by Joe Hart
“What kind of issue?”
“It seems that David Baron is having some sort of fit down there and won’t leave.”
“What kind of fit, Mary Jo?”
“I’m not sure but Clark called it in, says the kid won’t leave.”
“Thank you, Mary Jo.”
The radio clicked once and then went quiet. Gray pressed the pedal down harder and the cruiser picked up speed, automatically sinking lower to the blacktop. Ruthers touched a black screen mounted in the console and when it lit up, he tapped a single icon that set the cruiser’s lights in motion as well as the siren. Its wail muted but still audible in the interior, Gray knew anyone within a half mile was getting an earful.
“You always have to ask yourself, Joseph, what’s next?”
~
The hardware store stood beside the café they’d left only hours before. Its walls were a bleached brown that looked like dried skin too long in the sun. A few cars were parked along the street before the storefront, their glass reflecting the beating sun in flashing arcs that hurt the eyes. Several people strolled on the sidewalk, some holding hands, some not. Signs proclaiming the coming city festival hung from doors and windows, the garish announcement promising fun for the entire family.
Gray took it all in as he coasted the cruiser into a parking spot, dousing the lights and siren with a touch of his finger.
“You think he’s dangerous, Sir?”
“Davey Baron? Anyone can be dangerous, Joseph, but I don’t think we have to worry about him.”
They climbed from the vehicle and moved through the heat, a solid curtain that beaded sweat before they entered the air-conditioned store.
The building was large with cardboard displays of farming implements too big to house within the space, but could be ordered at the front desk. Racks of work clothes stood in aisles beside lawn mowers and chainsaws. Hunting and fishing equipment hung in locked racks before glass cases containing assortments of knives. A line of cashiers sat off to the left, the men and women manning the tills turned toward the rear of the store where Clark Redy stood, his rounded shoulders draped in the customary blue of a Harrington’s uniform shirt. Gray could see from a distance that Redy’s normally crimson neck was nearly purple. Not a good sign. Redy was gesticulating and saying something, his words lost in the echo from the high ceiling.
Gray crossed the store, nearing the storeowner just as he finished a tirade and glanced over one ham-hock shoulder.
“It’s about time,” Redy said, rounding on Gray as he approached. Gray stood a bit over six feet and weighed a solid two hundred twenty pounds, but Redy loomed over him, a hill of angry flesh and bone. Redy’s face was the same color as his neck, eyes beginning to bulge with sweaty hair matted to his broad forehead.
“What’s the problem, Clark?” Gray said.
“The problem is that little lunatic broke one of my displays and now he’s got ahold of a clipper blade and won’t let anyone near him. He won’t leave!” Redy said the last sentence as if he didn’t truly believe it himself.
“Let’s take it easy, Clark, and we’ll sort it out.”
“Sort it out? Tase the little bastard and get his skinny ass out of my store. I’m losing business.”
“Clark?” Gray put a hand on the other man’s massive bicep. “We’ll handle it.” Without waiting for a reply, Gray walked around the proprietor and stepped into the aisle the large man had been shouting down.
David Baron sat on the edge of a shelf, his narrow torso hunched over his knees. He had a shock of red hair that Gray had never seen in any semblance of order. His pale face hung toward the floor, freckles dotting his long nose. An image of his father.
David turned his head toward Gray as he came down the aisle and shifted, revealing the sixteen inches of sharpened steel in his left hand. The clipper blade shone under the bright lights of the store, its edge meant for high RPMs and reed grass, now looked only a little menacing in the hand of the boy. Tear tracks ran in salty streams down both his cheeks and he made no movement to wipe them away.
“Stop.” The boy’s voice croaked. He’d been yelling.
Gray paused and turned to sit on a shelf across the aisle that’s contents now covered the floor. “How you doing, Davy?”
The boy sniffed, his eyes turning toward the head of the row they sat in, faces peering back at them. “Go away.”
