Creature From The Crevasse

by Michael Cole

  “Well…” Sydney felt himself growing frustrated, but kept his polite demeanor. “…uhh, let’s just say it doesn’t look too encouraging in the public’s eye to see a police officer walking around with a cane.”

  “Trust me, seeing an officer hobbling around on one leg isn’t really an improvement,” she said. “I can assure you it wouldn’t hurt quite as much if you used the cane. It would relieve pressure from the muscle and…”

  “Pardon me, but Meya…”

  “Dr. Nasr,” she corrected him. He paused for a brief moment. Wow, tell me how you really feel about seeing me.

  “Dr. Nasr…I only came here to get a new signature on my prescription so I can get a refill. I’ll even say please.” One frequent complaint during their marriage was a lack of good manners on his part. Ironically, it seemed to be the opposite today.

  “Alright,” she said. “Drop your pants.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Sydney said. He felt uncomfortable and anxious, but also slightly amused.

  “You want a new prescription for Meperidine, right? That means a new exam needs to be done. Off with the pants.” Now Sydney allowed his demeanor to fail a bit.

  “Not without dinner and a movie, Doctor,” he said.

  “In that case,” she said, “I believe all you need is a high dose of ibuprofen. That, plus continued use with the cane, should ease the pain in your leg.” She grabbed a prescription booklet and started jotting down her signature. Sydney raised his hand in protest.

  “Oh hell no,” he said, barely keeping his voice down. “That stuff screws up my stomach and barely dulls the pain.” Dr. Nasr looked up at him.

  “Then let me do an exam,” she said. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t ever seen him with no pants before, but she had never seen him with his injury. Sydney despised his mangled thigh, and was in no hurry to allow her to make condescending remarks about it. He felt his temper starting to get the better of him, and knew he better leave before he succumbed to it.

  “I’ll take the script,” he said bitterly. Without missing a beat, she finished filling it out. She tore it from the pad and handed it to him. He took it from her, and forced a smile. “Thank you.” He turned and let himself out the door. “Welcome to Rodney,” he said. What he wanted to say was “go to hell,” but resisted…not out of personal pride, but because of his position as chief. He shut the door behind him as he left.

  Meya savored a few quiet moments by herself in the room. She didn’t want to admit it, but seeing the man she once loved made the heartbreak feel fresh once again. She immediately felt guilty for remaining so bitter about the turmoil their marriage went through. She was aware that her bitterness had shown during that exam, almost unfiltered. The realization that her ex-husband was the chief of police in town was still hitting her hard. For the past two years, she distanced herself to emotionally recover. She didn’t want any connection. There was no alimony, no child support, and all assets were divided. She worked herself to exhaustion, and finally moved to a quiet town to find peace. But seeing the man who once proposed to her by the Old Presque Isle lighthouse on Lake Huron brought it all back.

  She snapped out of her thoughts, remembering she had patients waiting for her, in addition to other duties. It was time for her to resort to the only way she knew to forget; work.

  ********

  Sydney took a seat in his patrol vehicle after obtaining his prescribed ibuprofen from the hospital pharmacy. His blood pressure was still increased, worsening the pain in his leg. He looked at the bottle, contemplating taking one of the pills, even though he knew they wouldn’t help much. In a fit of frustration, he threw them down into the passenger seat and started the engine. Before driving off, his eyes went to the doors of the hospital. He thought of his surprise from seeing Meya in the hospital, and how it slightly reminded them of how they met.

  An armed robbery had taken place, which resulted in a vehicle pursuit of the two suspects. County and state police units managed to force the vehicle off the highway, resulting in it crashing into a tree. A brief shootout occurred, leaving both suspects injured. Sydney provided an escort for the ambulance to the hospital. The two suspects were admitted, one with a gunshot wound in the lower torso, and the other suffering from lacerations from glass.

  While in the ER, the suspect with the glass injuries struggled in his stretcher, desperate to get free. A series of curse words came out of his mouth, directed mostly at the cops and his attending ER physician. It was the first time Sydney had met Dr. Meya Nasr. To Sydney’s surprise, she was not intimidated by the criminal’s threats and insults. Rather, she threatened him back, informing him that they would operate without painkillers to remove the deeply embedded glass if he didn’t cooperate. He remained quiet from then on.

