RUMORS

by Bellus, HJ

  That thought sends a bolt of panic through me. I knock on the door. When there’s no movement, I slam my fist on it over and over. Still nothing. It goes against every instinct of mine, but I twist the knob to find the door is unlocked. That sends me into action, knowing or at least hoping she’d have it locked if she was in there.

  The house is silent and dark.

  “Frankie!” I cup my hands over my mouth and holler out. “It’s Sheriff Cray. Are you here?”

  Nothing but dead silence.

  I repeat myself over and over. When no response comes my way, I flick on some lights and make my way through the house, checking every room. A type of anxiety hits me like never before when I don't see or hear her. I can’t have another life lost in this town.

  I throw open the last door to find Frankie curled up in bed, her short brown hair poking out with glowing flames highlighting her jawline and peaceful face. She has a perfect view of the fire from the window above her bed if she was awake. I hate to disturb her sleep. I haven’t seen this girl at so much peace since meeting her. Granted, I’ve only encountered her a few times, but there’s something about this that tugs at my gut and says she needs this peace.

  The flames glow brighter and I know she can’t stay here. I don’t think the fire will get to her place with the number of fire trucks outside, but the last explosion was creepy as hell and I’m not into taking chances.

  “Frankie.” I nudge her shoulder, not wanting to scare the shit out of her. “Frankie.”

  She stirs a bit. I glance out of the window to see the dawn barely peeking over the horizon and the flames doing their job of lighting the rest of the area.

  “Frankie,” I try a bit louder. “It’s Sheriff Cray. You need to get up.”

  Her eyes fly open. There’s nothing there but hollowness that sends an eerie chill up my spine. A gasp escapes her then she jolts straight up, scrambling back on the bed.

  I put my hands up and step back, like earlier when I approached her. This girl is a shattered soul who has been hurt beyond belief; it’s written all over her skin.

  I talk in a hushed whisper. “The house next door is on fire. I need to get you to safety.”

  Her hands race over the bed as if she’s looking for something. I glance around, looking for a phone or weapon, but see nothing. She doesn’t stop, so I repeat myself. Frankie doesn’t grasp onto one word I speak.

  Another crack from outside shakes the walls of her home. How in the hell did she sleep through this? She moves again, her hoodie sleeve rising up her arm to expose the cuts and scratches on her skin. They are deep and fresh. I internally wince at the sight.

  “You need to evacuate for your safety,” I try again in a low voice, running a hand over my hair. “I need to get you to safety.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not asking or bargaining with you this time.”

  “Plan.” She glances down at the bed, the only light from the fire and the rising sun. “I had a plan. A plan. No. No. No, this can’t be happening.”

  “Frankie, you can get up and follow me or I’ll have to remove you from this house.”

  “No. No. No. Where did it go?”

  I take one last chance at reasoning with her. “The house next door is on fire. A propane tank just exploded. You are in danger.”

  “Where is it?” She hops up on her hands and knees, scrambling over the bed ignoring me.

  I’m forced with no option. I should’ve never let her stay here last night. It seems the universe had another plan. I reach down, scooping her up in my arms.

  “Yes,” she exhales, tucking her arms into the front pocket of her hoodie.

  I don’t try to understand what in the hell she’s talking about as I pack her through her house and out the front door. To my surprise, she doesn’t put up a fight. Was she trying to hide her arms that I already spotted? But she wouldn’t have to search for that.

  “I’m going to put you in my truck and we’ll wait to see what happens.”

  She doesn’t respond to me or struggle in my arms. The girl is light as a damn feather. She’s shrunk from the first time I saw her. Everything about her is a mystery. I get her settled into my passenger seat then round the front, keeping my eye on her, almost betting she’d fling open the door and make a run for it. She doesn’t. Frankie keeps her eyes focused on her hoodie. She doesn’t flinch or look up when I crawl in and slam the driver’s door a tick too hard.

