Sara

by Tony Hayden

  Mike walked through the front door of the store and stood for a moment to take in the environment. Smells of bacon, fried burger, and coffee filled his senses as he inhaled deeply. He could hear quiet conversation coming from the back tables, so he walked to the counter and glanced into the small restaurant at the back of the store. Jordan Barnes and Duncan Winter sat at one table eating their lunch. Mr. Winter was listening intently to Pastor Gary Popineau who sat at an adjoining table.

  “I have a strong fear that this ‘government of change’ is doing everything in its power to bring down our country,” Popineau said. “And when the Lord rains brimstone and fire on this nation and all the inhabitants of the cities and that which grows upon the ground, it will be left to the church to deliver Lot from the ashes of Sodom back into the arms of Jesus.”

  Duncan Winter took a sip of coffee and nodded his head. “I truly believe we have lost our way, Pastor Gary.”

  Mike looked at Jordan sitting sideways in a chair with his back to the wall. It looked as if he had tuned the world out while he slowly shredded a paper napkin and dropped the pieces to the floor.

  “Are you here to eat, hun?”

  Mike looked over to see the woman he had spoken to when he first arrived in Ranch Springs on Thursday. Startled for a moment, he stuttered a bit. “Oh, ahh….” He looked to the three men in the restaurant who were now focusing intently on him. “I’ll have a cheeseburger and some coffee, please.”

  “Well,” the woman headed for the kitchen, “find a place to sit and I’ll be back with your coffee.”

  Mike walked into the small dining room and looked at Mr. Winter. “Do you gentlemen mind if I join you?” he asked.

  Duncan Winter looked at Jordan, then back to Mike. “Only if you promise there will be no trouble, Mr. Haller.”

  Mike slid out a chair across the table from Jordan and took a seat. Smiling slightly, he said, “No sir. I have learned my lesson about making a scene in this town.”

  Pastor Gary studied Mike’s face with concern. “Did Hunter Barnes do that to your face, son?”

  Mike fingered the butterfly bandage across the bridge of his nose. “I probably had it coming, Pastor Gary.” He looked across the table to see Jordan Barnes smiling at him.

  “It is obvious to me,” the pastor said, “that you are a man in serious distress over the loss of your daughter. I find it very disturbing that Sheriff Barnes would raise his hand to a man who carries such a heavy burden. Hunter has a terrible temper. In high school, we called him, ‘Goliath’.” The Reverend looked over to Duncan and smiled, “Hunter Barnes was a beast on the football field, wasn’t he? He marched us to State victories three years in a row.”

  Duncan Winter looked relieved when the woman arrived with a coffee pot. “Mr. Haller, have you met my wife?” he asked.

  “Your wife?” Mike asked. “No. I mean, we’ve talked, but I didn’t know you were married.”

  “Virginia, this is Mike Haller from Eagle, Colorado. Mr. Haller, this is my wife, Virginia. She runs this place for her father who lives in the house out back.”

  Virginia Winter regarded Mike coolly. “Mister, this is a small town and we don’t care much for strangers who show up and start throwing accusations around.”

  Duncan looked embarrassed. “It was just a misunderstanding, honey.” Turning to Mike he continued, “Virginia and my sister are best friends, so she’s a little protective of Rose’s little boy.”

  “You lay a hand on him in my store and you’ll have more than two black eyes and a puffy nose to deal with,” Virginia warned.

  Pastor Gary chuckled. “Dearest Virginia, would you please bring me a piece of that pecan pie you got on the counter? And put some ice cream on top, a big scoop, please?”

  Duncan’s wife walked away and left the men in an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Mr. Winter spoke. “I’m sorry about that Mr. Haller. I hope you won’t take any offense.”

  Mike smiled thinly. “No, not at all,” he said.

  Pastor Gary turned in his chair a bit to get a better look at Mike. “I understand that there will be a search for your daughter sometime tomorrow?”

  Mike cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “My wife and some university students are organizing it. They are starting at noon at the Community Center here in Ranch Springs.”

  “That’s very considerate of people to do that. I would like to ask my congregation to join the search after our services tomorrow morning if that is agreeable with you?”

  Mike nodded. “I think that could prove very helpful, sir.”

  Pastor Gary smiled when Virginia brought his pie. “We were just discussing, Mr. Haller, how sinful this nation has become. We have fallen from the righteous path that God has set before us. Men marrying men---stores opening up in our own back yards selling legalized marijuana and Lord only knows what else---our own leaders committing sodomy and infidelity---drive-thru abortions---an education system that bleaches God himself from the bones of our children. I do believe we are witnessing the end of times.”

  Mike added sugar and creamer to his coffee and stirred. “I would be hard pressed to argue with you, sir, but we still have to search for hope, or what’s the point?”

  Pastor Gary chewed for a moment then swallowed. “We can only find hope in God, Mr. Haller. And we always find God in difficult times.”

  Mike turned to Jordan and asked, “What do you think about man’s destiny, Jordan?”

  Jordan acted surprised that someone had spoken to him. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “I guess I don’t really think about it much.”

  Virginia arrived with Mike’s cheeseburger and delivered it with an ominous scowl before retreating to the grocery store.

