The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

  Abandoning his sideways stance and his methodical posture, Reed took the remainder of the steps two at a time. One hand against the wall for support, he descended another half-dozen steps before reaching the bottom, Billie arriving just seconds before him.

  Based on the outside position of the cellar door and the narrow confines of the stairwell, the world had been pitched in complete darkness. Not until they came out at the bottom, the space opening out in front of them, were they able to peer ahead, seeing the faint glow of light at the far end of the building.

  From what Reed could tell, the cellar was centered on a wide hallway running the length of the building. To either side, doors were spaced in even intervals, most standing closed, cobwebs hanging in the corners.

  Most, but not all.

  At the end of the hall, more than twenty yards from where they now stood, a pair of doors appeared to be open. Both throwing wide trapezoids of light sideways across the hall, the two melded together, a long shadow cutting through the light.

  Acting in spastic movements, it was punctuated by the sounds of a man’s voice, the words too low to make out, little more than angry grunts, though the tone behind them was unmistakable.

  Edward Gaines, the man they’d been looking for, tracking down, had first seen in the alley in Warner, was here.

  And he was looking to end this right now.

  “Hold!” Reed said, his voice only nominally louder than a moment before, not wanting to alert Gaines to their arrival with so much space still left to cover.

  Not with him already inside the room with Gipson, making it easy for him to use her as a shield.

  As the word left his lips, Reed rocked back before shoving himself forward. No match for the speed of Billie, she shot out ahead, an inky dart hurtling through the narrow space.

  Baton held in hand, Reed sprinted as hard as he could in her wake. Eyes wide, he watched as she shot by the first open doorway without pause, running straight for the second one and making the turn.

  Disappearing for just an instant, the first deep bray of her bark filled the cellar. Loud and resonant, it washed over Reed as he pounded out the last few steps, blowing past him in much the same way as Serena’s cry earlier.

  In response, the shadow stopped moving, all focus toward the new and unexpected intruder.

  “The hell?” Gaines snapped a moment later, his voice finally clear enough for Reed to decipher.

  In response, a second bark shot from Billie as she retreated a step into the hallway, coming back into view. Her body poised, teeth bared, she gnashed forward, lunging a few inches before retreating another foot.

  As she did so, the cause for her giving ground finally became visible.

  Leading with a long metal rod with a coil twisted on the end Edward Gaines emerged just inches from the doorway. His focus entirely on Billie, he wielded the brand at arm’s length, parrying it to either side, attempting to keep her at bay.

  Seeing the man for the first time, the embodiment of everything he’d been chasing for days on end, Reed covered the last few strides. He allowed the hatred he felt rise, images of Darcy Thornton in the coroner’s office and Serena Gipson being loaded into the van flashing across his eyes.

  Cresting with seeing Gaines now going after his partner, looking to impale her with the metal rod.

  Squeezing the baton tighter, Reed’s entire upper body constricted as he made the last couple of steps. Without breaking stride, he twisted at the waist, swinging the baton hard in an underhand motion.

  As he arrived, he let every bit of the wrath he felt flow from him. Rising from deep in his diaphragm, it sailed out in one loud call, a guttural roar that twisted Gaines’s focus his way.

  Seeing Reed for the first time, his eyes widened, his hand frozen out before him, exposing everything from the elbow down.

  Under the combination of Reed’s concentrated anger, of the momentum of his run, the tensile strength of the steel baton, the man’s wrist was no match.

  On contact, Reed didn’t just hear the bones shatter. He felt them, the reverberation traveling the length of the baton.

  Hitting with such force and at such an angle, there was no way the man could maintain his grasp on the weapon he held. Dropping straight to the floor, the sound of the metal rod Gaines had been holding echoed out around them as it skittered across the concrete.

  Hitting with such force, arriving with such speed, Reed’s momentum carried him on past. Elongating his stride, he let his body carry forward three steps, raising his hands before him, using the concrete block to draw him to a stop.

  Not expecting the blow, the explosion of agony it caused, the pained roar of Gaines filled the air, punctuated by the continuing barking of Billie as Reed jerked his attention back. Eyes wide, adrenaline surging, he switched the baton to his left hand. He pressed his right hand hard into the wall, using it as leverage as he pivoted back toward the doorway.

  Swinging his left arm in a hard arc, the baton an extension of it, he aimed for the center of the open frame, mustering every bit of centrifugal force, each ounce of vitriol, he possibly could.

  Much like the first shot, Reed doubted the man even saw it coming.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  The blow had come in at an angle. After having his wrist shattered on the first swipe, Gaines had pitched himself forward, cradling his arm to his chest, his body listing to the side.

  Reed’s intention with the second shot had been to hit him across the midsection. To shatter a rib or two maybe, but mainly to go after the solar plexus, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  That, coupled with his arm hanging in a position it was never intended to, the man would be no further threat, allowing Reed and Billie to get him neutralized and Serena secured.

  In the new position, the man’s height reduced by more than a foot, what happened instead was a direct shot across the man’s collarbone, caving it in completely before glancing off the side of his skull. Cleaving a trench just above his ear, he fell straight back to the floor, a ridge of furled skin protruding like some sort of stunted horn.

