by Falon Gold
“Sheriff’s Department! Raise your fucking hands slowly and come out even slower!”
I wait. If they’re back there, then they’re still back there. I ease up beside the antique register toppled over and check the floor littered with contents from the desks but no bodies.
Damn! Finding these fuckers is going to take a lot longer than I want it to.
I place my back to the restroom door, with my eyes trained on the cusp of the room. “Mr. Lindsey, are you okay?”
“No, I’m pissed!”
“You’re in the right place then. Stay there until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”
“Whatever!”
Such a crabby old man. Pushing off the bathroom’s door, I skulk toward the long end of the lobby. “Sheriff’s Department! Come out with your hands up goddamnit!” Nada.
Fine, we’ll do it the hard way then.
I drift toward the short span of wall, stop at the corner, and glimpse around the upturned chairs on the tables and the halogen-lit alcove for the breakfast bar at the rear. Ceiling-to-floor windows swamp the room with dying sunlight that’s rebounding off the surface of the closed doors on the opposite side. Shoulder against cream-painted edge of the wall, I swing around the corner and try the first door.
After spinning the knob, I kick it, to cause damage to whatever’s behind it. No one screams out that their nose or ribs is broken, but they’re still trapped, even if they’re slim enough to avoid my preemptive strike.
I eyeball the space behind the hinges. It’s vacant. Perps still loose in the building. An industrial-size washer and dryer yawn at me from across the room. The gap between us is full of bath products and silver rectangles that scattered when someone collapsed a steel rack and ripped the legs off it. Weapons for perps, check.
I slink to the next door. It swings wide. A person in a black hoodie overcasting their face charges at me with an iron bar raised above their head.
“Stop and drop it!”
They don’t, but it’s a man, my height. Astrid flits through my mind, and I am going home to her, so I squeeze the trigger. He buckles at the waist.
“You killed him!” someone shouts manically from behind me before perp number one hits the ground on his side.
I do a one-eighty then yell the same command that the first criminal ignored. Similarly dressed perp number two doesn’t obey either. He’s wielding a raised crowbar. I fire. Perp number two with a hood gets blown backwards. Bow-legs in too damn big, dark work pants that are attached to suspenders shuffle into my line of sight. Ready to bust another cap in somebody else’s ass, I recognize Mr. Lindsey’s customary ensemble that the 80’s want back. A shotgun is lined up with the creases of his pants.
“Dammit, old man! I told you not to come out or get the gun! Now, go back! There could be more!”
Then something blacks out my peripheral view. I glance over and sidestep simultaneously toward Mr. Lindsey, the hardhead who needs his ass covered.
“Duck, Sheriff!” erupts from him suddenly as he raises the 12-gauge and pumps it.
Something slams into the top of my head first. Mr. Lindsey’s weapon breaks the sound barrier as I sink under the vicious blow, eardrums buzzing. Everything goes dark.
********
“You can’t sleep with a head injury, Blake. You’ve got to wake up. Right now!” The abrasive command is punctuated with the shaking of my shoulders.
“Stop,” I demand groggily, then roll over to my back and groan. There’s a heavy metal band playing in the room, and they have no talent whatsoever, or one hell of a migraine is coming on. No recollection of ever having those before comes to mind. So why am I about to suffer one now?
“God, what happened to me? Where am I?”
“Blake, don’t move,” comes from above me. “You’ve been clobbered by a damn burglar. We took him and his heathen comrades down though. They’re all dead. I checked. I told that council of yours that we needed a regular patrol out here at night. Just sit still, and I’ll bring you something back for the bleeding and call Deputy Daniels.”
My council? Deputy Daniels! Whoever that is. Who is this man talking to me?
I squint up at him then mash my fingers to my temple. “Do I know you?” Warm liquid flows throw my fingers from a slit in the goose egg forming on my scalp. It throbs under my probing.
An old man’s grizzled-up face wrinkles even more, distress sitting heavily on the age lines. “You’ve known me just about all your life, Blake. I’m Mr. Lindsey.”
“That is a negative… Mr. Lindsey.”
