Humanity's Edge Trilogy (Book 1): Turn

by Kohler, Paul B.

  “Yes, well,” Clay said, shifting his weight. He rested a hand on his holster and tapped at it with an absent finger. “I suppose these things happen, unfortunately. What do you have there?” He gestured toward the handful of papers.

  Jean thrust them forward. “The whole town is grieving about what happened to that poor boy. And about Darcy. God, that girl got lucky, didn’t she? I can’t even imagine.”

  Clay looked at the messages with relative disdain. He hadn’t gotten into the business of saving lives and protecting towns to go through paperwork. But he nodded, knowing that they carried the weight of empathy from the town, a town he had grown to love since he’d settled there nearly fifteen years before. “I’ll take care of them. Thanks, Jean. Is Alayna in yet?”

  Jean’s eyebrows shot high. “She’s been here for almost a half hour. She’s waiting for you in your office.”

  “Ah. She’s going to scold me, isn’t she?”

  “I think you have some harsh words coming,” Jean teased, winking.

  Alayna was Clay’s deputy, a thirty-something woman who’d grown up a local, leaving only briefly for school. She’d long joked that no matter how much she wanted to, she’d never find a better life outside of the town’s limits. “They just don’t get me out there, Clay,” she’d said over and over, half joking.

  Clay proceeded toward his office and popped the door open, revealing Alayna Cordell before him. She sat in his office chair, her boots idle upon his desk and her arms behind her head. She gave no indication of moving. As their eyes met, a smirk stretched across her face. “Hey there, boss.”

  “Alayna. Fancy finding you here, relaxing in my office,” Clay said, latching the door closed behind him. “You know, if you want my job, my pay, and this desk to rest your feet on for the rest of time, all you have to do is return every one of the fifty or so messages Jean just handed me.” He dropped the stack on his desk and tilted his head. “What do you say?”

  Alayna dropped her boots to the floor and reached for the papers, sighing. “I suppose I can’t lounge around here all day. You run such a tight ship.” She gestured toward the empty coffee cup and the half-eaten donut beside her, Clay’s remnants from the previous day.

  Clay chuckled. Alayna was his second deputy, and a damn fine one. The one before, a man named Chris, had fled back to Dallas, where his father had arranged an accounting job, a nine-to-five, a position of safety. Chris hadn’t had the grit to be a lawman.

  Finally Alayna relinquished the seat, lending it back to its owner. “I was just waiting for you to roll your lazy bones in,” she said, still reading over the grieving messages. “Man, this town really pulls all the stops for tragedies, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s a compassionate community, that’s for sure,” Clay agreed, easing into his chair. “So. Since you’ve been here, I take it you’ve read through some of the report?”

  “Yep,” Alayna said, eyeing him. The light had gone out from her eyes. “The barn’s completely gone. And you probably know that Darcy Crawford’s in the hospital. The boy, Caleb, he didn’t make it. I think the coroner’s planning to take him, but I don’t yet have word if he’s still out at the farm.”

  “Thank you,” Clay said, rubbing his fingers absently against his chin. “And nobody’s set eyes on the barn yet?”

  “Nope. I mean, none of the other deputies have gone out yet,” she said. “I was thinking we could go.”

  Clay nodded. “One of us to the barn. The other to visit Darcy in the hospital. To pay our respects, and also to get some information about what happened. What do you think they were doing out in the barn so late at night, anyway?”

  Alayna laughed lightly, shrugging. “What else do teenagers do in dark barns at night?”

  Clay sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Well. Shall we arm wrestle for the tasks? I certainly have no preference, and I’m still hanging on to my five-day winning streak.”

  Alayna rolled her eyes. She smacked her elbow upon the desk, nearly knocking the half-eaten donut to the ground. “All right. If I win, I’ll take the hospital visit. I guess. I mean, in this case, I’m not sure who’s the ‘winner.’”

  “Me neither,” Clay sighed. But he snapped his hand upon Alayna’s. They counted to three. Clay heard Alayna’s grunts as she focused, trying to beam his hand back across the table. And as she strained, Clay felt himself release slightly, his mind falling toward fear of what they might find at the barn.