  Sydney returned the next day to acquire information on the individual. Her first words to Sydney were, “You should have shot him as well!” Apparently, the suspect resumed his rude behavior during the course of the night. It was something about her straightforwardness which stuck with Sydney. The two began to connect and see each other more often, under better circumstances. They were married a year later.

  Over the course of time, the stresses of their jobs got the better of them. There were shortages in both the hospital and the state police, resulting in mandated overtime for both of them. Opposite shifts affected their relationship greatly. There came a point where there was hardly any communication between them. In addition, there was no sex life, which only added to the frustration.

  Then came a time when Meya seemed to be quite distant and non-interactive. Sydney eventually starting suspecting an affair between her and another doctor she had talked about. His mind ran away with the idea, jumping to conclusions. This resulted in an ugly confrontation in the hospital lot, when he threatened the other doctor. The truth ended up being that Meya was sad and distant because she had tried to save the life of a child who had been in a car wreck. The child passed away in great pain, which left her depressed and feeling guilty that she couldn’t save him. It was this confrontation that caused her to serve divorce papers. Sydney offered attempts to save the marriage, but Meya wanted it over.

  As the divorce came to a close, Sydney found himself shot in the leg. It was the perfect end to a miserable chapter in his life.

  He snapped back into reality. He shifted the vehicle into drive and eased out of the parking lot.

  The day can only get better from here.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Birchwood Lodge rested near a beach, simply named Birchwood Beach where the lake curved westward. The beach stuck out into the water like a huge arrow, with water to the north, east, and south, making it a prime area for swimmers. There were two docking areas for boats, one for privately owned and another for those rented out by the lodge. The lodge was a large building, all ground level where people checked in for their reservations. The building included a bar and restaurant, small general shopping area, a separate bait and tackle shop, a gaming room, and a fish cleaning station. The west side of the lake had dozens of cabins spread out, allowing for privacy for the tenants.

  Noon was the start of the really busy hours near the property beaches. Visitors and residents went out to swim or simply relax on the beach, while others went out on the lake to fish. The early birds who fished in the morning often came in around this time as well.

  Joel Pobursky stood behind his counter in the fish cleaning station, watching several boats slowly coming in from several parts of the lake. He could see the dock, where other visitors and residents were actively loading their fishing gear into rented boats. He referred to this time as shift change. Dressed in jeans and a grey uniform shirt with his first name embroidered near the collar, he knew the busy hours of his shift were about to start. Soon the clean tile flooring would be covered in lake water and fish guts. Being a fish filleter was no glory job, but it was steady and the pay was decent.

  The first of many boats was docking. Joel already had his
knives sharpened and ready. With many years of experience with cleaning fish for the residents, he perfected the techniques to clean the catch to produce boneless fillets quickly. Mr. Tindell, the owner of the lodge, often praised Joel as the fastest filleter around. He was treated like a celebrity. But for him, it was the same thing every day. Arrive at 8:00, leave at 5:00, go home, and repeat. He appreciated his job and loved his family beyond measure. However, occasionally, he would catch himself longing for just one more day of his previous adventurous life. There were eight years in the Air Force as a Pararescue, during which he got to experience the rush of several adrenaline-filled missions, and save the lives of his brothers-in-arms. After he fulfilled his service, he spent several years traveling the world to hunt big game. He traveled to Asia and had gone on safari in Africa, where he hunted animals such as cape buffalo. He also hunted at home in North America, particularly for bear, but those were smaller trips. His safaris abroad often led to unforgettable adventures, where he often faced death. One such incident occurred when he was stalking a buffalo in South Africa, when he realized a lion was about to leap onto him. It had been stalking him for several minutes, unbeknownst to him at the time. He turned and fired his .358 Winchester, striking the cat in the heart as it sprung at him from a large rock.