“Shit! Tell me you remember me, at least Deputy Daniels and what you’re doing here, or that you don’t have amnesia.”
Try as I might to honor just one of his requests, disorientation is the ruler of my existence right now. “I can’t tell you anything about… any of that,” I confess, and sit up amongst other people asleep in the oddest of positions with black hoods over their heads.
Blood pools beneath all of them, soaking into the rug. Too much to still be alive. They’re dead. I don’t panic like a normal human would, which is disturbing. I point at the closest one.
“Is that what I was doing here?”
He drops the butt of a shotgun on the ground and huffs, “Yes, you’re the sheriff. I was being robbed. You came here alone, off-duty.”
Apparently, that was a serious mistake.
But where I came from seems less significant than the cannon standing beside him and the unknown reason for the bulletproof vest on my chest. I pat it with both hands.
Yep, definitely something an officer who likes living would own.
“Well, if I’m the cop, why do you have the gun?”
“This is mine. Good thing, too. I shot the one who knocked you senseless with an iron leg, or he’d have probably killed you with it. Your gun is behind you.”
I rotate around at the waist. Sure enough, there’s a firearm behind me. I pick up it and examine it in the palm of my hand. The weight feels familiar.
“I’m the sheriff.” I say skeptically, searching my memory banks for evidence of that, coming up with blank spaces and fuzzy images of people at a party, lavish affair held in a mansion a mile back from the road behind a wrought-iron fence. Not an affair I’d attend if I could get around it.
“What’s your full name, Blake?”
I explore my gray matter for that answer, too. Well, I know what my brain is made of, so my education is still intact. But whose name went at the top of my school work? The image of a slender, blond man in a suit, and dark-haired lady who’s as skinny as a rail in a green, sequined dress materialize. They surely aren’t my name, which I guess is Blake. But the people in my head might know for sure, I think. I’ll ask them. Except, I don’t know where they are.
The strong propulsion to fondle my jaw drives my hand up to do it. Must be a worry-reflex because it keeps me from losing my shit.
“Well, I’m going to assume my first name is Blake, because you keep calling me that, but as for the rest of my names… if you find out before I do, let me know.”
The old man’s shoulders depress. His freckled bald head encased in wire-rimmed glasses rolls heavenward. “Well hell! I should’ve come out sooner. Just sit. I don’t want you falling down if you get up, and I’ll make sure an ambulance gets here on the double, or they’ll hear from me and my lawyer.”
I prop back on my hands, while wishing the headache away.
The old man limps around a turn and croaks loudly, “Deputy Miles! Jesus Christ, thank you for getting here. Blake took a blow to the head and his memories leaked out of his scalp.”
“What?” A deep tone with authority behind it responds.
I get an image of a tan shirt, brown slacks, wide shoulders, and three little brown-haired kids, two boys and one girl who look like no one I’ve ever seen before. Of course, I can’t remember who I’ve seen, so that doesn’t count for much. A bodybuilder with hair color identical to the kids lumbers toward me with his thumbs hooke
d in his utility belt. I visualize a church with a big, red X on it. Now, that is plenty weird.
He wobbles his head, hair tapered on the sides, super short strands on top styled to lay in every which way on purpose. “Damn, boss, what happened?”
Boss. Not awkward. Must be true. “Don’t have a clue. Deputy Miles, right?”
He extends a hand to me, his ever-present humor written in the shallow laugh lines around his mouth. I don’t think twice about accepting his aid up, which almost dislocates my shoulder from the socket. I don’t even blink. Rough must be our way of doing things.
On my feet, my head spins. A pregnant woman in a white, sleeveless dress, satiny caramel skin, tight curls, and delicate hands pops up behind my eyes. Jasmine outbreaks in the lining of my nose. I forget to inhale.
All normal reactions to her, Blake, trespasses through my psyche.
So, who is she? Wondering makes my head ache more, so I stop, straighten my clothes. Maybe, she’ll show up too and tell me who she is herself.