  We sit here for several moments of silence. She never glances up at the impressive fire in front of us. She keeps her gaze locked on the pouch of her hoodie, with her hands moving inside. I chalk it up to a nervous twitch.

  I answer calls receiving updates on the fire and locating Pastor Chapman. None of the calls offer any good news. It seems he was in his house; there were no signs of him anywhere else in town and his car was in the driveway. It’s charred from the explosions, and is being dragged out to the street. It was parked far enough away that it won’t catch fire, but the local fire department isn’t taking any chances.

  I clear my throat, leaning my head back on the headrest, keeping my gaze focused toward the flames. “Any idea where Pastor Chapman might be?”

  I’m greeted with silence.

  “They’re looking for him and any information would be helpful.”

  I roll my head to catch a slight move. A shrug of her shoulders. I keep going.

  “I know you and your grandma were close to him. Does he have family out of town or did he have plans to travel?”

  I know he didn’t because he told me he’d keep an eye on Frankie.

  Another shrug and several beats of silence drift by.

  “Do you think my house will catch on fire?” she whispers.

  I barely catch it, craning my neck to understand what she’s saying because I know she won’t repeat herself. “Doesn’t look like it. They have a pretty good handle on it. It may melt some of your siding.”

  Frankie raises her head, piercing me with dull emerald green eyes, bags under each one, her face pale from exhaustion and stress. She doesn’t blink or stutter as she speaks in a firm voice. “Why?”

  I open my mouth to ask what she means, but Frankie continues on.

  “Why couldn’t the flames have been bigger? Why were the firefighters so fast? And why couldn’t have mine started on fire, too, and you not wake me up? Why?”

  With her last word, she glances back down to her lap.

  I lean my head back on the headrest, rolling it to the side to study her. “It wasn’t your time, Frankie.”

  She doesn’t respond or acknowledge that she heard me.

  Seeing that this conversation is going nowhere, I focus back on the fire, trying to decide what I’m going to do with this girl. Calling Child Protective Services would be the next step, but she’s been through so much and from the files I looked up, I know she’s nearing eighteen. She needs protection from herself; she just made that obvious. It may snap her right in half, going into the system. It’s what the law says to do. I don’t know why, but it isn’t right in this situation.

  My thoughts cause me to slam the steering wheel. Frankie doesn’t flinch or say a word as the dancing orange hues light up the cab of the truck. Being an officer of the law, things are black and white, but it seems I’ve found myself in a gray murky pool of bad decisions.

  I don’t try to start another conversation with Frankie, choosing instead to wait until the fire is out. It’s not until my stomach growls that I realize how long we’ve been in the cab of my truck. My deputies keep me informed along with the fire chief on the progress of the fire. No evidence of the pastor’s body. The next team will be going in after the ashes and coals cool down, which may take days.

  This fire had a punch behind it. Whatever or whoever started it had no intention of leaving any proof behind. It’s a guess. Something about this shit isn’t right.

  Without thinking, I fire up the truck and head a town over. I know da
mn well I won’t be able to get Frankie out of my truck and I need to eat. This town doesn’t have any drive-thrus and hell, not any restaurant that serves lunch food at any time of the day. And I guarantee she needs to eat, too. She doesn’t protest or speak a word as we drive. Her hands continue to fidget in the front of her hoodie pocket every time I glance at her. What in the hell are you hiding, little girl?

  Chapter Eleven

  Frankie

  “You want a chicken sandwich or cheeseburger?” Dalton grumbles my way as he turns into a fast food joint with a drive-thru.

  I shrug. It’s the only thing I can do right now. My plan was a bust. I was supposed to drink the vial of poison laying in my palms. I want nothing more than to rip the top off and swallow it down. But I have no doubt the good old sheriff would have it swiped out of my grip before a drop graced my tongue. I couldn’t even be lucky enough for my house to have caught on fire and turned to ash. I was so damn tired once I hit Grandma’s bed I could’ve slept through it. I wouldn’t have even felt my skin searing.

