The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

Even without saying the man’s name, the mere allusion to Ecklund caused the animosity Reed had been feeling a short time before to rise. Sweat again found its way to the surface, his grip tightening on the phone in his hand.

  “Deke and I have found seven,” he said, “seven cases of missing girls in the area over the last five years. All the same age, all the same appearance, and the bastard refuses to believe anything is going on here.”

  Pausing, he turned away from the desk, the sight of the map and the red circles covering it only making things worse. Walking to the window, he stared out over the back meadow, the afternoon sun shining bright.

  “Hell, we saw it happen...” he began, his voice raised, before cutting himself off.

  The captain knew all of this already. It wasn’t like Reed venting or making Grimes listen to it again changed a thing.

  “What happened on your end?” Reed asked.

  “Man went straight to Brandt,” Grimes said. “Called the admin building downtown, told them it was a fellow chief of police and that it was imperative he speak to her immediately.”

  A harsh snort slid out of Reed as he listened. The move sounded like something Ecklund would say, completely oblivious to the fact that he was trying to equivocate himself with a woman overseeing a population of more than a million and a half people.

  “Shit,” Reed whispered.

  “Yes and no,” Grimes said. “The minute she heard your name, she assumed the worst. Started sending me text messages telling me to get your ass back here immediately, the whole deal.”

  His eyes sliding shut, Reed raised a hand to his forehead. Rubbing across it, he could feel perspiration beneath his fingertips, before saying, “Which I’m guessing is about the time that she shared the fact I’m on leave.”

  Pausing for a moment, Grimes replied, “I didn’t know she had, but yeah. That would seem to be about the right spot to slip it in.”

  The image of Ecklund chucking that out there, delivering it with a sneer on his face, acting like he had won the day, returned to Reed. Not trusting the phone to survive another squeeze, he curled his opposite hand into a fist, feeling his nails dig into his palm.

  “Which he really loved tossing my way,” Reed said, “right before he put his own guy on desk duty for the foreseeable future.”

  Offering a string of mutterings that vaguely resembled a repeat of what Reed had just said, Grimes asked, “In a town like Warner? Does he have the manpower for that?”

  “No,” Reed replied. “He has his son, who is basically worthless, and two patrol guys. That’s how ridiculous this whole thing is.”

  “And like I said, yes and no,” Grimes said. “I think if the guy had left things there, you might have really been in deep, but he couldn’t shut his mouth. Kept talking about how he had issued you a direct order, that he wasn’t a man to be disobeyed, and finally she’d heard enough.

  “Started firing back questions asking what had happened, how you had overstepped, everything. Eventually got him to admit that one of his officers had asked for your help and you’d done nothing besides talk to a few people.”

  The summation was a bit of an oversimplification, but it wasn’t far off the mark. The only reason he’d been able to get into the coroner’s office was by dropping his full title, and he had had Deke digging through state records most of the day, but Ecklund didn’t know any of that.

  “So, she’s off my back?” Reed asked.

  Letting out a slow sigh, Grimes replied, “I wouldn’t go that far. You guys might have a shared enemy now, but she’s still plenty pissed about what she sees as a violation of your leave.”

  How she could view it that way, Reed didn’t feign to understand. He was placed on leave from the Columbus Police Department, an entity in an entirely different state, and he’d been asked to join this case by a sworn local officer.

  At the very least, he should be covered by everything up to this point.

  He didn’t bother saying as much, though. There was no need.

  If the encounter with Ecklund had proven anything, it was how much power those in charge believed they wielded and how personally they took any perceived move against it.

  “How bad?” Reed asked instead.

  Once more, Grimes let out a sigh. He considered his response for a moment, no sound coming over the line, before eventually asking, “I’m guessing you have no intention of backing off at this point, right?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then my suggestion would be, get it wrapped up sooner rather than later, then lay low for the foreseeable future.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Serena Gipson was waiting at the sound of the first click. The instant it penetrated the silence, she jerked her head hard toward it, no longer feeling the slightest twinges of fear that had marked the previous visits.

  Instead, she focused, counting the seconds in her head, looking for the tiniest details, anything that might help her in the near future.

  The initial sound was that of the audible scrape of metal against metal, a first latch being slid from left to right. Holding her breath, Serena made it to one-thousand-three before a second one rang out, this one a bit louder, a heavy deadbolt being turned.

  With each sound, she felt her pulse jump slightly, her heart lurching in her chest as she sat and stared at the door.

  A moment later, an outside knob turned before the door pushed inward, light flooding from the room and out into the hall.

  Swinging in from the side, the man stepped into view, stopping on the threshold. Nothing more than a silhouette, he peered at her before running his head from left to right, scanning the interior of the space.

  A space that Serena had made sure was meticulously clean, the bed made, even the roll of toilet paper picked up off the floor and stowed in the dresser. Resting on the nightstand were the empty water bottle and discarded banana peel, the skin of it already beginning to brown, the smell a faint undertone to the scent of her own charred leg still hanging in the air.

