Nothing’s Changed

Great Flash Fiction by KT Bartlett

I needed to focus. What I wanted to do was keep driving past the house, but we had a job to do. My hands clenched the wheel as I pulled into the narrow dirt driveway and maneuvered the car to a stop.

Xavier Hillman sat in the passenger seat beside me. He was large, making the inside of the car feel claustrophobic.

I put the car in park and looked at him. “Start with some general questions about the last order, but go easy on Hudson at first. We need information.”

“Huh, where I’m from, we’d just clip him. Easier to replace than rehabilitate.”

Xavier was my latest protégé, and—as is typical of my lackeys—he’d grown up too fast, too violent. Always too quick to draw first blood. Messy.

“There’s something to be said for loyalty,” I offered, but the sentiment was lost on him. He didn’t get the distinction. “Look, if he did take something off the top to sell, I want to know who bought it.”

It was no secret that my boss, Healy Byrne, had used me as a tool to root out discord. For a long time, I’d been the one to take the hard line. But if you start out threatening death, where do you go from there? Xavier had to learn that.

We’d begin with one of our distributors, Hudson Devillier. He lived here with Abby, his wife.

We had questions. If they were smart, they’d have answers.

We got out of the car and went inside the small frame house. It was dark inside, but I could still see piles of trash scattered around. The stench of mold and days old trash wafted into the den area where we stood.

Xavier remained behind me. The tension in his body filled the room.

“All I’m saying is he might talk if he thinks we’re going to take him out.”

Looking around the room, I shook my head. Who’d want to live for this?

“He might shut down,” I offered, but he stared hard at me. “Look, I’d rather not have to dump a body today.”

“Huh, now or later. Doesn’t make a difference,” he mumbled.

I wanted to tell him how much difference it would make, but I heard a cry from the back of the house. I motioned for Xavier to wait and walked down a hall toward the sound.

A baby about six or seven months old crawled around, crying weakly. He wore a blue t-shirt with bears on it and a sagging diaper.

We hadn’t known about the child.

He saw me, crawled quickly to me and I picked him up. I remembered holding my niece at that age—she was a healthy baby and had the heft of a well-cared for child. This one felt hollow.

Xavier came up from behind me. “What are you doing? We’ve got to deal with Hudson.”

“Is Hudson here?”

“He’s in the tub.”

“Alive?”

“Got a pulse, but he’s grey and not responding.”

I carried the baby to the kitchen and found a banana that wasn’t too far gone. I mashed it and fed him from my fingertips. He grabbed my hand and held it to his mouth.

Xavier followed me. I could hear his judgement in his steps, his breathing. He clearly thought I’d lost focus.

“That baby is not why we’re here.”

That I knew.     

Then Abby appeared from another room. She walked unsteady, her hand tracing along the wall for balance. She finally noticed that I was holding her son.

“You can’t kill me, Mr. Doughtery. You can’t. I’ll do anything you want.” Her words breathless, she started weeping.

Things were getting out of hand.

I walked to her, her son in my arms, but he didn’t reach for her, nor she him.

I held up a finger to her lips, but didn’t touch them. “Shhh, Abby. What’s his name?”

Her body shook. “I didn’t know. Hud didn’t tell me he was taking anything off the top.” Her dilated eyes told a different truth.

Xavier cleared his throat in frustration. “What do we do?”

I sighed. I knew why we were there. Byrne needed us to find out if Hudson bit the hand that feeds him. With him unconscious, it’ll fall to Abby. She’s a small thing. It didn’t seem fair. “Nothing’s changed. One of them has got to get the message.” I looked at him. “Don’t break anything. Just make it so she doesn’t forget.”

Xavier nodded. Abby, wailing, shook her head.

I carried the baby back down the hall to the bathroom to check on Hudson. It was no use. Spit drained out of the side of his mouth. Eyes open and empty.

A scream followed by the click of a suppressed gunshot filled the hallway. I rushed to the den, clutching the baby to me.

Abby slumped against a wall. Blood pumped out from her chest into her lap. Mouth slack.

“What are you doing?” My words came out through clenched teeth.

Xavier shrugged “She just stood there whimpering.” He tucked his gun back into his jacket.

I gestured down the hall behind me. “Hudson is dead. Now her? What good is sending a message if no one is left to get it?”

He didn’t seem to hear me and pointed to the baby. “What about him?”

Again, I heard the judgement in his voice.

My chest contracted as I tried to calm my breath.

The baby pushed against me. I resettled him and he relaxed. “There’s a fire station on the way. We can drop him there.”

Xavier was silent. Then he looked at me. “Back in Chicago, we’d have done it different.”

“You’re not leaving me any choice.”

He turned from me and started for the door. “That baby would’ve wound up just like his….”

I stopped listening. I shifted the baby to get out my gun. Aimed and fired.

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Bio: KT Bartlett holds a Master’s Degree in Literary Studies and has studied creative writing at both the undergraduate and graduate levels. When not writing, she teaches writing, literature, and humanities at Lamar University. Her work has been published in Thrill Ride Magazine and Hellbound Books and will appear in Yellow Mama, October 2025.

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Cover Photo by:pexels/kelvin agustinus, Edited by The Yard.

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