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Chapter 1186: Return to Margrave
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 20:00:04 +0000 UTC“Who was it that said, ‘You don’t pay a call girl for sex, you pay her to leave afterwards’?” Megan clutched Jack’s hand tightly, her bloodless lips trembling as she asked.
Jack had ultimately come to the hospital. After accompanying Megan through a series of medical checks, he remained at her bedside to ensure she didn’t spiral into another dark episode. That one vigil turned into an entire night.
“Uh, Dashiell Hammett?” Jack nearly missed the cue.
Dashiell Hammett, one of America’s iconic hardboiled crime writers—on par with Raymond Chandler—was best known for novels like The Maltese Falcon, Red Harvest, and The Thin Man. Jack had once discussed Chandler’s famous quote with NYPD Commissioner Frank Reagan (back in Chapter 653), but he’d always had a greater fondness for Hammett’s biting critiques of American society.
“That line makes no sense, does it?” Megan gave a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “It’s always the men who leave first.”
Oof. Jack didn’t quite know how to respond—getting that wrong could lead to serious consequences.
While he genuinely sympathized with Megan’s ordeal, he couldn’t ignore that a significant part of it was her own doing. Of all the methods of revenge available to her, she’d chosen one that harmed not only others, but herself. Then again, her upbringing was a factor too—coddled and spoiled since birth, the sudden collapse of her world understandably pushed her to extremes.
What ultimately convinced Jack to help her came down to two things:
First, Megan had shown mercy. She spared the relatively “innocent” Trent Lab, the wealthy farm owner who’d treated their date more like a matchmaking event. The man had wept openly at the station, ignoring his lawyer’s objections as he detailed every moment of his encounter with Megan.
Second, she never sought revenge against Katherine Villa—the escort who’d contributed to her mother’s abandonment. That was rare. When it came to female criminals, emotion typically ruled, and once the killing began, the self-destruct button was usually fully engaged. “If I’m going down, everyone who’s hurt me dies first” was practically the norm.
“Today, many major companies in Dallas suffered a significant blow. A newly discovered client list has left top corporate executives in stunned silence…”
“A high-end escort suspected of murdering her clients has been identified as the daughter of Andrew Kane, who is now under arrest for obstruction of justice and other charges…”
“Due to certain unforeseen circumstances, the FBI reportedly captured key moments on camera. These recordings have already been submitted to the Chief Prosecutor as evidence…”
That morning’s local news was buzzing. The media—still recovering from the earlier protest shooting incident—jumped at the explosive new development, and every major channel covered the story from last night.
Jack turned off the TV and looked at Megan in her hospital bed. “I kept my promise. Now I want you to promise me something—live. You have a long life ahead of you.”
Seeing how quickly he seemed ready to leave, Megan looked momentarily disappointed. But she soon let it go and waved her free hand, the one not cuffed to the bed.
“I’m sorry you had to see me at my worst. In Eastern Buddhism, they say we get another life. If that’s true, I hope we meet again… and that things are different next time.”
—
Massive trucks towing shipping containers roared past in the opposite lane, prompting Aubrey to instinctively switch to the slow lane and ease off the gas.
“Jack, didn’t you say Margrave was just some backwater town? That the only thing memorable about it was the peach pie and barbecue?”
“Don’t ask me. It’s been ages since I came back here.” Jack stared blankly at the highway. It felt both familiar and foreign. The last time he and Hannah drove this road, they hadn’t passed another car for ten straight minutes.
While he knew Roscoe had done a good job reviving the area, just from the current traffic, he realized his expectations had been too modest.
Up ahead, a brand-new Chevy patrol car bearing the Margrave Police Department logo flashed its lights and pulled in behind their two black Suburbans.
“Are we in trouble?” Aubrey asked, puzzled. He figured maybe his slow driving had drawn attention, though their Suburbans were clearly federal vehicles.
Jack glanced at the rearview mirror, recognized the officer behind the wheel, and smiled. “It’s just a welcome committee.”
The police cruiser gave a quick whoop of its siren, and the Suburbans pulled over. Jack stepped out first. From the patrol car came two people—one in uniform, the other a petite woman with strikingly bold features.
“Jack!”
“Roscoe, long time no see.” He bent down and hugged the petite policewoman—now, technically, the mayor.
“Hannah! You’re more beautiful than ever.”
“Roscoe, so are you.” The two women exchanged kisses on the cheek like old friends reuniting after years apart.
“Agent Tavor, it’s been too long.” Chief Stevenson, dressed in a crisp new uniform, was visibly trembling with emotion as he tightly shook Jack’s hand, eyes wet with tears.
He had been one of the only officers to survive the events in Margrave—aside from Roscoe and Finlay, who were major players in that whole ordeal. In the original timeline, Stevenson and his pregnant wife had been murdered by the deranged Little Kliner. But in this world, Jack had changed his fate.
“You actually made it to chief?” Jack was surprised. He still remembered how timid the guy had been back then.
“Heh…” Stevenson scratched his head, embarrassed. “Roscoe became mayor, Finlay returned to Boston, and I was the only one left who still knew how things worked.”
In small towns, the mayor is elected, but the police chief is appointed by the mayor. So really, it wasn’t all that surprising.
After a round of warm greetings, Chief Stevenson personally led the way with his cruiser, escorting the two Suburbans into town. The welcome ceremony for the FBI team—though clearly centered on Jack—was nothing short of grand.
They parked outside the diner where Jack had once eaten peach pie. Like the rest of the town, it had undergone a complete makeover. The facade was now significantly more upscale, and even the parking lot had doubled in size. A large crowd, some familiar and others not, stood smiling at the entrance. Colorful streamers and balloons completed the festive scene—it looked like the town was throwing a party.