  What if Caleb’s body was still there, burned to a crisp?

  He felt himself give up on the arm wrestling, then, knowing it was better for Alayna to meet with Darcy. He felt the cold table beneath his skin upon release. Alayna cheered, clapping her hands together, her eyes bright.

  “Your winning streak, sir, is quite over,” she said, laughing. “So I don’t want to hear another brag out of you. Not for at least a week.”

  “I’m coming for you tomorrow,” Clay said, snapping his sheriff’s hat over his head. “But in the meantime, I’ll head out to the farm. The sooner you get up to visit Darcy, the better. The memory’s fresh right now.”

  “Right,” Alayna said, bringing her lips together in a grim line. “Good luck out there.”

  Clay felt the weight of the coming day upon his shoulders. He stood in the doorway, feeling the sunlight upon his cheeks, imagining, briefly, what it would be like to have his own daughter, Maia, in the hospital. Darcy’s father, Mack—a widower who had raised Darcy on his own since his wife had died in the car accident several years before—was probably an absolute wreck.

  Chapter 4

  As Clay strode from his office, his mind revving, Jean held up her hand. He halted, peering toward her. She was on the phone, nodding.

  “That’s right. Okay. I’ll let him know immediately.” She dropped the receiver back in its cradle and turned toward him. She swallowed. “Apparently the mayor would like to speak with you before you begin this investigation.”

  Clay frowned, tilting his head. “Lois? That’s who was on the phone?”

  “She called herself. Personally,” Jean nodded. A flicker of puzzlement swept across her eyes. “She’s over at the Sunrise Diner. She says you can meet her there before you head out.”

  Perplexed, Clay bowed his head, thanking Jean, and then walked from the station. As he climbed into his cruiser, he tried to bolster his mindset. Just because the mayor wanted to speak with him now, before even getting started, didn’t mean a thing. It was going to be just like any other investigation. Chances were, she just wanted to convey her sympathies about the death of the Latimer boy. She probably just wanted to ensure that everything was going to be handled with the utmost care. After all, nobody cared about Carterville more than Lois Washington. She’d been the mayor since before Clay had arrived in the town, and she ran an efficient township, ensuring that its people were safe, attending the silly town parties and parades, and not only kissing all the babies in a political move but also occasionally babysitting for them, as well.

  Clay forged through town, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel anxiously. The Saturday morning traffic was vibrant, bustling. As he drove, several cars slowed their speed, shooting their foot to the brake pedal and giving him a hearty wave.

  Clay stopped at the diner, which was only a mile and a half from the Crawford farm, and parked beside Lois’s notable bright red car. As he entered, everyone inside turned their eyes toward him, chewing their food like a cow does its cud. He held up a hand in greeting and leaned toward the counter, where he whispered to the diner’s owner. “Just a coffee, Theo, thanks.”

  Lois was seated in her usual booth beside the corner window. Her slight frame was a shadow in the sunlight, outlining her sharp nose and her high bun. The woman had never married and very much had the air of someone who didn’t wish to share her life with anyone. She was a private person, but bright and warm. And the moment she saw Clay, she stood, shot her hand out to shake his, and gave him a sad, steady smile.

  “What an
event to wake up to,” she said. “Darcy in the hospital, and poor Caleb.” She shook her head, reseating herself before her breakfast of pancakes and bacon. Clay couldn’t imagine how she kept such a trim figure.

  “It’s a tragic thing, Lois,” Clay said, accepting his coffee from Theo. The warmth of the mug was pleasing upon his fingers. “I haven’t even made it out to the farm yet, so I’m not sure how much I can say right now that you probably haven’t already heard.”

  “Tell me what you do know,” Lois said. She eyed him with an eagle’s glare. It seemed the air had shifted around them.

  “We know the barn caught fire somehow. The girl was protected from it, and her boyfriend, Caleb, perished in the blaze. According to Jean’s report, Darcy’s father, Mack, called it in and probably saved her life. I’m assuming Mack’s at the hospital with her now, and Alayna’s on her way to speak with them.” Clay spoke in a rush, feeling the mayor’s steely eyes upon him.

