The Scorekeeper

by Dustin Stevens

  Sheila Damien was gone. Not just having run away to Oregon and changed her name, thinking that would insulate her, but passed on.

  Deceased.

  Dead.

  And worse yet, it happened without her ever knowing the truth. Never finding out why he was there that day, what the photographs that were found really signified.

  Which was all tonight was really about. Gaining the audience, the platform, to finally tell his story. To be able to share what had really happened, free of salacious tales from jealous employees or the scared testimony of a woman that had just been involved in an accident.

  It was about pointing the attention on Paul Klauss, clearing his name in the process.

  Abducting Della was a harsh move, but it was a necessary risk. It was the only way to get the police’s attention the way he needed. The only place where this puzzle could have all started, spoon feeding them everything he needed them to uncover over the course of the night.

  What had happened inside the box to her – the lashing out, the physical abuse – was also a negative byproduct, but that was on her. He hadn’t actually physically harmed her. But he would be lying if he said he was even a little sorry that it had happened. The tiny bit of pain she was now enduring was minuscule compared to what he’d been through, but it was a start.

  And it was glorious.

  Sitting alone in the dark, thinking such things, The Scorekeeper had missed the start of the show on screen. He hadn’t seen when the first breach was made, didn’t know who it was that entered. He wasn’t even sure how many were present, his first glimpse of the scene being Reed Mattox scraping away at the dirt piled lightly atop the casket, his partner beside him, digging with everything the dog had.

  On his feet in an instant, The Scorekeeper had been unable to hide the smile on his face. Whatever thoughts, fears, he’d been harboring just a moment before evaporated, replaced by a feeling that bordered on euphoria.

  That couldn’t help but remind him of the very sensation he had while standing in that woodshed so many hours earlier.

  Wringing his hands before him, The Scorekeeper had watched as a second man joined in, bringing with him shovels. As the two had scraped away the topsoil he’d cast upon the makeshift holding cell.

  As they had forced their way inside, using the shovels as crowbars.

  More enthralling than any movie The Scorekeeper had ever seen, he’d circled around the coffee table, getting as close to the screen as he could for the big reveal.

  And like so much else throughout the night, it was worth it.

  As the men peeled back the top of the coffin, there was no doubt the last eight hours had taken a toll on Della Snow. Her hands were damaged, one crusted with dry blood, the other contorted into an ugly mass. The plume of hair he’d admired from afar was twisted into a shape he couldn’t identify, mud streaking her naked body.

  But, she was alive, just as The Scorekeeper knew she would be.

  The vitamin supplement he’d injected her with before putting her in the box was more than enough nutrition to keep her operating fine for days. The air he was pumping in was almost pure oxygen, ensuring she could breathe, but helping to put her in a near dream state, making her docile.

  Even the temperature he managed to regulate from afar, the air sliding in being set at exactly seventy degrees.

  Never did The Scorekeeper intend to harm her, just as he would never have harmed her mother. Her purpose was to serve as a metaphor, every detail planned meticulously.

  The fact that the average coffin held five and a half hours of oxygen, just as he had spent five and a half years in jail. That the box she was confined in was buried beneath a mound of dirt, just as his imprisonment was covered with a heap of loose accusations.

  That she was lying naked, just as he was stripping naked the hypocrisy of the system that had wronged him.

  Standing in the living room of the home he’d commandeered for the evening, The Scorekeeper could barely contain his excitement. This night had been a long time coming, but at long last it was here. There were just a few final details remaining that would bring closure to everything, the first of them now spread on the screen before him.

  He only hoped that Mattox, who had played his part so beautifully up to this point, could finish what he had started.

  Chapter Seventy

  Reed’s right forearm rested beneath Della Snow’s knees, the crook of them lying flush against his bare skin, her feet flopping out to the side. His left was braced along her rib cage, her upper body folded forward, her cheek against his chest.

