Jay Harrington, Cindy's father, sat in his 2006 Jeep Wrangler outside the Whatcom County Sheriff's Office and Jail. The brief time since his daughter's attack felt like a years-long fever dream. In the last two days, he estimated he slept maybe four hours. He was given the week off from his Assistant Chief role for Whatcom County Fire District #7. As he sat outside the Sheriff's Office and Jail, he had a hard time imagining anything less than a lifetime to cope with what his family was going through.
Frank's release was presumably minutes away. The details of the case were vague. Jay had not heard much from his lawyer other than Frank's bail was posted. When he saw what the man did to his little girl, anything less than death seemed unfair. How a grown man could bruise, bleed, and attempt to sexually assault anyone, let alone his own daughter, was incomprehensible.
Scum. He thought. Scum that needs to die.
In Jay's lap was a Glock 19 pistol. It was the only gun he owned, but the only one he needed for what he was planning. His relationship with guns was mature. In his childhood, his father was a hunter, just like his father before him. Jay's upbringing taught him the responsibility of owning a firearm. While taking an animal's life was something he never felt comfortable with, especially for sport, he respected others' decisions. He opted not to hunt with his father due to his discomfort with taking another animal's life, something his father couldn't understand.
"My great grandfather put food on his family's plates doing this." Jay remembered his father saying. "He was an honorable man."
Certainly, if Jay was avenging his daughter's attack, I must be more honorable. He assumed. Now more than ever he could understand the appeal of taking something's life.
Frank stepped out of the front doors to the jail. The sight for Jay was like seeing bigfoot. The disbelief was there, albeit for different reasons.
Scum. Jay thought. How could they let this man go?
As Frank approached the parking lot, Jay opened his door. Just as he was about to step out, Sheriff Hornbeck's cruiser sped up next to him. The Sheriff had been watching Jay for the last fifteen minutes, hoping he wouldn't have to do what he now had to do. The Sheriff ran out and stepped in front of Jay's door.
"Don't do it, Jay." Said the Sheriff.
"Do what?" Asked Jay.
The Sheriff looked down at Jay's hand. The Glock was held tightly. Jay, so awash in emotions, forgot to hide the gun.
Fuck it. Jay thought. He eyed the Sheriff. "He tried to rape my daughter, James."
The Sheriff nodded. "He made bail. There's no way they let him off at trial."
Jay's eyes filled with tears. "What would you do? What kind of man would just let - that - walk away in front of him?"
"I understand."
Something about the Sheriff's response warranted more understanding than Jay would have presumed. The two word response seemed more genuine than any sympathies he got from his peers.
The Sheriff continued, "Trust me. I know how you feel more than you comprehend."
Then Jay thought, But it wasn't your kid. "What would you know?" He snapped.
The Sheriff paused like he wanted to say something, something that would confirm his relatability to Jay's situation. But he opted for, "I know people. Inside. When they put him in prison, they'll do to him what he tried to do to your daughter everyday for the rest of his life."
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