  Mike pulled Sara’s charm bracelet from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of Jordan. “I found this at the spot where my daughter’s Honda broke down. Do you recognize it?”

  Duncan Winter looked at Mike. “I don’t know if this is a good idea, Mr. Haller. You really shouldn’t be asking Jordan questions without the sheriff being here.”

  Mike continued looking at Jordan and pushed the two loose charms closer to his plate of half eaten food. “I bought this bracelet for Sara the day she graduated from high school. She was wearing it on Wednesday when she disappeared.”

  Jordan wouldn’t speak. His eyes remained glued to the bracelet.

  “Mr. Haller, please stop,” Duncan pleaded.

  “If you look closely, you’ll notice that the clasp is broken and several charms are missing.” Mike leaned across the table a bit. “What do you think that means, Jordan?”

  Jordan didn’t twitch a muscle.

  Pastor Gary Popineau finally realized what was happening and asked, “Mr. Haller, you don’t believe that Jordan had anything to do with the disappearance of your daughter, do you?”

  Mike remained focused on the young man. “The charm bracelet is broken because my daughter struggled with someone,” he said. “Knowing my daughter, she fought pretty damn hard.”

  Pastor Gary put his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Son,” he said. “We all know you are hurting, but you have to stop this madness. Jordan is a good boy.”

  Mike pulled his shoulder away from Pastor Gary and stood. Placing his hand over the charm, he broke Jordan’s concentration. The young man finally looked at him.

  “Did that excite you?” Mike asked bitterly. “Is it the fight that excites you?”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Duncan said. He stood and moved next to Jordan. “I’ll have Virginia get you a container for your food, Mr. Haller. You need to leave.”

  Mike’s anger flashed quickly. Doubling his fist, he slammed it hard against the table. “Answer me, you little bastard!” he yelled. “What the fuck did you do with my daughter?”

  The distinct sound of a shotgun shell being jacked into its chamber brought the room to silence. Mike looked toward the grocery and saw Virginia standing there with a twelve-gauge shotgun pointed at his chest.


  Pastor Gary stood and stepped between Mike and Virginia. Holding his hand up to her he cautioned, “Virginia, Mr. Haller is under a lot of stress. He will leave immediately if you put that cannon away.”

  Mrs. Winter lowered the shotgun and glared at Mike. “Git!” she said.

  Mike recovered the charm bracelet and allowed Pastor Gary to take him by the arm and lead him from the store. He stood outside for a moment and took deep breaths to calm his nerves.

  Pastor Gary opened the trunk of his own car and retrieved a Bible. It was bound in white leather, exactly like the one Mike had found on the top shelf of Jordan’s closet. “Take this,” he said, handing the Bible to Mike. “Read it and find comfort in the word of God.”

  Mike rubbed his thumb across the cover and remained silent.

  “Oh, here,” Pastor Gary said. He opened the door to his car and retrieved something from the dash. “This is a marker with the church’s information on it. Now you can keep your place while you read, and it has my number in case you ever need to reach me.”

  Mike took the tasseled book mark and looked at the golden etched print of the church at the top of the hill. “Thank you, sir,” was all he could think to say.

  Pastor Gary placed his hand on Mike’s. “I would like you to study Samuel 12:18 before the search for your daughter tomorrow. You need to read it carefully and gain strength from it. Then you and I will pray for God’s forgiveness.”

  Mike opened the bible to Samuel and found the passage:

  And it came to pass on the seventh day that the child died. And the servants of David feared to tell him that the child was dead: for they said, Behold, while the child was yet alive, we spake unto him, and he would not hearken unto our voice: how will he then vex himself, if we tell him that the child is dead?

  But when David saw that his servants whispered, David perceived that the child was dead: therefore David said unto his servants, Is the child dead? And they said, He is dead.

  Then David arose from the earth, and washed, and anointed himself, and changed his apparel, and came into the house of the LORD, and worshipped: then he came to his own house; and when he required, they set bread before him, and he did eat.

  Pastor Gary placed both hands on the opened Bible and held it with Mike. “We need to find strength in God’s word, Mr. Haller. You need to open your heart and ask Him for a path through your grief.”

  Mike looked up, eyes swimming in tears.

  Popineau released his grip on the Bible and finished. “You must accept what has obviously happened to your daughter and find comfort in God’s plan.”

  Mike broke down and wept openly. When he finally managed to clear his vision, Pastor Gary had returned to the restaurant.

  twenty-four

  Darkness falls quickly in the Colorado Rockies. A lurid blanket of chill and silence invading the narrowest crevasse to suffocate all ambition secured under the sun’s generous warmth. Sara had finished blockading the door to the cabin again for security while she slept. She started a fire in the cook stove and opened the last can of Progresso soup to heat for dinner. Her strength was returning and she was preparing herself for a long walk out of these mountains.