  A leg that was still unwrapped, extended beside her. Covered with the salve that had been left for her, it continued to shine bright beneath the overhead light, bits of cool sensation traveling along her calf as the air picked at the plasma just starting to cover the raw flesh.

  “You’re up,” the man said, his tone much different than the last time they’d interacted. Free from scorn, or even mocking, he seemed calm, the statement merely that, not a challenge in any way.

  Not wanting to overplay things, to tip her hand too much, Serena glanced at him before nodding slightly. Just as fast, she turned her head away, keeping her gaze averted.

  The last time the man was here, she’d pulled away. She’d struggled so hard that he knocked her unconscious, branding her leg in the aftermath.

  To suddenly be docile, to speak to him, placate him, would be too obvious.

  She couldn’t have him on to her. Not with the plan still coming together in her mind, the timeline not yet set.

  Taking another step forward, the man entered the light of the room, allowing her to see him fully. Pausing as if intending to catch it, to allow it to illuminate his features, one hand hung by his side, the other held at waist height, a Styrofoam container in hand.

  “I see you ate,” he said. “That’s good. You’ll need the replenishment.”

  Taking another step forward, he drew to just a few feet short of the bed. Pausing, he looked down at her leg, inspecting his handiwork.

  “You’re also using the ointment. Keep at it. If you run out, I’ll bring you more.”

  Each word the man said caused the venom Serena felt to rise higher. So much she wanted to leap forward off the bed, flailing with elbows and knees and fists and whatever else she could find. Grab at the front of his flannel shirt, pulling and scratching at any target that presented itself, going until one of them could last no longer.

  Still, she kept her gaze aimed downward, her features void of the thoughts she harbored.

  N
odding slightly, she felt her lank hair swing free on either side of her face. Hair that was carrying multiple days of grease and oil, permeated by the harsh scents in the room.

  Not that a shower seemed to be anywhere near the most pressing concern she had right now.

  “Do you know what it is?” the man asked, his tone making it clear he expected some sort of response. “The design, on your leg?”

  Once more, a spike of ire rose through Serena, his choice of the word design far from the one she would have picked, scads that were more fitting coming to mind.

  Brand. Burn. Scar.

  Violation. Disfigurement.

  Turning her head an inch at a time, Serena looked to her leg. The mere sight of the raw and irritated flesh, the wound still too new to even begin scabbing over, caused her throat to constrict, threatening to pull fresh tears to the surface.

  Using her throat to make a small clicking sound, she gave her head a quick twist.

  Reaching down with his free hand, the man took her by the ankle. Careful to hold either side gently between his fingers, his skin barely touched against hers, that alone enough to cause her entire form to clench tight.

  Pretending not to notice, he rotated her leg a couple of inches to the side, positioning it so the full breadth of the brand was visible. “It’s me.”

  Using a finger, he traced the outline of it, holding his hand just a centimeter above her skin. Without looking at her, a faint smile came to his features. “Your Eddy Bear, just like you always said.”

  Her shoulders pulled up beneath her ears, Serena held her breath. She stared past the brand, looking from his expression to his hand wrapped around her ankle, praying that he wouldn’t continue the onslaught from earlier.

  Barely hearing the words he said, she fought the urge to jerk from him, hoping that he would merely deposit whatever he had brought her and be on his way.

  Serena had been hit before. In the wake of her father’s passing, her mother had sought refuge in the bottle, making a quick trip through all the usual tropes of an alcoholic parent.

  The deep depression. The violent outbursts.

  And every last thing in between.

  A couple of shots to the face were nothing at this point, even from a man of his size. They might render her unconscious for a bit, may even leave her mildly concussed, but the damage was mostly cosmetic.

  Cuts and bruises she could work with, still able to move around, but a twisted ankle, a shattered foot, anything more than the gaping burn already inscribed in her skin, would be too much.

  They would render her immobile, stripping away any hope she had of putting her fledgling plan into action.

  Pitched forward at the waist, the man held the pose for more than a full minute. His gaze working the length of her body, he remained in position, searching for any outstanding signs, seeming to debate something internally.

  Finally deciding on whatever it was he was considering, he released his grip on her ankle, standing and taking a half-step back.

  “I brought you your favorite tonight,” he said, extending the to-go container before him. “Cisco’s brisket and hush puppies.”

  Not sure what was expected of her, if she should accept or not, Serena remained motionless.

  Sensing her hesitation, the man moved back closer. Holding his hand out at arm’s length, he used the front edge of the container to lift her chin, the smell of fresh barbecue just under her nostrils as she stared up through stray strands of hair, forcing herself to look at him.

  A smell she would never be able to stomach again without thinking of her leg and the damage inflicted upon it.

  “You do like Cisco’s, right?”

  Knowing what was expected of her, that if ever she wanted this encounter to end, she had to play along, Serena forced her chin to rise slightly in a nod.

  “Good,” the man said. “You just have to do one thing for me before you can have it.”

  Keeping the container held in place, pinned just beneath her chin, he said, “I told you my name. Now you need to tell me yours.”

  More ripples passed through Serena’s core as she sat and stared at the man, fighting in vain to keep the loathing she felt from blazing forth in her gaze.

