A Field of Red

by Greg Enslen

  The girls.

  If they were alive, they wouldn’t be for much longer.

  He tried to move. At this point, playing dead just wasn’t going to cut it.

  Out the open front door, he saw the Corolla and the dark trees beyond. The broken side mirror hung crazily, the glass shattered.

  He saw movement.

  A little girl appeared near the car and glanced up at the house. She saw him on the ground, in the doorway.

  Charlie Martin.

  Frank lifted his head and looked at her. It took him a second to get enough breath in his lungs to speak.

  “Run,” he whispered as loud as he could. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

  Her eyes went wide. She turned and disappeared from sight.

  “Son of a BITCH!” Frank heard from upstairs.

  He could hear Graves stomp around loudly, pissed off. Frank heard something, glass breaking. A loud thump, followed by more breaking glass—the man was turning over furniture. A shotgun blast went off, the sound muffled by the wooden floors. Surrounded by wood.

  “WHERE ARE YOU??!” Sergeant Graves was screaming.

  Frank lifted his head and turned, looking to the stairs and the hallway.

  George was sitting up now, eyes wide, holding his ear and looking at Frank. Their eyes met for a second, then George stood slowly and went over to Chastity, patting her gently on the back of the head. George’s eyes were shiny as he pried the shotgun from her dead hands. He stood and started slowly up the hallway toward Frank.

  Frank knew it was over.

  At least he’d gotten to make up with Laura and meet Jackson and spend some time with them. He’d wanted more time with them, time to take Jackson to a baseball game or visit Laura at her new job or see her happy. Frank wanted more time with them, more time to make up for the lost time he’d pissed away.

  George stopped next to Frank. Frank got ready for it, wondering if Ben Stone had felt like this, looking up at this attacker.

  George looked down at him, then slowly nodded and turned, starting wearily up the stairs. Walking away from Frank. The man’s legs continued slowly up the stairs, finally disappearing out of view.

  Frank felt a second wind rush through him, a temporary reprieve from the alarms of pain going off all over his back. Frank slid his arm down, trying to get to his belt holster.

  Another shot rang out upstairs, and a second, then three more in quick succession. Two different weapons firing, back and forth. Frank could hear people walking around as well, stuttering movements and running, followed by another shot. He had no idea what was happening, but he managed to free the handgun and got his other arm under his chest, propping himself up.

  Frank waited, watching the stairs.

  He heard someone running on the second floor, the old hardwoods squeaking. Feet appeared on the stairs—it was Sergeant Graves, racing to get away. By the time he got halfway down the staircase, Frank could see he’d escaped any injury.

  Frank shot him.

  Graves screamed and fell backward, the shotgun clattering to the floor. Frank fired again. A red hole appeared in the man’s neck. For a moment, he looked at Frank, Graves’ hands going to his neck. Blood bubbled from between his fingers, and Frank thought of that cauldron of fake blood. Then the man slumped backward against the stairs.

  He heard other people walking around upstairs. Frank smiled through the blood.

  After a moment, the young man and Maya came down the stairs—she had been fighting him, slapping at him but then stopped when she saw the bleeding man on the stairs.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” George was telling Maya.

  They walked gingerly around Graves. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the young man pointed to Frank, who had managed to work his way up into a sitting position and was leaning against the door frame.

  “You stay with him,” the young man said. “He’s a policeman. Help is on the way—Charlie already got out. You just stay here, okay?”

  Maya nodded.

  Frank watched, as the young man walked back over to the woman and patted her on the back one more time, touching her head gently. It seemed like a very long moment, but it couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. Then the young man stood, crying, and picked up two of the shotguns, hoisting them over his shoulders. His ear was bleeding.

  He looked at Frank for a moment, then stepped right over him and walked out the door.

  Frank turned to see the young man put both shotguns into the Corolla, then walk over to Graves’ police car and open the doors. He searched the car and trunk until he found a green duffel bag, pulling it open and smiling at the contents. Frank couldn’t see what was inside, but he could guess: the second ransom.