  In the initial moments after ripping the top of the box open, Reed’s first thought was that she was gone. Her closed eyes, her prone posture, even the complete lack of response to the sound of the lid breaking free or the sudden rush of light into her space, all seemed to indicate as much.

  In no way could he imagine somebody that had been where she had for the last six hours not reacting to so many stimuli.

  Not someone with even the smallest modicum of life left in them, anyway.

  Scrambling in on his hands and knees, tossing handfuls of soil as he went, Reed had plunged down into the box. Careful to put his feet on either side of her body, he had lowered himself over her, his heart racing.

  Finding just the slightest hint of a pulse, her breathing equally faint, he had stood and turned, finding a stunned Stanson still pressed against the wall where he had landed, Ludgate in the doorway, the light held overhead.

  “My sweatshirt! Give me the sweatshirt!”

  Twisting her head to either side, Ludgate had thrust the light toward Stanson. “Here, hold this!”

  Seeming to awaken from his trance, Stanson had managed to pull himself upright, slipping along the loose ground as he accepted the light, holding it high over the interior of the shed. The instant he took it over, Ludgate disappeared outside, gone for just a moment before returning, the sweatshirt in her hands.

  “EMT’s are ready and waiting,” she repeated.

  His fingers still tight to Della’s jugular, Reed replied, “Pulse is weak, at best. It’ll take them forever to get her down that path on a stretcher.”

  Staring at him a moment, the sweatshirt in her hands, Ludgate seemed to consider what he had said, weighing the possible outcomes in her mind.

  “Right,” she managed, stepping up onto the embankment of loose soil around the edge of the hole, the sweatshirt held out before her. “Let’s get her covered and out of here.”

  It took the two of them three full minutes to get the garment into position, Snow’s flaccid body and the narrow constraints of the space making it almost impossible. By the time they were finished, all three were streaked with fresh mud, Reed and Ludgate both panting slightly.

  A state that Reed felt like he had been in for seemingly hours on end, he now racewalked through the tight confines of the path. Out in front of him, Ludgate led the way, yelling instructions to anybody that came within earshot.

  Just inches behind him, her head tapping against either leg as he ran, was Billie, her efforts punctuated by the occasional sound just to let him know she was there.

  His lips drawn back over his teeth, Reed drew in deep pulls of air. His biceps burned with lactic acid and his shoulder ached from his collision with the door earlier and digging his way down to Snow.

  Young leaves pawed at Della’s feet and Reed’s face as he moved forward, his steps short and choppy, moving as fast as possible. Ahead of them, a faint glow appeared through the trees. Mixed of regular white light and a bit of red and blue, it just managed to work its way through the young foliage, a beacon pulling them forward.

  Seeing it, Reed felt a small ripple in his chest, his pace increasing once more.

  “Hang on, Della. Almost there. Hang on.”

  As if sensing the same urgency before him, seeing the light and knowing what it represented, Ludgate increased her speed as well. Moving into a full jog, she pushed them down the main footpath, the glow grow
ing closer, scads of silhouettes moving throughout.

  Pushing all else from mind - the way his body felt, the burn of sweat in his eyes and mouth - Reed lowered his head, his teeth gritted. Against his chest, Della’s hair brushed the underside of his chin, her body completely fluid, bouncing with each step he took.

  One stride after another he continued, moving as hard as possible, before the thick forestation mercifully fell away on either side. Exploding out from the footpath into the main yard, the world opened wide, the pervasive leaves that had been swiping at their skin falling away.

  Free of the narrow path and the tight confines, Reed allowed his body to extend to full height, his strides stretching out.

  The source of the lights for the first time came into plain view, the house lit up from within, pushing a bright blaze out into the yard. Providing the contrasting color scheme was an ambulance, parked at the far end of the turnabout, its front nose pushed as far as possible over the edge of the gravel.

  “Medics! Medics!” Ludgate bellowed, falling in on Reed’s right, Billie assuming her place on the left.