Copper balances his weight on outstretched black boots. “You guessed right, boss. Deputy Copper Miles at your service. I got an ambulance and the coroner on the way. Can you believe he’s excited to be working a crime scene with actual bodies that didn’t die a natural death?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Is this town that sleepy?”
He grins, stark-white teeth bright enough to make my eyes hurts, no, they were paining me anyway.
“We were that sleepy until crime started picking up about a year ago. Stolen cars. Break-ins. I assume these three here are the reason why. Their ride was stolen out of Florida a month ago. I think they’ve been laying low here for quite a while. They should’ve picked someone else’s town instead of yours.”
Mine’s. No, not strange either.
The radio on his shoulder blares to life. “Copper, come in. Don’t say anything else to the boss. Dr. Ellis said telling him what he doesn’t know, even accidentally, could hurt his chances to recover his memory. He must fill in the blanks himself. Ambulance’s ETA is less than thirty seconds. God, this is so sad.”
Copper frowns and pulverizes the transmit button on his radio with his thumb. “Copy that, Cara.” He cups my elbow. “Come on, bo… ah, just come on. We’re contaminating the crime scene and need to wait for the ambulance at your… outside the lobby of the hotel.”
The paramedics arrive as we exit the foyer. A white suburban idles behind a beat to hell, four-door sedan.
Enemies’ car, probably.
Pacing by the hood of it is Mr. Lindsey, with his hands cradling his phone. I imagine he would pace, since his place of business will be roped off with yellow tape for a while and he won’t be allowed anywhere near it. Him living somewhere else other than the hotel doesn’t fit though, so this is probably his only home, which means he’ll be out of one for the time being.
********
Astrid
Fifteen miles away
With my feet glued to the very spot Blake left me in, I witness the adoration and love oscillating around Malisa and Apollo as they sway to the bass line of Tatyana’s “Do Not Disturb,” a sensual tune with hedonic lines that have me pining for Blake already. It’s almost like I’m infiltrating a private moment belonging to only the bride and groom who are completely lost in each other. A smile forms on my mouth. If they weren’t tuning out the family and friends on their special day, I’d be concerned.
May real life be busy elsewhere, at least until this day is done for them.
They’ve earned the portion of heaven they’ve transported to in each other’s arms, after showing a complete stranger kindness, with no idea if they can trust me or not. That reminds me, I haven’t talked to the people who do know me through and through, my family.
My mother will be more than glad to sidetrack me with questions about everything that happened today while Blake’s gone. As much as I want to go with him, enforcing the law is no place for baby Blake. Not wanting to leave the reception without letting someone know where I’ll be, I caress Malisa’s bare shoulder to divert her attention but only for a second. With a dreamy countenance, her head wheels to me.
“I’ll intrude just a minute, you two,” I say quickly. “I’m going in the house to call my parents and let them know I won’t be back to Harrison. I’ll return the pantsuit after I get it cleaned, Malisa. Be right back.”
God willing, so will Blake.
Malisa hugs me tight before I can make like a tree and leave them alone again in their own universe. “The pantsuit and shoes are my gift to you to welcome you and baby Blake into the family.”
“I should be getting you a gift.”
She embraces me a little tighter. “You did, Astrid. A nephew, Blake’s happiness, and someone for me to call sister are what you gave me. Nothing in this world can top that. Tell your parents we all said hello and they’re welcome to come up anytime. There’s more than enough guestrooms at the castle for them and you too.”
A castle is appropriate for her and Apollo’s love story. It’s the stuff that fairytales are made of, and I’m keeping them from theirs a lot longer than I want to.
“Okay, Malisa, I’m accepting the outfit but only this time because I’m intruding, and thank you. I’ll pass your message on to my parents who would love to visit.”
I kiss her cheek. Apollo takes her back in his arms. Heaven for them recommences as if I never interrupted. Inside the house, I find my belongings where I left them, on Luke’s and Natalia’s chest of drawers beside their bed. The iPhone reclines face up on the sack stuffed with the presents from Malisa. It rings before I can pick it up.
The number and name displaying hasn’t graced my screen in months. Shouldn’t be doing it now, because I’m not an officer anymore.