“I just came here to chat, Davy, I’m not going to hurt you or make you leave before you mean to.”
The hand holding the clipper blade lowered a little. “I don’t wanna talk.”
“That’s fine,” Gray said, crossing one leg over the other, getting comfortable. “Anyone can tell you I talk more than enough for two people.” Gray smiled. “You’re on the baseball team this year, aren’t you?”
David glanced up the aisle again, then back to Gray, nodded.
“I thought I saw you out playing last week. You’re shortstop, aren’t you?”
David opened his mouth and then shut it. Finally said, “And first base sometimes.”
“Really? That’s interesting. You’re playing two positions that complement one another. More hits go to shortstop than any other position, you know that?”
“Yeah.”
“Coach must think well of your abilities to put you there.”
“Maybe.”
Gray imagined his next words as placing a foot on a tightrope, except they were already out there, weren’t they? “Your dad used to play shortstop, you know?”
David’s jaw tightened and the muscles in his left arm flexed. Gray shifted his eyes to the far end of the aisle over David’s shoulder where Ruthers waited, his Deacon drawn, the red light blinking. Gray gave the slightest twitch of his head.
The boy’s eyes wavered between rage and something else. Sorrow. As Gray waited he saw the emotion tip from one and fall straight through to the other. David’s shoulders sank and a held breath came out of him, deflating. A new line of tears coursed down his pale cheeks.
“The pinion seal went out of our weeder,” David said, staring at the floor. “There’s so many in the crop this year, and Momma—” He swallowed, the clipper blade settling onto the shelf beside him. “She’s in bed most of the day, and I can’t get her up sometimes even to eat dinner.” David turned his bloodshot, leaking eyes on Gray. “I try, you know, but it’s like she can’t hear me sometimes. Since he’s been gone it’s gotten worse, and worse. I—” David’s throat clenched with more tears and he wiped at them, looking like a much younger boy than sixteen. “I was just trying to weed and the seal went and when I came here to get a new one, they were all out. They were going to have to order one and it won’t be here for a week Mr. Redy said.”
“I see. Well, here’s what we can do, Davy, let’s take you home and on the way we’ll see if Gary’s in his garage. If he is, I’ll send him out to your house later this afternoon and maybe he can rig something together to get you by until the part comes in. How’s that sound?”
David shook his head, his hand flexing on the steel. “We can’t afford that, Sheriff, that’s why I came here to get the seal, it’s only forty dollars.”
“You don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it. So what do you say?” Gray held his hand out toward the clipper blade. David stared at his palm for a moment before handing over the wicked-looking part. Gray set it down on the shelf beside him and then reached out again. David grasped his hand, allowing himself to be pulled up.
“Is there a chance, Sheriff? Any at all?”
Gray only let the frown crease his forehead for a moment before trying to smile. “I’ve known your daddy for a long time, Davy, and if there’s any way he can come home, he will. There’s always a chance, as long as you can hope.”
The boy rubbed his eyes again before nodding. “Mr. Redy’s real mad.”
“You go on out and get in my cruiser, let me talk to Mr. Redy.”
David walked down the aisle, his head tilted at the floor, red hair bouncing with each s
tep. When he reached the end, Gray saw him glance up at the towering form of the storeowner and then look away from the seething anger that coated the big man’s face. Redy opened his mouth as David made his way across the store toward the doors, but Gray put a hand on his shoulder.
“Clark, can you get that pinion seal here any faster than a week?”
Redy looked at him as if he’d just spoken in Cantonese. “What?”
“Your order time seems slow, I thought you said you normally get shipments every day.”
The shade of Redy’s face began to climb into the puce area again and he pointed a thick finger a few inches from Gray’s nose. “What the hell are you talking about, Sheriff? That little vandal just tore up half my store and you’re asking me about shipping speed?”
“That’s right, Clark, and if you don’t take your finger out of my face I’ll have to do something about it.”