  Lois nodded, slurping her orange juice. “All right. That all sounds fine,” she said as she returned the glass back to the table. “Now listen here. I’d like to make a request through all of this.”

  “All of this?” Clay asked. “This accident?”

  Lois’s eyebrows rose high up on her forehead. “Sure. This accident. I’d like for you to exercise your best judgement throughout your investigation. You’re a capable leader in this community, but we can’t have things run off the rails here. In such a high-profile incident, there’s certain to be … outside eyes and ears in our small community. Keep it low-key if possible, and keep me apprised of everything—and I mean everything. Do you understand?”

  Clay leaned back heavily, feeling the plastic of the booth seat rub against his shirt. He’d never received such a brash request from the mayor, and it made his heart feel squeezed. Did she think he ordinarily made things too dramatic? Did she believe he often messed things up? Since he’d taken on the sheriff’s position, there hadn’t been a single scandal.

  But he had no option but to agree. “Sure, Lois. I’ll keep things … under control. And I’ll keep you in the loop, if you like,” he said. He eyed his coffee, realizing he was wasting time. He needed to get out to the Crawfords’. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a tragedy to … suppress. You have some pancakes to focus on, anyway.”

  A false smile stretched across Lois’s face. She looked sure, unemotional. “Sure, Clay. I know I can trust you.” She shook his hand again and turned her neck toward him as he left. “Thanks for keeping our town safe, Sheriff,” she called.

  Strangely, Lois’s words chilled Clay far more than they should have. He hurried from the diner, his eyes wide. And he sped from the parking lot, still shaking slightly, unsure of why Lois would tell him all this.

  But the woman was growing older, he reasoned. And the only thing in the world she really cared about was the town. If she felt she needed to speak with him—even if it seemed like the silliest thing in the world—then, he supposed, he had to go along with it. It was just another quirk in a small town.

  Chapter 5

  Despite the fire that had burned all around her, Darcy wasn’t in intensive care, or the burn unit, for that matter. Rather, the nurse told Alayna that Darcy had only a few bumps and bruises and was most likely suffering from a moderate concussion. “She’s been in and out of consciousness, but she looks like she’ll be okay,” the nurse said, her eyes wide. “But the boy. What a tragedy this all is. And right before he could have played college football. All that potential.”

  Alayna wasn’t sure what to say. She nodded awkwardly, her tongue frozen to the roof of her mouth, until the nurse spun toward the bright hallway. Alayna followed the nurse’s squeaking tennis shoes, her police hat in her hands. A tight bun at the base of her neck, holding her black hair, stretched her skin, causing a minor headache.

  The nurse led her to Darcy’s room, where she lay silently, her arms folded over her chest and a white blanket tugged close to her neck. Her face was grim, scratched. Her teeth were clattering with cold, despite the air being a humid 75 degrees. Alayna frowned, sensing that the girl was in shock.

  “Darcy,” Alayna said, her voice soft. She eased into a chair beside the hospital bed. “Darcy, can you hear me?”

  Darcy’s eyes were wide open, searching the ceiling. She nodded blankly. “I’m sorry. I’m just so cold,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay, Darcy. I know you must be going through a lot,” Alayna said. She eased her hand over her arm. She wondered where Darcy’s father was. Mack Crawford was a fine man, one she’d dealt with a few different times. And without the necessary “mothering” element of her personality, Alayna felt lost speaking with this teenage girl.

  “It’s cold, and then hot. W-what’s wrong with me?” Darcy whispered. She eased her fingers over her forehead, flipping sweat from her pores. “Do you think we were just being punished?”

  Alayna frowned. “For what? Punished for what?” she asked, shaking her head in confusion.

  In that moment, Darcy’s father entered the room, holding a bouquet of flowers. His eyes locked onto his daughter for a long moment. He held the flowers like a sword, then tapped them against his pectoral. He looked empty, defeated.

  “Mack,” Alayna said, standing from the plastic chair. She shook his hand. “Wanted to come down from the station to check on Darcy’s condition.”