  After he met his wife, he decided it was time to settle down. He worked a few jobs in construction, but the hours were unsteady. He then found a job down in Washtenaw County as a security lead for a college, while also serving with the fire department as a volunteer EMT. However, layoffs ended his time there. After searching for work, he eventually he managed to get hired at Birchwood Lodge as a professional filleter. The glory days of adventure were gone, along with his barrel-chested physique. Over the years, that muscular chest had sunk about eight inches down, and had become more rounded in shape. He still thought his mustache looked good, although it varied in shade from black to grey.

  He heard Mr. Tindell from the next room, leading a couple new tenants through the lodge. There was a lot of laughter coming from the customers, but it sounded drunken and obnoxious. There were times when people like that would come to the lodge. They’d spend more time popping a bottle tab than they would fishing. Joel forced a smile when Mr. Tindell came through the hallway with the two new tenants. They were just as he pictured they be, stocky, dressed in wrinkled clothes and khaki shorts, and with obnoxious grins on their faces.

  “…and this is our fish cleaning station,” Tindell said to them. He was a short, skinny, but professional gentlemen with a thin goatee. Joel could read his body language. Tindell was unenthusiastic of these individuals as well, but they were paying customers. In the end, that’s all that mattered. “This is Joel,” he said with enthusiasm. “He’s our filleter. If you don’t prefer to clean your own fish, bring it here to Joel anytime from eight to five. He’s the fastest around. You can give him any fish, and he’ll have it back to you that same minute.” The guys chuckled. They seemed to be staring past Joel to his personal display behind him. On several shelves were framed photos of him; some were during his time in the service, and many others were of him during his various hunting trips. Under those shelves was a rectangular table, holding a farewell gift from his friends at the Ann Arbor Fire Department; a decommissioned jaws-of-life. He kept it as part of his display, as there was no decent place to put it at home.

  “Ha! I’m sure,” one of them said in a New York accent. It was sarcastic, and Joel wasn’t sure if they were referring to the fish cleaning or one of his photos. The guy turned to his buddy. “Hey, Jeff, look at that.” He pointed to the top shelf, above the photos, where Joel had propped his custom-made Bandelero sword in its sheath.

  “Okay, Richie, I have a bet for you,” Jeff said. “I catch more fish than you, you have to buy me one of those.”

  “My ass!” Richie said. “You can ask Brook or Diesel.” Jeff’s eyes went back to Joel.

  “Where can I get me one of those?”

  “You can’t. It’s custom made,” Joel said. He hoped for that to be the last of the conversation. Naturally, Tindell stepped in to ruin those odds.

  “Joel’s hunted all over the world. He used that big knife when he was in Asia. A crocodile came up out of the water and snatched him! He used the sword and stuck its blade down the reptile’s throat!” He spoke as if he was telling stories around a campfire. It was a true story, one that Joel regretted telling Tindell. He asked Joel to prop the sword up at the Lodge and tell stories of his adventures. What Joel found amusing was that Tindell often told the stories instead.

  “Yeah, sure,” Jeff said, while Richie laughed. At this time, another customer entered through a glass doorway on the other side. A thirty-year-old man walked up, sporting a twenty-eight-inch walleye. The fish, olive and gold in color, dangled from a stringer with a clip strung through its gills.

  “Howdy! Can I help you, sir?” Joel enthusiastically said to the customer, happy to take his attention off the beer drinkers. “Nice work,” he added.

  “Thanks,” the customer said. “I was trolling and picked this bad boy up. However, I’m not too good at gutting these guys.”

  “Hand ‘er on over here,” Joel said. The man laid the large fish down onto the smooth grey countertop. Joel removed the stringer and picked up a Rapala knife with a six-inch blade. He ran the blade over the walleye’s scales, brushing off the slime. He whipped the blade clean with a rag and then grabbed the fish by the head. In a swift and smooth motion, he sliced the fish under the fins, then behind the gill covers. He slit the belly and on top along the backbone. He slipped the blade under his cut behind the gill cover and ran the knife along the backbone, cutting behind the ribcage all the way down to the tail. He flipped the fish over and repeated the same action along the other side. Both fillets and the tail came off the body, leaving the fish head connected to a skeleton and string of guts. He set it aside and peeled the rib bones from the fillets, then ran his knife between the meat and skin to peel it off. The customer’s jaw nearly dropped, amazed at the speed in which Joel filleted his catch. He had noticed the clock on the wall; the second-hand couldn’t have moved for more than thirty seconds by the time he started.