What would he have to call me about now?
My scalp prickles.
Blake!
Numbness sets in as I swipe the accept-call icon. “Mr. Lindsey, where’s Blake?”
“Something happened,” he replies with angst.
My chest shatters outward. Ethereal ragged ends of my skin flap against my breasts. My fingernails grapple at them, trying to fix the damage done just so I can breathe, but you can’t repair what’s doesn’t really exist. Mindset blown wide open, I start to hyperventilate.
He’s not dead. He’s not dead. Dammit, he’s not dead!
The chant repeats as the four chambers of my heart shrink, rebuffing functioning, withholding blood to my brain.
“Deputy Daniels, I know you’d want to know if something like this happened, as close as you and Blake are. They hit him from the blind side but the ambulance is here seeing about him. He’s fine. Physically anyway.” Ringing in my ears drowns out his coarse, low-pitched voice.
I scuffle to make sense of his words.
“Wait. What? He’s fine?” But if Blake is alright, why does Mr. Lindsey sound like someone just burned his precious hotel down to the ground?
Because everything isn’t fine, and you know there are things worse than death.
Mr. Lindsey doesn’t answer, denying me relief. My knees crumble. Fingers clench at the dresser’s brim. I use it to lower myself to the floor, then spread my feet as wide as I can, and dunk my head as low as the baby bulge will let me. Deep breaths don’t result. Heart won’t stop pounding. Intuition won’t stop baying.
I should feel better by now, but I know something worse is coming. It’ll kill me to recover from the trauma I’m experiencing then be notified that Blake won’t make it through his ordeal, so I’m left with an unending state of perpetual anxiety. Yet, I prepare… For what, I don’t want to know, but can’t dodge the truth. It’s like a horrific accident that you can’t look away as it happens, horrified, yet, stuck in the moment, eyes wide, pulse thumping, unable to do anything but witness.
“What’s wrong with Blake, Mr. Lindsey?” I ask through chattering teeth.
“Deputy Daniels, honey, breathe.” That’s impossible right now.
“Spit…
it… out… Mr. Lindsey.”
“He was attacked and has a bump on the noggin, and…” The sudden lull in his description of Blake’s accident is like enduring nails scraping a chalkboard.
“And!”
“Amnesia,” comes gently from him but bears down on me like a hurricane.
I gasp then explode up, bashing the wood with my back as if it’s to blame for Blake’s cerebral reboot. Spine against the dresser, elbows stabbing my knees, and fingertips clawing at my ears, I scramble to make my lungs work. “No, no, no, I just got him back.”
“I know, Deputy Daniels.” How does he know too?
Who cares how he knows? Blake’s gone again, but I don't really know that, do I?
“Does he remember me?” I wheeze, my sanity dangling from a mantle made of faith that’s such a fragile thing. If I’m correct, I only need a mustard seed’s worth. Sheer determination to believe in a miracle preserves me from going off the deep end.
“Deputy Daniels, honey—”
“Say it, Mr. Lindsey.”
“Maybe you should wait for—”
“Say it!” I start to rock back and forth, knowing the answer. The mustard seed withers, my resolve to retain my lucidity by any means necessary losing traction.
“It’s, Deputy Daniels, I don’t think—”
“SAY IT!” I scream.
Baby Blake startles inside me.
“No, Deputy Daniels … he doesn’t remember you.”
There being something worse than death is confirmed.
“I asked him if he did, Deputy Daniels. I knew you two were dating. Anyone that saw you two together could tell.”
My vison coils up and shrivels to nothing. I’d loved to follow in its footsteps, but I can’t. No one outside helping Malisa and Apollo celebrate has any idea of the tragedy that’s looming over them. The weight of it will crush the Owens, who’ll cinch on to the nearest family member just to stay vertical. Everyone will fall, ruining Malisa’s and Apollo’s day. I don’t want that for them, or to be the bearer of this bad news.
“Stay on the phone, Mr. Lindsey.”
“Okay.”
I flip over to my knees, then stumble to my feet, staggering to the door as if I drank everything at the bar.