  Opening a wide gash, blood poured down over his light brown hair, staining the collar of his flannel shirt, spattering the floor beneath him.

  Unlike the shot to the wrist, not a sound escaped him, the combined effects of the wounds too great. With his eyelids fluttering, his head rolled straight back, hitting the floor, not to move again.

  Standing over him in the doorway, sweat dripped the length of Reed’s body. His lungs fought for air, the short sprint and the massive surge of adrenaline serving as momentary overload on his system.

  Beside him, Billie continued to bark, bouncing forward and back, focus on the man lying prostrate on the floor. Loud and angry, the sound pounded through the small space, a verbalization of exactly the way Reed felt.

  Even if it was probably doing nothing for the state Serena Gipson was in.

  “Down,” Reed said, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to slow his breathing. Without looking away from the man, he extended his right hand, wagging his fingers slightly.

  A moment later, Billie was there, sliding her neck beneath his touch. Ceasing her barking, an uneasy silence settled in, a harsh contrast to the cacophony of a moment before.

  “Good girl,” Reed whispered, running his hand the length of Billie’s back. “Real good job.”

  Turning back to the room, Reed traced his gaze along the side walls, looking for any shadows, any signs that the girl was present. Not wanting to go charging straight in, to worsen whatever fears she was already facing, he remained in place, a few feet back from Gaines, just outside the room.

  “Serena Gipson?” he called, his voice raised slightly. “This is the police, we’re coming in.”

  No response was given as he waited a moment, the baton still in hand, before easing forward. Picking his way past the man lying prone, he crossed over the threshold, pangs again stabbing at his stomach as he entered.

  Far worse t
han any official cell he’d ever seen, the place was something Reed could only classify as a dollhouse from hell. Made to resemble a functional bedroom, it technically fit the bill, if one could overlook that the furniture and wallpaper had all been lifted from a magazine spread issued fifty years prior.

  Just staring at it, he almost expected there to be the faint melodic undertones of a jewelry box serving as the musical backdrop for the macabre scene.

  Taking another step forward, what he found instead was far worse, assaulting a different sense altogether.

  The putrid scent of burnt flesh hanging heavy in the air.

  “Serena Gipson?” Reed asked, his voice softer as he stepped deeper inside. Stepping past Gaines, he peered into the space between the bed and the wall running straight out from the door.

  Seeing no sign of her, he shifted his gaze, landing on the toilet seat extended from the wall and the chain snaking out from beneath it. Appearing to be fastened directly into the wall, polished silver links were unfurled across the hardwood floor, snaking across the narrow expanse before disappearing on the far side of the bed.

  Taking another step forward, Reed kept the baton in hand. Leaning out to the side, he peered around the back corner of the bed, the one thing he’d been in search of for two solid days finally coming into view.

  Serena Gipson.

  Or, at least who Reed imagined to be Serena Gipson, the mottled and misshapen face staring back at him looking nothing like the attractive young woman who had marched by him outside the Sinclair Station.

  Huddled into a tight ball, she gripped a handful of the chain that held her pinned to the wall in hand, appearing ready to wield it if necessary. Lips drawn back to expose her teeth, she stared up in defiance, her cheeks damp with tears and perspiration.

  “Serena Gipson?” Reed asked, careful not to come any closer. Despite the baton still held tight, he lifted both hands, letting her see that he meant no further aggression.

  The left eye on the girl was swollen almost completely shut, the right one peering at him through a web of dark bruising. Saying nothing, she stared at him a moment, alternating her gaze over to Billie.

  After nearly a full minute she rocked forward a few inches, making it far enough to peer past the edge of the bed to Gaines sprawled on the floor.

  Only then did she shift back to Reed and nod slightly, lank hair swinging to either side of her face.

  “My name is Reed Mattox. I am a detective,” he said, extending a hand toward Billie, “and this is my partner, Billie. We’ve been looking for you.”

  Again, her gaze shifted to Billie and back. Not once did she say a word, her eyes wild, her body still dialed in to fight-or-flight.

  “There are more people upstairs, at the house, all here to help,” Reed continued. “Are you hurt? Can you move, or should I send someone down to get you?”

  Saying nothing more, Reed waited. He wanted to let what he’d said seep in, resonating with her, penetrating the veil of adrenaline and hatred clouding her mind.

  Making no effort to move, giving her all the space she needed, he watched in real time as the cocoon of hostility and self-preservation slowly peeled back. As the trauma of whatever had been happening as they approached, of everything that had clearly occurred over the last two days, receded just enough, allowing her mind to shift from survival mode to basic cognitive functioning again.

  A sheen of moisture rose to her eyes as she blinked rapidly, a gesture even as tiny as that appearing out of place on her distorted features.

  Slowly, she loosened the grip of her right hand, the links of the chain she clutched sliding free, landing one at a time against the wooden floor.

  “Please, get me the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Seven hours after climbing out of the cellar – or as he had later described it to the first responders, the dungeon – Reed was seated in the waiting room of the Okmulgee Memorial Hospital. On a Saturday morning, with dawn just a few minutes past, the place was largely void of life, he and Billie the only two present who weren’t hospital personnel.