  The young man climbed into the white Corolla with the busted side mirror. With a nod to Frank, he drove away.

  64

  “And he just drove away?”

  They were in his hospital room. Bright sunlight shone in the windows. Outside, the ground was littered with fallen leaves in a dozen different colors of red and yellow and orange. It looked like the rain was finally gone for good.

  “Just stepped right over me,” Frank said, nodding. “Kept on walking. Searched the police car and found the missing money—”

  “Sergeant Graves had it?” Laura asked, leaning forward. “So he’s the one that attacked you and took the money?”

  Frank nodded and set down the Jell-O. It was the only part of his meager lunch that he couldn’t stomach. Why did they always serve Jell-O in hospitals? He’d thought it was a myth from watching too many movies, but there it was on his tray. Green and slimy and not the kind of food he was looking forward to—Frank wanted a steak. He leaned over gingerly and handed it to Jackson, who smiled and sat back down on the floor next to the hospital bed to enjoy it.

  Frank turned to Laura.

  “Yes, it was Sergeant Graves,” Frank said. “Of course, I figured it all out too late, but he was in on it from the start. Helped Lassiter set up the whole thing and then ‘managed’ the investigation all the way through. ‘Managed’ Lassiter, too, right up to the end.”

  Laura shook her head.

  “Geez, the guy sounds like a real piece of work,” she said. “What about the young man—he got away?”

  “Yup—George, the young man, was the one taking care of the girls,” Frank said. “Little Charlie was in yesterday to visit. She said that he was the only one who was nice to them. Evidently, the young woman, Chastity, helped out as little as possible. But the two of them took care of the girls.”

  Laura nodded and looked out the windows. A sturdy breeze shook the trees outside, which were painted with the fiery colors of fall, but most of the leaves had already dropped. Winter was right around the corner.

  “I still can’t believe it was a cop,” she said. “And I can’t believe he fooled everyone like that.”

  Frank nodded. “Yeah, Peters and I were working from that assumption, late in the investigation, like I told you. But we never figured out who it was, until it was too late,” Frank said. “He was clever, I’ll say that much. Apparently, he’d been running a marijuana grow operation up at that farmhouse for years, growing the pot right there in the backyard. Between him being a cop and the high fences, no one ever found out.”

  “Why did he do it?” Laura asked.

  “The Chief said Tyler Graves and Nick Martin had had a falling out a long time ago, back in high school,” Frank said. “Nick was a football star back then. King wasn’t sure what happened, but it had something to do with Glenda, Nick’s wife. The Chief is looking into it, but apparently there was a history of bad blood between them for a long time, even though it wasn’t common knowledge.”

  Laura nodded.

  “Chief King is taking it worse than anyone,” Frank said, looking down at Jackson, who was working on the Jell-O. “He thought of Tyler Graves as his right-hand man, really. The man had King completely fooled for years.”

  She looked out the wi
ndow—it was a sunny day, warmer than usual for late October. The trees were moving in a breeze that dropped more leaves to the ground.

  “Have you decided what you’re doing with the reward?” she asked.

  Frank nodded. “Splitting it with Deputy Peters, for one,” he said. “He deserves it as much as I do. He got shot twice as much as I did.”

  Laura smiled. “You must feel better—you’re making jokes.”

  “I am feeling better,” Frank said, nodding. “I can’t wait for the bruising to go down—it hurts every time I breathe. I just wish the food was better in here.”

  “I meant, what are you going to spend your money on?” she asked.

  He leaned back into the hospital bed. “I’m not sure—probably a new car. Settle some debts.” Frank looked up at her. “Maybe help you out with Jackson’s school tuition—you said it was expensive.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said, looking down at Jackson.

  He nodded.

  “I’d like to help.”

  Laura looked up at him. “I’m glad you’re thinking about getting a better car,” she said, smiling at him. “Then maybe you can come visit more often.”

  Just the idea made Frank smile.

  “How is Deputy Peters?” Laura asked. “Is he getting better?”