  He hasn’t let me out of his sight. Didn’t even ask if I wanted to go with him. Nope, he just took off. Part of me, a very tiny part, felt bad when I did allow myself to glance his way. The lines on his handsome face express the exhaustion he’s enduring. The once scruff, now almost a full beard, covers his strong jawline.

  I had to force my gaze away from his concerned whiskey-colored eyes when I looked at him and spoke to him. The man is the opposite of perfection, with a light scar gracing his slightly uneven full lips, and out of control hair that his hand must have run over a few hundred times.

  It’s funny because the first time I met him, I shudder at the thought of what happened that day, but my first thought was that he could be a model or actor. That hasn’t changed; he so could with his imperfect perfection. What in the hell? Where did I just go? Goose bumps race over my skin, a chill rushes over my being.

  “Chicken it is.” He pulls up to the speaker.

  The man orders a double cheeseburger with every side on the menu, a chocolate shake, and a chicken sandwich. Dalton pauses briefly, glancing over at me. I know he’s wondering what I’d like to drink, but only shakes his head, facing the speaker again.

  “Add a large waffle fry, small order of mozzarella sticks, and a large Coke. Oh, and a bottle of water.”

  Again, I don’t speak a word as he rustles in the driver’s seat, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket. The moment he hands over his debit card I see my chance and take it. I throw open the passenger side door. Once my feet hit the pavement of the drive-thru, I run as fast as I can. My legs are weak as is my entire body, but I don’t let it stop me as I run far away from the drive-thru. The roar of the engine cuts through the early light of day, but I don’t stop even when the engine turns off and silence surrounds me for several moments.

  I quicken my pace when I hear his thudding boots match each one of my steps. I glance over my shoulder to see him closing the distance between us. I manage to get the lid of the bottle off and begin to bring it to my lips when my shoe catches on something, throttling me forward. I squeeze my eyes shut, scrambling to keep the bottle tight in my grip, anticipating the harsh welcome of the earth’s blanket.

  It never comes. My back is hit with brutal force as arms wrap around me, sending the bottle sailing into the air. The sky comes into view as I twist and turn, his arms still around me, before a loud thud sounds below me. It takes me several seconds to put together what had just happened. Dalton…he saved me from falling yet ruined everything with his need to protect.

  The simple thought sends me into a spiraling rage.

  “Why?” I scream, pounding my fists the best I can to connect with his sides. “Why did you do that? Just let me die. Just let me die!”

  He sits up, keeping me clutched to him. “Not on my watch.”

  He has me sitting in his lap. I continue beating his chest with everything I have left in me which at this point is nothing. “Let me die.”

  “What was that?” Dalton slams the ground, freeing one hand from me. He’s still stronger than me, even gripping me with one arm. “Goddammit, Frankie, you’ve gotta start talking or you’re gonna force my hand. I’ve tried to play nice. What in the hell was that?”

  His question causes me to pause as I glance over to the area he nodded to with his chin. The brown bottle lies on its side with the contents dripping out. The sight of it is my undoing. I burst, releasing years and years of pain, torture, and hurt. It’s the final straw that breaks me, and I can’t even begin to explain why, which only makes me more pissed and brings on floods of hot tears. A scream tears through me, followed by shuddering sobs that have my whole body flinching and flexing. Reality sets in. I’m processing all of it at once.

  “M-My end,” I stutter out, reaching a hand out for the bottle, but it’s way too far away, causing me to lose it even more. My lungs constrict as I battle to breathe, my vision blurs in and out.

  “I got you.” Dalton hugs me tight to him and rocks back and forth. “I got you and we will get through this.”

  I tug on a fistful of his shirt and beg him over and over. “I want it to end. I want it to end. Please help me. “

  I don’t stop until my tears have dried up and only lingering sobs shake me. My eyes are dry and sting with a fierce passion that makes it hard to keep them open. I just want to close them and forget everything. So that’s what I do, but not before licking the edge of my lips, tasting something metallic and a bit bitter. I lick over and over hoping like hell my prayers will be answered.