  Mack nodded curtly. “I appreciate that. We both do. She’s—she’s not feeling so good.”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t be, either,” Alayna affirmed. She kept steady eye contact with Mack, noting the discoloration in his cheeks. A bit of sweat ebbed on his forehead. He was shaking as well. If Alayna didn’t know any better, she’d think they both had that damn flu bug. But surely it was just panic, altering their state of mind and body.

  Mack dropped the bouquet of flowers into a glass vase and grasped his daughter’s hand, eyeing Alayna once more from the other side of the bed. “It’s strange, growing older. Knowing your entire happiness depends on the well-being of another. Of course, with your mother being the way she was, and your father being gone all those years—” he paused. Alayna felt slapped. “It must have been difficult for you, raising yourself like that.”

  Alayna took several deep, staggering breaths. She blinked several times before righting herself, giving him a brief smile. She knew he didn’t mean it. News of her mother’s alcoholism and father’s abandonment had surely spread through the town like wildfire. Just because she’d put many years between her and those events didn’t mean people didn’t link her to them still. They were a part of her. And she was a part of the town.

  “Anyway,” Alayna said, attempting to change the subject, “they said she’ll be okay?”

  Mack nodded. Another bead of sweat dripped down his face. “We’ll have to find someplace else to go when they release her,” he told her. “The farmhouse was completely destroyed. The fire took both buildings. I managed to escape, but just barely.”

  Alayna jotted this information down on a pad, making the note: “Shivering. Both have flu—shock, or just panic?” beside it. “That must have been horrible for you,” she said, her voice light. “Sheriff Dobbs has gone out to the farm now. He’ll have answers to us soon. And in the meantime, you and Darcy should relax as best you can. Confusing times can make us ill in more ways than one.” She passed her eyes over the father and daughter, feeling suddenly anxious.

  After several minutes, Alayna excused herself and walked outside to the bright, near-autumn sunlight. She thought of Darcy, whose life had taken a dramatic turn in the previous several hours. When Alayna had been a teenager, cooking her own meals, shopping for groceries, trying to coax her mother to work in the days before she was officially fired, she hadn’t felt that life could be bright, that hope would ever meet her somewhere down the line. She’d felt only darkness.

  She trudged back toward her deputy vehicle, hoping she’d hear from Clay soon. She needed the kind of hope he brought to an investigation. She
needed his insight.

  Chapter 6

  Clay Dobbs saw the smoke from only a half mile away as he sped down the country road. He frowned, feeling suddenly choked. They hadn’t had such a dramatic death in the town in several years. Sure, there was the occasional car accident, the rare suicide. But this—a fire that overtook the very farm that most restaurants and grocers in town relied upon for dairy and meat—was something different. It felt intimate. Was it arson?

  He parked far from the now-smoldering fire and marched toward it, his hands upon his hips. As he passed the field, he saw a fleck of fabric and heard footfalls before finding two farmhands before him. They peered toward him with frightened eyes. Their hands were restless.

  “Sheriff, you’re here!” one of them called. “We hoped someone would come out. The fire crew showed up and left, claiming the farm was a lost cause. Something about no water source near. We’ve only been here for an hour, and Mack is nowhere to be found, and this . . . disaster—”

  Clay raised his hands, stretching his fingers high. “I’m here now. I’ll check it out. Mack’s at the hospital with Darcy.” He eyed them curiously, noting that both were sweating profusely. The one who hadn’t spoken was dabbing his forehead with a rag, mopping up sweat. They were also shivering, their teeth clattering. “Are you boys nervous about something, or are you coming down with that damn bug making its way around town?” he asked.

  The pair made brief eye contact. “Maybe we should just go home,” one stammered. “We’ll get ahold of Mack and see what’s up.” He eyed the wreckage, the dark smoke. “I don’t really want to go over there again. It seems . . . wrong somehow.” Silence stretched long in the air.

  As the farmhands crept back toward their trucks, Clay edged forward, his hand upon his gun. The farmhouse, a once glorious representation from the nineteenth century, was burned almost totally to the ground, leaving only a slight skeleton of the downstairs and a lonely stone chimney. The barn was completely obliterated, although Clay marched past red shards of barn wood as he grew closer. This made him feel that perhaps the barn had exploded, sending these wooden flecks so far from the source. But who would blow up a barn, so far out in the field?