  “Yup,” Frank said, sitting up a little. His back was numbed up and itchy, but at least he could lean back and put pressure on it now.

  “It was a good thing he had us both put on those vests,” Frank said. “His vest blocked the shot to his chest, but the shoulder will take a little while to heal. It will be a few weeks before he’s back on duty, and even then, he’ll be stuck at a desk for a while,” Frank said. “If I hadn’t had my vest on…”

  Laura looked at Jackson, playing on the floor. The dinosaurs were attacking the leg of one of the hospital chairs, ganging up and working together to defeat the piece of furniture. A T-rex and a Brontosaurus and a whole gang of smaller dinosaurs circled the chair leg and began fighting over the empty Jell-O container.

  She looked up at Frank, her eyes a little shiny.

  “I was just so scared, when I heard you’d been shot,” she said. “A policeman came to the house, and I was worried because of what you said. But then he said you had been shot, and I didn’t know what to do. For a second, I thought he might be lying. But we were just starting to reconnect, and, for a minute, I thought it was all going to be taken away again.” She looked out at the trees again. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Laura said.

  Frank smiled at her and took her hand, squeezing it. He looked down at Jackson, playing happily with the dinosaurs Frank had bought for his grandson and then back up at his daughter.

  “I’m better than okay,” Frank said, smiling. “Just about perfect.”

  Epilogue

  The setting sun was just touching the top of the ocean waves, painting the edges of the water with reds and yellows. Beyond the beach, tall stands of pine guarded the rocky shore, long shadows stretching out behind the rocks and trees, blending together in a gathering darkness.

  Sunset was coming to this quiet cove of salt and sand.

  In the distance, a small boat plied the water, bouncing up and down on the gentle swells far out to sea. Probably racing to bring in the catch before the sun set.

  Closer to shore, sea birds dipped and soared above the water, screeching in the twilight. Other birds scampered along the beach, stopping to dig at the sand with long bills, searching for food.

  The beach was empty. The wooden lifeguard stand stood unmanned. It was far too late in the season, and far too chilly, for beachgoers to come out. Even if they braved the cold water, the setting sun would have chased them from the beach. The parking lot, often full in the summer, stood empty as the sun began to dip behind the watery horizon. Waves marched relentlessly toward the sandy beach, unwatched and forgotten.

  A car approached.

  The vehicle appeared from between the tall pines, winding in and out of the green, tracing a path down the curvy road that paralleled the rocky coastline.

  It was a newer car, not more than five years old. As it approached, it looked somewhat worse-for-wear, but the engine sounded strong and true. Whoever maintained the engine did so with care.

  The car slowed and turned into the empty parking lot, purring to a stop next to the sand. Birds skittered away and took flight, leaving the car alone.

  The door opened.

  A figure climbed from the car, a young man. He stood and stretched, his arms high above him. He stood and watched the water and the waves for a long time. The sun dropped closer to the waves, and the long shadowed stretched out even further.

  The waves marched toward the shore, oblivious to the visitor who watched them.

  After a while, the young man leaned back into the car, rummaging through a green duffel bag, trying to find something. The young man finally found what he was looking for and stood from the car, closing the door behind him with a solid “thunk.”

  George started his way across the darkening beach, taking his time, enjoying the rough sand and the hiss of the ocean. It was exactly as he had imagined it would be, and nothing like he imagined it would be.

  He’d imagined someone by his side.

  When he reached the water, George dipped his fingers in it. The water lapped at his shoes, but he didn’t care. Instead, the young man simply stood in the surf and stared out at the ocean. It was unclear if he was looking at the crests of water marching toward him, or the setting sun, or the distant boat. Perhaps he watched the birds diving into the tops of the waves.

  After a long while, the figure reached into his pocket and took something out. He held it up, looked at it for a long moment. It was the size and shape of an apple but ornate and golden. George rolled the ornate, compact sewing kit in his hand, smiling. He looked at it for a long moment, then lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  “Chas, you made it.”

