by Tyler Porter
He arrived at the door and paused, taking several deep breaths. Cocking the hammer back on the back end of the revolver, he moved forward bumping the door with his shoulder hard enough to swing it open, but soft enough to not make much of a sound. One thing was confirmed by the room he found himself standing in: if his father didn’t already have a prisoner, he was definitely planning to have one.
In the very center of the room⸺poorly, yet sturdily, nailed to the floor⸺was a wooden chair that looked like he had built it himself. The wood it was made out of was raw, unsanded and unpolished. Small barbs of wood jutted out in all directions; just touching it would require tiny needles of wood to be removed from the hand.
There were ankle restraints welded out of steel laying on the floor in front of the chair. They were connected to long, steel chains that were bolted to the far wall. Even only sitting a foot or so in front of the chair and the chains were nearly taut. He imagined someone’s ankles being strapped in. Their legs would be pulled completely straight if they were strapped into the chair. That, in time, would produce its own amount of agony.
The chair itself included leather wrist restraints that looked like they had to be made out of mutilated leather belts. It was a homemade torture chair. Once contained, the unwilling participant had no opportunity to escape, and the captor would be free to do as they pleased. He fought hard to tune out the images that were running through his head. Ideas of what his father had planned for his hostage, assumedly his sister.
He had to stop and notice, however, that there were no tools or torturous objects in the room; it was only the chair. He couldn’t believe that the pain-producing throne had been made that way by accident, and by the bareness of the chamber it sat in, it didn’t seem as though torture was the goal.
Suddenly, he remembered that he still had found no sign of Demsey or his father. He turned and left the room, continuing down the hall. He checked the two other rooms in the hallway, one bathroom and one small, empty bedroom. No sign of anyone. He arrived at the end of the hall and chose the hall to his left, but that too bore no results.
Finally, he hurried down the final hallway, in which there was only one room at the very end. The door was already open, and he could see Demsey standing inside from about halfway down the hall. Matt lowered the revolver, careful not to have it pointed at Demsey. He walked in behind him, and cleared his throat to let him know he was there as not to spook him. The Sheriff didn’t even turn around. He was far too lost in the contents of the room.
“I guess we know where all those guns went,” he finally said.
Apparently each and every weapon from the small, hidden room in the garage of his parents’ house was in the room, plus more. His dad had spent an awful lot of time displaying them once again. The same thought passed through Matt then as did the very first time he’d seen all of the firearms. Were they hung on the wall in such a way for display? Or were they hung that way for easy access?
He guessed it was the latter. All of the ammunition, accessories, bulletproof vests, and apparel had also been transitioned into the room. The only thing that seemed to be missing was an automatic AR-15 rifle. There was a blank spot on the wall right in between a sniper rifle and a full-length, pump-action shotgun. The two men stood there looking at the armory that his father had amassed.
“You thought I was joking,” Matt said.
“Joking, no. Exaggerating, absolutely. But now I think you underplayed it. This is serious Matt. I don’t know what he is planning, but it is a hell of a lot bigger than just killing his immediate family. This looks like he is out to kill off the entire community, or worse.”
Just as he finished his sentence, both of their heads whipped around toward the door. A noise echoed through the halls. It was clear, although they were both sure it was coming from downstairs. It sounded like a buzzing, like something vibrating. Demsey went first, starting down the hall with Matt close behind. Both had their guns drawn ready to take on whatever met them.
Demsey reached the top of the stairs and looked down to see nothing, but as he turned his head to look at Matt, Matt caught something move out of the corner of his eye. Without a word, he dove onto Demsey, tackling him out of the opening as bullets began to crack through the air and connect with wood and drywall. Matt pulled himself from Demsey and sat back against the wall, just beside the opening to the stairs, revolver cocked and ready.
After one quick inhale, he lunged around the corner. Crack, crack, crack! He fired three shots, and the person at the bottom of the stairs took cover behind an old white pillar. Three bullets left, Matt reminded himself. Demsey had finally gotten back to his feet and joined Matt leaning against the wall. They could hear the person moving around at the bottom of the stairs. Matt reached his gun out into the opening, and without looking around the corner himself, fired another round. Crack!
The result was dozens of bullets flying up the staircase. The shooter was clearly aware of their position; he was aiming for the corner of drywall that they were leaning against. As dust and paint fell from the wall in all directions, the men began moving down. That is when they were sure they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They were getting closer, and the owner of the feet making them was making no attempt to mask the sound of their approach.
Before Matt could make a move, Demsey moved past him without a word. Just as the hooded figure reached the top of the steps, Demsey arrived there as well. The two struggled momentarily before a lone round escaped from the shooter’s rifle. Demsey let out a quick grunt, stopped struggling for a second like he wasn’t sure what had just happened, then in a fit of rage that Matt had never seen from him, he swung his gun up and smashed it into the shooter’s head. The shooter yelped out and grabbed his head while stumbling backwards before losing his footing. Matt could hear every hit as his body tumbled down the wooden stairs all the way to the bottom.
