immediately using the largest key to unlock it, she grabbed a baseball bat and pounded on the heavy iron door.
**Bang! Bang! Bang!**
"Jeb, it's me, your cousin."
**Bang! Bang! Bang!**
"Jeb, it's me, your cousin."
**Bang! Bang! Bang!**
"Jeb, it's me, your cousin."
She knocked and called out repeatedly.
The old lawyer had told her that her cousin Jeb had the mental capacity of an eight-year-old. He knew of her existence but had never seen her before. She worried that if he didn't recognize her, he might react violently.
Adam had shown her plenty of horror movies, and one in particular came to mind—it featured a chainsaw-wielding killer who would appear out of nowhere and attack without a word.
That kind of silent, merciless assault was truly terrifying.
So, for safety's sake, she used Adam's trick of knocking in a repetitive pattern to announce her identity, giving her cousin time to react and hopefully preventing any tragic misunderstandings.
She knocked and called for a long time before finally hearing movement from inside.
**Bang! Bang! Bang!**
"Hah!"
A thud sounded from the other side of the door, accompanied by heavy breathing.
"Jeb, it's me, your cousin. Do you hear me?"
Heather tried to confirm.
**Thump!**
A dull knock came in response.
"I'm going to open the door now."
Heather took out the key, turned it in the lock, and immediately stepped back to the top of the stairs. Keeping a safe distance, she called out, "Jeb, the door is open. You can come out now."
**Creak.**
The basement door swung open, and a massive figure emerged, clutching a huge chainsaw.
Heather's striking blue eyes narrowed. The figure's face was not normal—it was rough, stitched together from human skin, with only the eyes, nose, and mouth exposed. A grotesque sight.
"Jeb, I'm your cousin, Edith."
Heather stared at the masked figure, her heart pounding. Slowly, she reached for the family pendant her grandmother had left her and held it up.
Jeb's gaze locked onto the pendant. He looked at it, then at Heather, before lowering the chainsaw and silently turning back toward the basement.
"Whew."
Heather exhaled heavily.
She understood now—her terrifying cousin had acknowledged her.
Oddly enough, the moment carried a hint of warmth.
Heather stood still for a while, making sure Jeb wasn't about to turn violent, then cautiously followed him down.
Inside, dim lighting revealed crates of liquor stacked haphazardly. She noticed a heavy iron door with an empty food tray nearby—this must have been Jeb's living quarters.
A hallway stretched further inside.
Heather continued forward and stepped into a large room filled with butchering tools. It was clearly a small slaughterhouse. A massive chainsaw rested on a table, with several spares nearby.
Jeb stood there, glancing at her before turning away indifferently.
"Jeb, did you know Grandma passed away?"
Heather asked cautiously.
Jeb lifted his eyes to her again, then took slow, heavy steps toward her.
Heather's heart pounded violently.
This time, she didn't back away. She held her ground and met his gaze.
He was her only blood relative. Given their earlier peaceful interaction, she was willing to take a risk.
It seemed Jeb had no intention of playing mind games with her—he simply walked past her and headed upstairs.
Heather hesitated, then quickly followed.
### The Master Bedroom
An elegantly dressed elderly woman lay lifeless on the sofa.
She had been dead for some time.
Heather covered her mouth with her hand.
"Jeb, we should give Grandma a proper burial."
Jeb stood silently for a moment, then stepped forward and carefully lifted his grandmother's body in his arms. Without hesitation, he carried her outside.
"Wait! We're not ready yet—"
Heather tried to stop him, but he ignored her, continuing toward the family cemetery.
When she arrived, she saw that a new grave had already been dug, with a coffin inside.
Nearby stood a long row of tombstones, each marked with the same date—August 19th.
Heather's expression darkened as she stared at them.
These were her relatives. Some of them may have been guilty, even heinous criminals, but she couldn't accept the idea of wiping out an entire bloodline in the name of revenge.
She wiped away a tear and stepped forward to help Jeb bury their grandmother.
Ideally, they would have hired a mortician and held a funeral. But given the circumstances of the Sawyer family, keeping things simple seemed like the best option.
Grandma must have known this would happen—why else would she have prepared a coffin in advance?
Jeb did most of the heavy lifting. He was enormous and immensely strong.
When the burial was complete, he gave Heather a glance, then turned and walked away.
"Jeb, wait."
Heather called out, "Now that Grandma is gone, I'm your only family. I'll take care of you, just like she did."
Jeb lowered his head slightly and stood still.
Heather's heart stirred. She stepped past him and headed toward the house.
Jeb followed, trailing closely behind.
Back inside the estate, Heather took her time exploring the grand house.
The place was beautifully decorated.
"Jeb, do you know who our family's enemies are?"
After wandering through the house, she turned to Jeb.
Jeb nodded and headed toward the basement.
Heather quickly followed.
When he opened the heavy iron door, she stepped inside and saw a wall covered in photographs.
In the images, a group of people stood atop a pile of rubble. Some perched on cars, holding chainsaws. Others waved guns and laughed maniacally. One man clutched a severed leg, grinning smugly.
Most of them held liquor bottles, treating the massacre like a celebration.
Heather's face darkened.
In the corner of the photo, her adoptive parents stood among them.
After locking Jeb back in the wine cellar, Heather returned upstairs. While sorting through her grandmother's belongings, she discovered a hidden room. Inside, she found more detailed records—along with an arsenal of firearms.
Shotguns, handguns, rifles—every kind of weapon imaginable.
Of course. This was Texas.
It made sense. A lone elderly woman, living in such a vast and secluded estate, needed protection.
After all, Texas was like the Wild West. There were three types of people you should never mess with—old folks, women, and children.
That's why the estate had only been vandalized with graffiti. If they had truly been defenseless, thieves or even worse criminals would have long since barged in.
There was a joke about a notorious criminal who fled to Texas. Before he could even lay a hand on a local woman, she pulled out a massive gun from who-knows-where and shot him dead on the spot.
The case was never solved. Other states remained on edge, waiting for the criminal's next move. But he had simply vanished—because in Texas, justice was swift and absolute.
That was the charm of Texas.