  He drew back and prepared to throw it as far as he could into the water.

  But he hesitated.

  George looked at the golden orb in his hand for a long moment. He looked at the waves around him, then back at the object in his hand, and then slowly put it back into his pocket.

  The young man stood unmoving, the water and waves crashing around him. The water hissed like snakes on the sand as it ran back to the sea.

  He patted his pocket and stared at the ocean, smiling.

  Please Review!

  Thank you for reading this book - I hope you enjoyed it. Now that you've finished my book, won't you please consider writing a review? If you could, take a few minutes out to write a review of this book on Amazon, Goodreads or any other place you feel like sharing.

  Reviews are the best way readers discover new books. And, believe it or not, the sheer number of Amazon reviews affects how Amazon lists book titles. So swing over there and jot down a couple of sentences. Good or bad, every review helps increase the "social buzz" of the book. I would truly appreciate it. And thank you!

  -- Greg Enslen

  About the Author

  Author and columnist Greg Enslen lives in Ohio with his wife Samantha and three children. He’s enjoying the small-town life after two decades in Washington, D.C., and Los Angeles. A Field of Red is Greg’s sixth book. He has published four works of fiction, and he’s working on several more.

  All of his books are available on Amazon.com and Kindle, and several have been published by Gypsy Publications in Ohio. For reviews, news updates, and more information, please visit his website at http://www.gregenslen.com.

  My Titles

  If you enjoyed this book, check out my full list of titles:

  A Field of Red

  Ex-cop Frank Harper doesn't want to get involved. Harper is visiting the small Ohio town of Cooper's Mill, trying to reconnect with his estranged daughter and a grandson he's never met. But he finds the town gripped in fear-two young girls have gone missing, taken in broad daylight fro
m a busy street. And the police are coming up blank. But once Harper is drawn reluctantly into the investigation, he'll stop at nothing to find the girls. And he doesn't care who gets in the way.

  Paperback: http://amzn.to/19KLkJe

  Kindle: http://amzn.to/14700y5

  The 9/11 Machine

  Dr. Donald Ellis lost everything on 9/11. He lost his wife and daughter in the south tower of the World Trade Center. But while others grieved, or plotted revenge, Dr. Ellis threw himself into a long-dormant research project. He traded his lab at the University of New York for an ugly riverfront warehouse in Brooklyn. What is he working on? And why does he spend every free moment at the warehouse standing by the river, staring across the water at Ground Zero? Because Dr. Ellis has a plan: he's going to make 9/11 "unhappen."

  Paperback: http://amzn.to/1aMQO9x

  Kindle: http://amzn.to/146irmq

  The Ghost of Blackwood Lane

  For years, the witness protection program has kept Gary Foreman safe from the horrors he left behind. He's got a new career and new friends, but they can never know his real name or where he comes from. But the program can't protect him from the relentless dreams of a young woman in danger. It's the same dream, night after night, and Gary is helpless, unable to stop the dream's inevitable and horrifying conclusion. The woman seems strangely familiar...is she someone from his dark past? Is she even real? All he knows for certain is that she needs his help, or she will die.

  Paperback: http://amzn.to/1824IPQ

  Kindle: http://amzn.to/14B89P0

  Black Bird

  Jack Terrington, the nation's most prolific serial killer, returns to the scene of his first murders, a small town he'd escaped only by dumb luck. Jack has an aptitude for getting away with murder; he's been doing it for twenty years. He's a drifter, leaving a trail of fear and death from coast to coast. And though he's always avoided capture, he's haunted by the memory of Liberty, Virginia--Jack had escaped capture only by dumb luck. And that's always bothered him. Now, before he retires for good, he's returning to the small town to settle the score. Meanwhile, David Beaumont couldn't wait to leave Liberty--he was tired of listening to the endless stories about what a great man his father had been, how he had saved Liberty from a killer, sacrificing his own life. David's starting a new life, but when the killings start again, David's the only one that can stop them. Should he return to the town he despises? And if he does, will he end up like his father--dead?