  Seeing that very thing, the smile bled away from the man’s features. “If ever you want to eat again, you will tell me your name.”

  A million things she wanted to say came to mind, though each one Serena managed to keep tamped down. Slowly drawing in air through her nose, she forced herself to remain stationary, knowing that as much as the man was using food to torment her, she needed the strength it would provide.

  Now, and in the future.

  Parting her lips slightly, she tried twice to find her voice before finally pushing out, “Molly.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Officer Wyatt, so nice to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to do this later in the afternoon.”

  Beatrice Laub was a short, compact woman who stopped just below Reed’s chin. Her slight frame was accentuated by the fitted dark purple scrubs she was wearing, a long sleeve white thermal beneath them. Wearing sneakers that were so new they were practically neon, her dark hair was cut just barely longer than Reed’s, her features free of makeup.

  Looking to be somewhere around forty, a host of fine lines around her eyes hinted at a combination of maturity and exhaustion that made pinning an exact age difficult.

  A look Reed had found most of the nurses he knew to share.

  Standing as Reed and Billie approached, she pushed a stack of papers from her lap onto the bench beside her, thrusting a hand out.

  “Actually, my name is Detective Reed Mattox,” Reed said, shaking the woman’s hand, his hand wrapping almost completely around hers. “My K-9 partner, Billie.”

  For just a moment, his hand went toward his hip, reaching for a badge that wasn’t there. Not that he would end up pulling one in a setting like this anyway, knowing the sight of it would likely only draw some unwanted attention.

  This conversation was going to be difficult enough as it was.

  “Thank you for making time for us at all. I know this must be a busy time of the semester.”

  Releasing her hand from his grip, Laub bent a few inches to the side, inspecting Billie as a crease appeared between her brows. Flicking her gaze back up to Reed, she asked, “Detective? In Warner?”

  Since leaving his parents’ home fifteen minutes earlier, Reed had known the question – or some variation of it – was coming. A dozen times he’d tried to play the conversation out in his head, attempting to determine the best way to respond.

  In his mind, he’d envisioned a scene akin to something like what he might find at OU over in Norman, or even Ohio State back in Columbus. A sprawling campus with a grassy quad and scads of undergrads roaming about. Young people in their late-teens or early-twenties throwing frisbees or sprawled out reading in the sun.

  A bit cliched perhaps, but nothing that wasn’t steeped in good reason.

  On the doorstep of June, summer was desperately within reach. The winter doldrums were finally relenting, as were the demands of the semester.

  What he found was quite the opposite, the place not far from resembling the facility they’d visited that morning in Tulsa.

  From where they stood, Reed could see only a trio of buildings, all single-story and made of brick. Clustered into a tight group, they formed three sides of a square, the fourth consisting of the street they’d driven in on, the SUV parked no more than forty yards away.

  While the space did have grass, already it was shrouded in shade, making the air feel a full ten degrees cooler than Reed knew it to be.

  Nowhere was another soul to be seen.

  Pressing his lips tight for a moment, considering how to best approach the matter, Reed asked, “Ms. Laub? Or is it professor?”

  “Trixie,” the woman replied, the divot still visible along the bridge of her nose.

  “Okay, Trixie,” Reed said, lowering his
voice just slightly. “Before I answer that, is there someplace better we should speak?”

  He didn’t go as far as to suggest an office, not wanting to pigeonhole whatever her response might be, hoping the insinuation would be strong enough.

  Matching frown lines appeared on either side of her mouth. Folding her arms over her torso, she asked, “I was told Officer Wyatt wanted to speak with me about Serena Gipson. I assumed it was about the annual scholarship the police department gives out each year.”

  Much the way Reed had been telling half-truths for the last two days, hoping it would be enough to get some doors to open that might not under closer scrutiny, it seemed Wyatt had done the same.

  Not an outright lie, but enough of an omission to confuse the final objective for sure.

  Shaking his head just slightly, Reed said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know about a scholarship. And to answer your first question, Billie and I don’t work out of Warner. We’ve been asked here to help with a case.”

  The creases grew more pronounced on Trixie’s face as she glanced to each of the buildings in turn once more, her gaze settling on Reed.

  “Involving Serena.”

  “Yes.”

  Moving her focus just a few inches to the side, Trixie took a moment to process the information, a visible shudder racking her slight frame. Her blinking increased threefold, her nostrils flaring slightly as she drew in a deep breath.

  “Most of the free space is taken right now by students cramming for tomorrow,” she eventually said. “But I know of a conference room reserved for faculty that should be open.”

  Chapter Fifty

  The conference room that Trixie had suggested was occupied by a quartet of young people huddled around a table with no less than a dozen no-name coffee cups. All looking as if they hadn’t slept in days, they stared in horror as the door opened, as if the sunlight it allowed in might forever scar them.

  Or even worse, that they might be asked to vacate their prime location.

  Leaving the group to their studies, the second spot that was attempted was a matching conference room on the opposite side of the building. Finding it also full, the three opted to head back outside, returning to the same bench a full ten minutes after setting off.