  * * *

  Dalton Cray

  After I get Frankie’s sleeping body in my truck and round the front, I glance around, making sure there were no crowds to witness whatever in the hell just happened. I slam my steering wheel, glancing over at the sleeping form of this girl. She’s curled up in a ball with her hoodie drowning her. I snatched the bottle she was so damn attached to. I can only guess whatever was in it was her ticket to dying. I don’t have time to beat myself up for not searching her earlier. It’s the obvious thing to do when working with a suicidal person.

  I know there’s no way in hell she swallowed any of it. The pain and ache in my back assured that. Nothing is adding up at this point. None of this makes any sense at all. The one thing that is crystal clear is there are layers to this puzzle, not just pieces. Deep, thick, intricate layers of what I can consider pure evil. I’m already blurring right into gray areas by not calling Child Protective Services and handling things the right way. There’s just something deep in my gut telling me this town and their people have already done such injustice to this girl, and that has just come to a screeching halt on my watch.

  I reach over toward Frankie who remains curled up, and realize there’s no way I can put a seat belt on her. That’s honestly the least of our worries right now. I adjust her gently, being careful not to overstep. She’s crashed hard from her panic attack. I grab a napkin from the bag holding our food and dab at a tiny cut on her mouth. It looks like she may have bitten her lip when I grabbed her.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I grab it before looking at it.

  “Cray,” I growl into the phone.

  “We’ve got something over here at the pastor’s place. You need to get here,” a deputy’s voice relays.

  “What is it?” I ask, scrubbing my face.

  “Blood. Don’t think this was an accident, sir.”

  “Fuck.” I slam the steering wheel again. “Get everyone out of there and close it off until I get there.”

  “It’s already secure. Want me to call in forensics?”

  “No, I want you to do exactly what I just fucking told you to. I’m fifteen minutes out.” I end the call and toss it on the dash, hearing a crack come from my phone.

  I glance down at Frankie, pulling her hoodie back from her face. “What did you do, little girl?”

  My gaze goes from the drying cut on her lip to a deep bruise forming on her cheekbone. I tug up
her sleeves and see all the cuts and scratches and even more bruises.

  “What did that son of a bitch do to you?” I whisper. That gut feeling just became a realization. Everything comes together from the day I saw them in the town square to her actions and behaviors.

  Frankie stirs and I know she’ll wake from her panic attack soon. I want her to be in her home to offer a bit of comfort and some damn security from harming herself. There’s only one person I can think of calling right now. He’s on the other side of the law. It’s been years since I needed his help; hell, this will be the first time I’ve needed his help. I know he’ll be here without any questions.

  My brother, Truckee.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dalton Cray

  “The goddamn sheriff calling me. And it’s not even fucking Christmas or my birthday?” Truckee grunts into the phone.

  I shake my head. My brother never apologizes for who he is and never changes for anyone or anything. The man is a beast and does things I’d never want to know about, but has a heart of gold at the same time. He learned at a young age to handle problems on his own and still does to this day. He has more damn connections than the mafia.

  “Hey, brother.” I sink further back on the couch, swallowing the last bit of my cold hamburger and never taking my gaze off Frankie, who is still balled up in a blanket on the corner of the couch. Her breathing is rhythmic and somewhat soothing. I’d managed to get the crime scene closed off and have a hold on forensics for a bit, but it won’t last long.

  “Give me a second, Cray.”

  I find myself smiling at him, calling me by my last name. He always has, ever since I can remember. Truckee is my older brother and the opposite of me in every way. School was never his friend and fighting was. He butted heads with our dad and was a momma’s boy to the core. The ranch we were raised on was passed on from our mom’s side of the family. It’s always been his true love, even after all the heartache that has gone on in our lives, and he will go to any length to protect it and change that land until all of our father’s poison is clear of it. I wanted to get as far away from that scene as I could.