  “Oh wow,” he said. “That was amazing.” Joel quickly ran his thumb over each fillet, plucking a couple stray bones from the meat. After a full minute, each boneless fillet was ready. The two slobs didn’t say anything, unwilling to admit their impressions. With a scoff, they walked away, much to Joel’s approval. Tindell shook his head, annoyed.

  “You know you can turn down reservations,” Joel said to him.

  “They’re only here through the weekend,” Tindell said. “Luckily, I don’t think they’ll bother you too much. Besides, it’s a party of four.” Joel knew that was code for “more money.” Tindell turned to the customer. “Well, sir, that’s a nice walleye.”

  “Thank you,” the customer said. Joel sealed the fillets in a plastic bag and handed it to him.

  “Here you go,” he said. “If you need any more help, just let me know.”

  “Thank you,” the customer said. He turned to leave, but stopped. “One quick question: what’s the biggest fish in this lake? I mean, the biggest size you’ve heard of?” Joel thought for a moment.

  “The biggest I’m aware of was someone who caught a forty-eight-inch pike,” he said. Tindell nodded in agreement. The customer took his hat off and wiped some sweat off his brow, looking slightly puzzled.

  “The reason I ask is because, while I was fishing, I saw this bird land in the water. It was a big stinking bird too, probably a swan. It was pretty far off from where I was. I look away, and suddenly I hear this splash. When I looked back, there was this huge wall of water, and when it settled, the bird was gone. Weirdest thing I ever did see.”

  “Maybe a fish tried to nab it, and the bird flew away.”

  “I didn’t see it anywhere,” the customer said.

  “It’d be hard to miss. If it was a swan, those things can get up to o
ver four feet,” Joel said. He looked to the customer. “Honestly, I couldn’t tell ya what it was.”

  “Oh, no big deal,” the customer said with a small laugh. “I just thought it was strange. But hey, thanks for your help!” He held up his bag and started to leave. “Have a good day!”

  “You too,” Joel said. Knowing there was another check-in scheduled, Tindell left the room as well to go up front. Joel wiped down the counter and tossed away the fish remains into a gut bucket. His mind pondered the man’s story. Nothing in the lake was as big as what he described. Perhaps the man was mistaken to the type of bird it was. It was probably something much smaller, and nabbed by a pike. His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a few fishermen coming toward the station. Each carried a stringer or basket full of fish. Joel arranged his knives on the counter. The busy hours were about to begin.

  CHAPTER

  5

  “He’s still not answering his damn phone,” Susan Jean complained, slipping her iPhone into the back pocket of her jean shorts. She sat on the top of a picnic table, looking down toward the beach at her college friend Robert Nash. Dressed in swim trunks and a white T-shirt, the thirty-two-year-old Navy veteran stretched his arms toward the sky, then down to his toes. It was a common routine for him to warm up his muscles before completing a big swim. They had already jogged over a mile to get to this little beach, but Robert liked to be as prepared as possible.

  “Perhaps he’s flirting with his neighbor,” he said, bringing his hands to his hips, then to his knees. As he stretched back upward, he briefly waved his hand in front of his face to keep a mosquito from landing in his ginger goatee. “He let it slip that he had the hots for her.”

  “His neighbor?” Susan said with a laugh. “Isn’t she like twenty years older than him?” Robert completed another couple rounds of stretching before kneeling to the ground for pushups. He glanced out at the water. During the evening hours, the lake appeared as flat as a mirror, and even seemed as reflective as one. Upside-down images of the tree line stretched out into the watery surface. Usually after 7:30 p.m., most boaters came in from the lake. Because of this, Robert chose the evening hours to train; as it was less likely he would encounter speeding boaters or paddleboats as he swam. He was preparing for the YMCA National Competitive Swimming event, which would take place in North Carolina the following week. He considered the midway point in the vertical slant on Ridgeway Lake to be a perfect training area. From one side to another, it was about a mile. Swimming that distance would be perfect endurance training for his upcoming event.