Gray waited for the man to take a looping swing at him. Instead Redy lowered his arm, which seemingly caused his eyes to bulge even more. “You can’t order me around, you’re an elected official paid by the people of this county. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Gray stepped a few inches closer to the man, the bill of his cap almost touching Redy’s nose. Redy flinched, but only a little. Gray spoke just above a whisper. “That boy’s been carrying the burden of his father being gone for over a month now, Clark. He doesn’t know where he went and no one else does either. His world’s been thrown off its axis. His mother’s nearly bedridden with heartache and David has twenty acres to weed along with trying to take care of a household that’s blaringly empty without his dad there. Now I’m sorry he came in and knocked over some of your products but I saw nothing broken, if there is you send me a bill. Now answer my question, can you get that pinion seal here faster than a fucking week or are we still living in the dark ages?”
Redy’s mouth moved for a second without any words coming out. Then he spluttered in a much softer tone, “I can put a rush on it and have it here in two days.”
Gray stepped back, readjusted his hat. “Good. Remember to send me a bill. Let’s go, Joseph.”
Gray walked out of the store as Ruthers followed, storing away his pistol. The eyes of everyone in the building watched them until they disappeared into the flaring heat of the day.
Chapter 6
The cruiser door thunked shut and David Baron gave them a wave before walking toward the two-story farmhouse, its paint ignited a dazzling white in the late afternoon sun.
Gray and Ruthers watched him until he climbed the steps onto the front porch and disappeared inside before pulling away in the turnaround that led back to the barren country road. The sun cut across the field clover to their right, a few head of cattle grazing behind an electrified fence. Dust kicked up behind the cruiser in a cloud, an occasional stone snapping against its undercarriage.
“That was a nice thing you did back there, sir.”
“Why thank you, Joseph.”
“I think Redy wanted to skin him alive.”
“That’s Clark Redy’s solution to most problems.”
“Yeah.” Ruthers glanced out the window down a narrow road that shot off to their right, there and gone as they flew by. “You think he’s alive somewhere, sir?”
“Who? Miles Baron? I’m not sure. There’s always a chance.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I knew Miles from middle school on. He was one of the most kind, caring, responsible men I’ve ever known. He would not shirk his family or his farm for any kind of offer and if there was a way to get back to the two people in that house, he would. So no, Joseph, I don’t think he is.”
“It’s just so strange for someone to vanish without notice. No vehicle, no body, no contact if he did run off.”
“Mysteries, Deputy Ruthers, we’re in the business of mysteries.”
They finished the drive back to Shillings in silence. Farms passing by, then more trees, a dried river cracked bottom wishing for rain. The dirt beneath the cruiser’s wheels became pavement, humming like a trapped hornet. Gray guided the vehicle down a side street, behind a row of homes set so close to one another a man would have to walk sideways between them. They parked in the long shadow of a two story, brick building. An American flag wilted on a shining pole. Breeze falling into nothing with the coming evening.
“Can you handle the necessaries for me, Joseph?”
“Sure can, sir.”
“If you don’t get it all done by quitting time, leave the simple things to Thueson. You remember where I live, I assume?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, I’ve got a couple things I want to check. I’ll see you later.”
Ruthers exited the car and strode toward the sheriff’s office. Gray idled the cruiser out of the building’s shadow and drove a slow path down Main Street. He watched the people he could see, how they moved, how they talked, where they were going. He looked at the way they held their hands and if they noticed him, if there was a reaction there, fear. Gray accelerated past the final business in town and took a left onto a patched asphalt road that led into the sun’s full glare. He put his sunglasses back on, letting his mind coast with the scenery outside the car.
He made turns without knowing where he was going, and knowing the whole while.