Sheriff Demsey turned to Matt, gave a brief grin with his fist raised in the air like he’d just won a gold medal in the Olympics, but then he looked down at the blood trickling down his uniform. He reached up and touched the wound on the upper side of his right pectoral. He pulled his hand away and blood dripped from it as well. He looked back at Matt, then back at his hand, then back at Matt, then at the floor. He swayed a little and then crumbled forward onto the floor.
Chapter 19: Stay Awake
“No!” Matt dove toward Demsey, but he was already at the bottom of the stairs.
Matt stood up and before going to Demsey, he glanced around the corner. The body was laying still at the bottom. He turned back and leaned down next to Demsey, rolling him over to check the damage. From what he could tell, the bullet went all the way through. He had an open wound on his chest and on the back of his shoulder. He assumed that was where the round had left his body. He applied some pressure to the opening on his chest, trying to stop the bleeding from at least one direction.
“This is a bad one, Sheriff.”
“Nah, nah, don’t worry. It’s nothing.”
“No, we need to get you to a hospital.”
“Hey, if it’s my time, it’s my time. Hell, I would have been dead decades ago if looks could kill! Try telling my wife her tuna fish casserole isn’t your favorite dish in the world,” he said with a half chuckle, half cough, “I would have preferred to have been stabbed in the arm with her fork rather than that look she gave me!”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to find out what that look feels like. And if I let you bleed out here, I am definitely going to get one. Let’s go.”
He helped Demsey to his feet, wrapping his arm under the Sheriff’s and around his shoulder to support him. With the gun in his other hand, with two rounds left, he turned toward the steps with it aimed out in front of him, ready to finish what Demsey had started. But as he turned, he saw that the body was no longer at the bottom of the stairs.
The shooter was up and moving somewhere, and Matt feared that two bullets may not be enough. He tucked the gun into his
pants and grabbed Demsey’s, which had not yet fired a single shot. Six in his and two more in the back-up. Matt hoped that would be enough to get them to the police cruiser. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and as Matt looked around for his target, he heard an engine roar and the sound of tires spinning in dirt and stone.
He looked out the window just in time to see a set of taillights hightailing it out of the driveway. The subtle feeling of defeat and anger that he may not have another chance to stop his father now was blocked out by the overwhelming relief that, without having to worry about being shot in the back, he could get Demsey to a hospital. He holstered the gun back on Demsey’s side and opened the door.
The two men hobbled as quickly as they could back to the cruiser where he put the wounded Sheriff in the passenger seat, dropped into the driver seat, started up the engine, and flipped on the roof lights. The closest hospital was at least twenty-five miles away, and he was aiming to make that drive in under fifteen minutes. He didn’t know how much time he had. Demsey had lost a lot of blood and was losing more by the second.
To keep Demsey awake, Matt rolled all of the windows down. He turned up some music as well, trying anything to make sure the man didn’t close his eyes. If he did, it could be the beginning of the end. He raced through the night, passing other cars, running stop lights, and paying no mind to the other drivers as they yielded to the flashing police lights and siren. Even with all of the distractions, Demsey began to close his eyes.
“No! Hey! Wake the fuck up! Do not shut those eyes! Come on buddy, we’re almost there!”
He pressed the pedal harder and periodically reached over to shake his passenger to keep him from closing his eyes. The hospital finally came into view, but there was an ambulance parked in the way of the entrance. A line of cars were backed up into the street waiting to enter. Matt knew that Demsey couldn’t wait for that.
He swerved around the end of the line of cars, and drove over the curb that was built around a section of grass in front of the hospital. He drove through the grass, narrowly missing a tree that was small, but big enough to stop the cruiser in its tracks. He skidded to a stop and jumped out of the cruiser, sprinting around the opposite side which was parked closest to the front doors of the hospital.
After carrying him inside and having nurses roll him away on a gurney, Matt chose a spot in the corner of the waiting room, sat down, and thrust his head into his hands. He had no idea what to do about anything. He was a man of control and had little to no idea how to operate without it. Andi and Riley, Mariah, Mom, Dad, and now Demsey. He didn’t know what to do with all of it, or what to do about any of it.
It didn’t seem right to consider sleeping. Every single person in his life that mattered was either dead, injured, missing, or on a psychopathic killing spree with a thirst for blood. He was mentally and physically exhausted. He had spent the ride trying to keep Demsey awake, trying to keep his life intact, and with all of the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he hadn’t even noticed his own depletion.
He reached a point where he just couldn’t stand it any longer, wrong or not. He leaned his head back, resting it against the wall. He told himself he would just doze off for a few moments. Moments turned to hours, and he was awakened by a gentle shake of his knee. As he blinked his eyes open, allowing them to adapt to the blinding hospital lights, he was greeted by a young, cheerful nurse, clearly a morning person.
“Mr. O’Bannon? It is Mr. O’Bannon right? You’re the one who brought in Mr. Demsey?”
“Yes, that’s me. How is he?” Matt asked, rubbing the stubborn restlessness out of his eyes.
“He is stable. They performed emergency surgery to ensure no major damage was done. He was very lucky this time. He is just resting now. He’ll be sore for the next few days, but nothing that warrants him staying here. Once he wakes up, he is free to go home.”