  At the sound of her voice, the sudden sight of the odd trio, the movement that had surrounded the house and the ambulance stopped. Silhouettes frozen in place, they turned and openly stared, all standing rigid.

  “We’ve got a hurt girl here!” Ludgate said, the frustration she felt, that Reed harbored, ebbing into her tone.

  The exact words that needed to be heard, everyone seemed to go back into motion at once. Men continued to scramble around the rear entrance to the house as a pair of people sprinted forward. Both dressed in blue uniforms, they tore across the backyard, closing the gap and meeting Reed halfway. Ignoring Ludgate and Billie entirely, they filled in on either side.

  To the right, a young man with blonde hair and a square jaw wrapped a blanket around Della’s lower body. Opposite him, a woman with short bobbed hair and dark skin went straight to Della’s face, peeling an eyelid back and shining a penlight into it.

  Keeping perfect pace beside Reed, the woman asked, “How long’s she been like this?”

  “I don’t know,” Reed replied, his voice raspy as he fought for air. “She’s been in the ground six hours or more, was being fed pure oxygen.”

  Flicking her gaze up to Reed, the woman said nothing, moving to the other eye.

  “Pulse and breathing both faint but steady,” Reed said.

  Ahead of them, the twirling lights of the ambulance grew ever closer, the assortment of colors seeming like an amusement park compared to the near darkness the place had been shrouded in just moments before.

  Clicking the penlight off, the medic said, “Okay, bring her straight around back here.” Turning and jogging ahead, she extended a hand before her, barking out instructions as she went.

  Instructions that Reed barely heard, let alone registered, his sole focus on the metal gurney that was waiting at the rear entrance to the ambulance and getting Della to it.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  In the wake of the ambulance pulling away, the red and blue lights had mercifully abated, returning everything to a single-color lighting scheme. Raising a bottle of water to his lips, Reed drained almost half of it before bending at the waist and extending the top to Billie.

  Tilting it slowly, he let out a small trickle, his partner lapping at the cool liquid, her pink tongue drawing it inward, splashing it across her muzzle.

  Not until the final drops were gone from the bottle did Reed rise to full height, regarding the loose collection of people standing before them.

  To his right were Ludgate and an officer in uniform with a nameplate that said Parkman. Around forty, he was a bit on the heavy side, his face carrying several days of growth just starting to gray.

  On his left were Greene and Gilchrist, along with another from the West Jefferson crew that had been called in for the evening. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, his weapon was holstered in a tactical sleeve on his thigh.

  “Stanson is still back at the woodshed,” Ludgate said. “He’s been instructed to secure the scene until our tech team arrives.”

  Reed nodded, accepting the information, for the first time allowing his thoughts to return to the small building tucked away in the woods.

  Why they had been drawn there, Reed didn’t have the slightest idea. If Mabry’s only goal was to get them to his home, there seemed no purpose in tucking her away in the woods.

  Even less of putting her in a box and burying her.

  None of it aligned with anything that had been done to him. There seemed no prior circumstance for such a thing.

  Which meant they didn’t yet have the entire story. There was still more they were missing.

  “You see the underside of the lid?” Reed asked. “From when we ripped it off?”

  To either side, the various officers looked from Reed to Ludgate, watching the conversation like spectators at a racket sport event.

  “Yeah,” Ludgate said, a grim look on her face. “With the spray paint and all that?”

  Beside him, Reed could sense Greene and Gilchrist exchange a glance, neither saying a word.

  “That’s been the MO all night,” Reed said. “Fourth message we’ve found so far. Tell the crew to start there. Odds are, they’ll find a single thumbprint on it belonging to a guy named Paul Klauss.”

  “Klauss?” Ludgate repeated, her brow coming together slightly. “Not Mabry?”