The cruiser’s tires crunched across the Jacobses’ drive and Gray stopped short of the flapping tape strung several yards in front of the charred porch. He shut the cruiser off, rolling his window down to listen. Birds sang in the surrounding woods, the melody speaking of rain. He hadn’t heard a bird in over a month, not since the last downpour. A squirrel chittered and jumped across a branch, its tail long, catching the sun in gaps of foliage. Gray inhaled, smelling the air. It would rain tonight.
He climbed from the vehicle, bending under the tape before stopping at the foot of the burnt stairs. He knelt, running his hand across the treads, feeling the fire’s dust coat his fingers. The air still smelled like smoke this close to the house. Gray stood and walked around the side of the building, looking at the ground, the siding, the woods. The Jacobses’ dog was gone now, an empty length of chain trailing to its house
Gray opened the backdoor and stepped inside, closing it behind him. He waited again, reliving the morning. He walked through the kitchen, stopping at the sink with the previous night’s dishes within. Moving to the table, he sat in one of the kitchen chairs, staring down the hall toward the foyer, the front door beyond. The house quiet save for an antique ticking clock near the stairway.
Gray stood, moved down the hall and paused before the front door. He only spared a glance at Devi’s room before turning back to the stairway.
The second floor had only two areas, a guest room and the master bedroom. The floor of the master still had blotchy patches of dried blood coating its surface but everywhere else was devoid of dust having been vacuumed by the forensic team. The bed sheets were gone along with the drapes. He studied the floor’s blackening patterns until they became sickening depictions of torture.
He crossed the room to the bare window, the fading light barely dappling the sill. A massive oak grew close enough to climb down outside, a child’s dream of escape come true. Through the branches the forest solidified in a seamless aura of green although most of the higher leaves were beginning to wilt.
Gray stood framed in the window, watching the afternoon creep toward evening when a new sensation pressed against him like a physical hand.
He was being watched.
He pretended not to notice, standing in fuller view while his eyes began to comb the trees, searching for an outline amongst the foliage. His hand crept the Colt’s grip. Nothing in the trees. The pushing touch of eyes relented, faded, disappeared.
Gray dropped his gaze to the windowsill, its surface cleaner than it had been since being installed he was sure. He shifted, his feet scraping across a heating grate in the floor, the hollow sound strumming like an unturned harp. A glint of som
ething caught his eyes between the grate’s slats. A shine of silver then gone as he moved.
Gray drew out his pocketknife and touched a button to release the spring loaded, six-inch blade. Kneeling, he placed the tip of the knife in the screw slit and turned it out. After doing the same to the other side, he set the knife on the floor and pulled the grate from its recess.
The duct below held a handful of dirt and clumped hair. A tarnished earing, its back missing rested amidst the grime, but that wasn’t what he’d seen through the grate.
A shining, silver screw sat apart from the rest of the detritus, its threads pointed up.
Gray grasped it in his fingertips and drew it out into the light. The screw had a star pattern slot for tightening and was only a half-inch long. It looked brand new.
“What are you doing down there?” Gray said to the empty room that smelled of old copper.
Chapter 7
Gray took off his hat and set it in the seat as he rounded one of the last bends before his home.
The sunlight was almost gone, shadows stretching to unnatural lengths on the ground. Gravel kicked up beneath the cruiser’s tires, a plume of dust marking its passage. Ancient trees lined the private drive, a county road in itself yet devoid of any habitable dwellings save one. Miles of woods stretched to either side of the car with only the occasional splash of field and the abandoned, overgrown driveway to break the feeling of complete wilderness.
The road narrowed, turned once more and then opened into a massive clearing. Gray sighed without meaning to.
His house stood in the center of the space, a high two-story with narrow windows set in its upper half. Long gables hung from the roof on all sides and a two-door garage sat beside it, squat when compared to the tall structure. A deck wrapped around from the north side to the rear of the house and two wind chimes hung from its rails, still now without the nudging hand of breeze.
Gray touched the console screen and tapped a button. The left garage door slid up and out of sight as he pulled beneath it, touching the button once more before he climbed out of the car and left the garage.