  Her plan was to spend the next day collecting water and supplies to make her hike successful. She would not go back the way she came; the monsters disguised as men were more likely to be there. Instead, she had spent the day scouting an alternate route back to civilization. She had climbed to the top of a nearby mountain and spotted a ravine that led north for several miles. She knew, because she had grown up in a mountain town, that many of the well traveled roads through the Rockies ran east and west through major canyons. If she hiked north for as long as possible, she was sure that she might come across one of these highways. There were lots of unknowns and what-ifs, but Sara knew that with her food supply running out, she had to try, or die here. After all that she had survived, she was determined not to die. She had an appointment with two men in a little town on the road to Laramie, Wyoming.

  As her soup heated, Sara took a moment to change the dressing under her right breast. The terrible gash had opened up and was draining profusely, but the wound didn’t seem to be infected and the skin was no longer dying. The maggots had done their work and probably saved Sara’s life. She shuttered at the thought.

  The laceration around her neck was another story. Because it had seemed less life threatening, she had basically ignored it and it had become infected near her left ear where the cut was deepest. She was applying Neosporin from the medical kit every couple of hours to no avail. The wound had scabbed deeply and the infection seemed to be hiding where the antibiotic ointment could not reach it. To treat it properly, she would have to remove the scab that was already tender to the touch.

  Sara thought of the burn patients she had helped the nurses treat at Valley View Hospital this past summer. The pain they experienced while having their wounds scrubbed daily was more than she thought she could ever bear. Removing this small scab would be nothing compared to that.

  Sara squeezed some ointment onto her fingertips and worked it under her fingernails to somewhat sterilize her hands. She closed her eyes tightly and used her nails to dig the scab from her neck wound. She couldn’t help but cry out as the scab reluctantly released its grip from the subcutaneous tissue. The blood hesitated for a moment before pouring from the now gaping hole in her neck. Sara sobbed lightly and pressed a clean piece of gauze to the wound, stopping the flow of blood. After a few minutes, the bleeding ceased and Sara was able to apply a generous amount of Neosporin to the cut before covering it with a clean bandage.

  Her left wrist ached from the exertion, but the broken bone seemed to be set properly. She had fashioned a much better splint from two large wooden spoons, and ibuprofen from the medical kit was helping to keep the swelling down.

  Sara’s soup began to steam on top of the stove and the cabin was now warming from the fire. She took the pan from the stovetop and sat at a small table to eat. Opening a book she had found in the cabin, Sara began to read the last few chapters of Practical Homicide Investigation. Whoever owned this cabin had a keen interest in solving murder cases. Sara’s interest lay at the other end of that spectrum.

  Mike Haller crouched outside the twelve-foot wide trailer that was the office of Duncan Winter Towing. The sun had set hours earlier and it was his intension to enter the trailer to hopefully view the global positioning records for Jordan’s tow truck. He didn’t know much about GPS and wasn’t sure if he would be looking for a printed document or an electronic document. DW Towing was relatively isolated from the rest of Ranch Springs, so Mike felt that he had plenty of time to search and find what he was looking for.

  The door latch relented easily with a butter knife Mike borrowed from the Sightseer Inn and he was inside, standing in the confined darkness of the dusty trailer. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and the faint glow of a computer’s monitor, protected by fading and changing photographs of vacations and successful hunts and horrific car crashes, cast a muted glow across a desktop full of papers and files and coffee mugs forever stained by cheap blends of store brand java.

  Mike lowered the shades and turned on a small lamp next to the computer. Sitting in a well worn swivel chair, he shuffled through papers on the desk looking for any mention of GPS; an invoice or instruction manual. All he found were fuel receipts, utility bills, and empty envelopes from insurance companies. He opened drawers and sorted through files and quickly came up empty handed.

  Turning to the computer, Mike pressed the spacebar to end the screensaver program. The desktop screen was filled with large icons of every sort. It appeared that Duncan Winters had tried to save a shortcut to every task he had ever completed on this computer. Mike shook his head and slowly searched through the icons. One was labeled SpyviewGPS. He used the mouse to double-click on the icon and waited patiently for Internet Explorer to boot and find the requested page.

  “What are you doing out there?”

 
Mike jumped from the swivel chair and knocked over the desk lamp, breaking the bulb and extinguishing all light from the trailer.

  “We’ve got a pole line down on Highway Fourteen, east of Rustic.”

  It was the two-way radio that Duncan Winter used to communicate with his tow truck drivers. It was obvious now that others used the same frequency as DW Towing.

  “I’ll call out Tim’s crew. How many poles are you going to need?”

  Mike’s heart was racing as he turned the volume down on the radio and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead.

  “Fuck!” he said to himself, then took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He set the lamp upright on the desk and sat back in the office chair. The Login screen for SpyviewGPS had appeared on the computer and was requesting a username and password to access records. Mike thought for a moment then used the mouse to double-click on the space for the username. He was hoping that Mr. Winter had figured out how to save a username and password in Windows. He hadn’t. The entry space remained blank.

  Mike sat back and rubbed his chin for a moment before typing in; DWTowing for username and 1-2-3-4-5-6 for the password. He was hoping that Mr. Winter was a lazy password guy like himself. Mike kept one password for everything. It wasn’t 1-2-3-4-5-6, but Duncan Winter didn’t seem like a man who wanted to remember difficult passwords. Red letters appeared across the screen, Invalid login information. Please re-enter username and password.