“Oh... well, that’s great news. Any specific instructions for his wife? Medications? Anything?”
“He is going to need to be off work for a while. I was only around him for a moment, but I can tell he is pretty stubborn. He’ll need to keep from putting too much pressure on his right side, and try to avoid sleeping on it. We will send him home with some prescriptions.”
“Great, thank you.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee or anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Can I sit with him until he wakes up?”
“That’s fine, just don’t wake him. It’s important that he wake up on his own.”
“Understood.”
The nurse walked down the hall and Matt rose to head into the room Demsey was sleeping in. An odd thought penetrated his brain when he saw him. He noticed that he had never seen the man sleep. Not once. Of course, he was just a family friend, and he didn’t suppose they had ever been together in an environment when he would have been sleeping. Yet, of all things, this thought came to him.
The more he thought, the more he realized it was because he had always seen Demsey as more than their Sheriff or a family friend. He had always been like a father figure. A role model. Someone Matt admired and looked up to and wanted to be like. It shocked him now to see that there was so much he didn’t know about him. So much he hadn’t seen about him because he had only ever seen him in one capacity and from a distance.
He felt sorry about that in that moment as he watched Sheriff Demsey sleeping peacefully. He regretted that he had not taken the steps to be closer with him. He regretted that he had taken for granted the time they had together when he was younger. He felt sorry that he had taken all of the help Demsey had given him for granted. The only thing he felt happy about was that Demsey was going to be okay. Matt would have the opportunity to right those regrets, and this brought him comfort.
He flipped through a magazine, periodically looking up whenever he heard a sound come from the sleeping man on the hospital bed. Several hours later, after Matt had effectively read every magazine, gone through every drawer, peeked in every cabinet in the small hospital room, and unsuccessfully called Andi a total of thirty-seven times, Demsey finally began to stir. First, his forearms began to twitch, then he tucked one leg under the other. Finally he opened his eyes.
“What the hell happened?” were the first words he spoke.
“You were shot, you’ve been out for a while, but the doctor says you’re going to be fine. Just gotta take a little time away from work is all.”
“How long have I been out exactly?”
“Between the surgery and the rest, I would say probably ten, eleven hours.”
“Ah shit,” he spat.
“What? What’s the problem? That pretty good considering a bullet went through your body.”
“I missed dinner! Kathy is gonna throw a shit fit,” he said as he began sitting up and looked ready to start getting out of the hospital bed while still attached to several monitor systems.
“Hold on, hold on. Let’s just take it easy a second; I’m sure she’ll understand.”
“Well, it’s obvious you don’t know Kathy very well. You don’t waste momma’s food. It’s a rule.”
“Lay your ass back down, or I’ll get a nurse in here to sedate you.”
He gave the Sheriff a look to show that he was serious. It wasn’t without some huffing and puffing, but Demsey did lay back down. They chatted for a little while, but it wasn’t long before the injured officer was back asleep and Matt was thankful. He needed his rest. He had just sat back down and picked up the same magazine that he’d already ready through three times when a nurse entered the room. It was a different nurse than before, but Matt wasn’t as concerned with that as he was with the envelope that was in her hand.
“I’m sorry to just barge in like this, but, are you Matthew O’Bannon?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s me. Why?”
“Someone just dropped this off at the check-in counter for you. He said it was urgent and that you had to get this as soon as possible.”
She handed him t
he envelope, and he looked down and read it, already knowing what the front would say. Sure enough, it was addressed to him.
“Who gave this to you? Are they still in the building? Would you recognize him?”
“Uh, I don’t know he just walked up and said that this had to get to you.”
“What did he look like? Specifics? What was he wearing? Young? Old? Bald?”
“He was a little taller than you, I guess. He was wearing jeans and a black hoodie. His hood was up, so I couldn’t really tell anything else.”
Matt didn’t stand around to ask any more questions. He plunged out of the hospital room and bolted down the hallway toward the check-in area. When he arrived there, he looked around desperately trying to locate whoever had dropped off the envelope, but no one in the lobby matched the nurse’s description. He ran to the exit doors, and when he emerged out into the open, he stepped foot onto the sidewalk just in time to see a hooded individual pulling out of the lot.
He focused in, trying to see his face, to see who he was, although he didn’t have to; he knew already. He knew the moment he’d found his mother. He knew when his sister disappeared. He knew when they found that the guns had been relocated. The man in the hood was his father, and he wasn’t done playing games with Matt yet. He walked back inside and was about to open the envelope when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out and a huge sigh of relief hit him when he saw the name of the person who had sent him a text. It was from Andi. He moved so fast to unlock his phone and open the message that he almost dropped it. When he finally did he read the lengthy message twice over to make sure he hadn’t misread it. His heart sank as he read over it again.
Andi: Matt, I am so sorry that I haven’t returned your phone calls. It has been a whirlwind since we got back home. I hope you will not think too poorly of me, but we didn’t go directly to the penthouse when we got back. We are there now though, and I can’t explain over text and I can’t talk on the phone, but something has happened. You need to come home right away. Please hurry.