  Not having the time, or the inclination, to get into the entire tale, Reed only nodded. “Very long story. Suffice it to say, Klauss isn’t our guy. He’s locked up at FCC as we speak.”

  “You’re sure?” Parkman asked, his voice much softer than his appearance would suggest.

  “Interviewed him myself not two hours ago,” Reed said. Jutting his chin toward the house, he asked, “Anything inside?”

  “Not yet,” Greene said. “The West Jefferson guys are still combing through, but there’s not much there. Doesn’t look like anybody’s been around in a while.”

  The taste of bile rose along the back of Reed’s throat as he kept his attention on the rear of the home. Now fully illuminated, so much detail that had been obscured before came into focus, things like the carvings in the wooden trim along the door, the paintings hanging on the wall inside.

  In sum total, details that only confirmed what the testimony about Ethan Mabry had said. That he was a man of some means and intelligence, and he tended to hold that over others.

  Just as he was seeming to do the same with them right now.

  Della Snow might have been found, but after seeing the setup in the woodshed, Reed couldn’t shake the feeling that the girl was never in any true danger. Otherwise, there would have been no call for the oxygen tank.

  Or the endless clues leading them to the farm.

  “What’s next?” Ludgate asked, pulling Reed from his thoughts.

  Shifting his attention to her, Reed asked, “Where will the EMT’s take her?”

  “From here? Probably the urgent care down the road to stabilize her,” Ludgate said. “After that, if she needs any immediate treatment, they’ll take her into Columbus.”

  It didn’t take more than a moment’s glance to see that the girl was going to need some extensive work done on her hands, though that wouldn’t be life-threatening. Otherwise, Reed didn’t foresee there being too much cause for tremendous concern.

  At least not from her physical injuries.

  “Can you have some people follow them there?” Reed said. “I’ll have my captain coordinate with you to take over later or help with overtime costs first thing in the morning.”

  Waving off the last comment with her hand, Ludgate said, “I’ll send a team right now, have them stay onsite as long as she’s there.”

  “I don’t think he’d turn up there,” Reed said. He didn’t bother to point out that if the goal was to have Della killed, there had been more than ample opportunity already.

  “Thank you,” he added, his m
ind already moving to the next step in order.

  For as much as he wanted to stick around, to scour through the grounds himself, to at the very least get a bit more understanding of the man he was up against, there was no time.

  Not given what he had seen in the woodshed.

  The mere thought of it again caused bits of adrenaline to seep into his system. His heart rate picked up, most of the water he’d just drank returning to the surface.

  “I’m sorry to be running off...”

  “Go,” Ludgate said, again waving a hand before her. “I saw the message, too. We’ve got this here.”

  Glancing at the men on either side of her, Reed nodded one last time. “Thank you all. We appreciate it.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Reed had to wait for Greene to back up the cruiser behind him before he could begin to pull away from the impromptu parking space he’d assumed along the side of the country road. With no place to pull forward and knowing it would take at least a handful of starts and stops to get going the opposite direction, he took the opportunity to slide the phone from the middle console and onto his lap.

  Removing his attention from the rearview mirror just long enough to scroll through his call log, he pulled up the most recent entry and hit send.

  It rang just a single time before being snatched up as the headlights of the cruiser behind him sprang to life.

  “You find her?” Grimes asked, bypassing any form of a greeting.

  “Alive and breathing, but only barely,” Reed said.

  In short order, he ran back through the story, beginning with their arrival along the country road and culminating with their exit just moments before. Start to finish, it took a full two minutes, just long enough for Greene to have gotten turned around behind him.

  Switching the phone back to the middle console, Reed put the sedan in reverse, inching out to the right before banking hard and swinging the rear end in the opposite direction.

  “My final appeal?” Grimes asked as Reed maneuvered back in the opposite direction.

  “That’s what it said,” Reed replied, envisioning the spray paint on the underside of the coffin lid, the streaks of Della Snow’s dried blood scoured across it. “My final appeal.”