  Seated in the far corner of the space, his legs outstretched onto a coffee table before him, Reed watched as the sun climbed higher above the empty asphalt lot and the expanse of fields beyond. Shining from the tops of wheat shafts kissed with morning dew, it turned the underlying green of the plants to gold, heightening the glow.

  Not that Reed minded, sitting and watching as it washed over his features, pinching his eyes against the bright glare.

  After the night he’d had, it seemed like dawn had been an especially long time in coming.

  By his side, Billie lay flat, her chin resting atop her paws. Like her partner, she had been awake through their entire vigil, almost all of it spent inside the confines of the waiting room. With the exception of a few phone calls from Martin or Wyatt, both had remained largely silent.

  Every so often, one or the other would reach out, making some small form of contact, before retreating back into their thoughts.

  The night before, the last few days, even the last month, had been a whirlwind. A series of peaks and valleys, moments that affirmed why they performed the job they did, others that made them question humanity and if there was any point in even trying to help it.

  His elbows resting on the arms of the chair to either side, his fingers steepled before him, Reed stared straight ahead, letting everything that had occurred play out in his head, the full sequence having passed his thoughts no less than a dozen times already.

  Just as it would almost certainly do an infinite number more in the days ahead.

  Much like the bigger ones always seemed to.

  Balanced across Reed’s thigh was his cellphone, the screen mercifully dark, the flurry of conversations earlier in the night having finally ceased a couple of hours before.

  After he and Serena had emerged from the underground lair, things had moved rapidly. Within minutes, the quiet, idyllic farm was transformed into a veritable war zone, law enforcement officials from a handful of different agencies all descending at once, lights of various colors flashing, turning the darkened world into a laser light show.

  First on the scene were the tribal police, led by a tall man with dark hair and sharp features named Joe Crowley, along with his partner, and a second car of officers meant to secure the scene.

  No more than a couple minutes later, Dunne and Martinelli arrived, followed shortly thereafter by Todd Wyatt. All running with lights and sirens, they tore down the lane and jumped out, their vehicles parked at odd angles around the gravel expanse.

  Forcing himself to wait until they all arrived, knowing that each would want a full account of what had happened, Reed had focused his efforts on helping Serena. Even in her battered state, she was adamant against going anywhere near Gaines’s home while they waited for medical assistance to arrive, even refusing food or water from within.

  Instead, the best they’d been able to do was get her stretched out in the rear of Reed’s SUV. Only reluctantly did she accept some pillows and blankets from inside to help make her more comfortable as they waited.

  Once she was set up and everyone was present, Reed had gathered them all, sharing everything he knew. Like some sort of teacher leading an impromptu story time, he began with a quick rundown of the investigation to catch up those who were new on the scene. From there, he had slowed down, making sure to walk everyone through a point-by-point description of what had happened since his arrival at the farm.

  Standing in silence, the group had hung on every word. Their gazes drifted from one location to another around them as he spoke, following the narrative. The second pair of reservation officers took notes throughout, the rest content to listen as he shared what he found inside the barn, outlining the farm truck already packed for the next morning, and the way Billie had alerted on the van that had been used in the abduction still hidden inside.

  From there, he took them through finding the storm cellar and c
onfronting Gaines, disabling the threat and finding Gipson hidden in the corner. Searching the viewing room next door and finding a key to the shackle that held her in place.

  How that very same shackle was used to ensure Gaines wasn’t going anywhere, the man locked inside the same room he’d forced her into, waiting and likely still unconscious whenever they wanted to go for him.

  And the fact that there were at least a handful of other doors down there he hadn’t checked out, but that would need to be searched too, just in case.

  The only alteration he made to the narrative at all was moving up the timing of Serena’s scream a minute or so, conceding that he should have gone for backup before entering the cellar, but that her cry for help forced his hand.

  If anybody had an objection to it, they didn’t say as much.

  Considering that he had been careful to play nice with all of the various organizations involved, and they had managed to bring the girl out alive, he didn’t expect there would be.

  Once the story was complete and a few follow-up questions were answered, Reed had ceded the floor to Thad Martin and Joe Crowley to play air traffic control from that point on.

  The case wasn’t his. He was far beyond having any jurisdictional claim to it, his status as an active detective still very much in a state of flux. He had been asked to help with finding one person, his entire goal being for him and Billie to help the girl they’d spotted two days before.

  They had done that.

  A short time later, he and his partner had both excused themselves, retreating to where they now found themselves sitting, staring out at the start of a new day.

  Feeling the faint buzz of his phone atop his thigh, Reed waited until the third pulse before allowing his gaze to drift downward. Tilting the screen against the glare of the incoming sun, he saw the same string of digits staring back up at him that he’d been ardently avoiding for the last eighteen hours.

  Pushing a smirk through his nose, he shook his head slightly, accepting the call and lifting it to his cheek. Making no effort to step outside, not particularly caring who heard what was about to be said, he answered, “Six-thirty on a Saturday morning? Really?”