by Justin Bell
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This was more like it. Strickland rounded the dirt road corner and saw his house in the distance, sweat streaming from his face, and the tight muscles of his legs pumping in rapid succession as he threw himself forward, finishing his brisk 10 mile early morning run. It was a little later than usual, the sun higher in the sky, the air hotter and wetter, but he'd stayed up late the night before trying to peel back the layers of these two dead guys outside his house, so he treated himself to a little extra time this morning to sleep in. It had been two days since the bodies were found and the oppressive feeling of being watched had slowly started fading away, giving him at least a little more freedom. Well, as much freedom as a man compelled to search for his missing family can have at any rate. Strickland felt like he was precariously balancing the need to find his wife and daughters with the need to uncover this strange new mystery, and even for a man with no job and no friends, it felt like there wasn't enough time in the day to do it all.
As he brought himself to a halt outside his garage door, he glanced at his watch and smiled. He'd finished his 10 mile run in about 30 minutes, which was?well, it was inhuman. He had no idea how he was doing it or how he was recovering so quickly (he had already significantly regained his breath) but there was no doubt that he was something more than he had been before. It was also pretty clear that whatever these new abilities were they were somehow tied to his family's disappearance. He couldn't quite make the connection, though.
His ears throbbed and the low rumble of an engine echoed over the still morning air. He closed his eyes and listened, focusing on that low noise in the distance that was slowly drawing louder and closer. Not close enough for a regular human person to hear, but certainly close enough for him to hear. He remained standing by the closed garage door, looking out over the approaching dirt road, trying not to think that 48 hours ago a caravan of vehicles was parked outside his house for some unknown reason. Finally, a few moments later, a familiar pale blue vehicle emerged, sun glinting off the windshield as well as the distinctive light bar pressed to the roof. Strickland watched as the blue vehicle approached, tires crunching over rocks, the medium sized sedan pulling gently left and into the driveway.
Strickland cocked his head at the driver and slowly approached. "Can I help you?" he asked.
The driver's side door creaked as it turned open and Louisa Gutierrez stepped out, her nicely polished shoes scuffed with dirt and mud.
"Mr. Strickland?"
"That's me."
Louisa stepped aside her opened door and eased it closed, extending her right hand. "My name is Louisa Gutierrez, sir, I'm the Chief of Police."
Strickland drew back slightly, looking impressed. "Chief, huh? Should I feel special?" He clasped her hand in his own and shook it.
"Not at all, sir. I've been wanting to talk to you for a couple of days now. Finally decided I'd wasted enough time thinking about it." She smiled a friendly smile and he smiled back. As they drew close, Louisa noticed Strickland's eyes shifting back and forth, scanning the area, though the look on his face remained relaxed and pleasant. He crossed his arms and looked at her, his smile lowered, but still present.
"You shouldn't be here," he said calmly, maintaining the smile.
She returned the friendly grin. "Why is that?"
"I'm pretty sure I'm being watched."
Louisa's lips shifted slightly, but she tried to keep the calm look on her face, now realizing why they were both masking their conversation. "Who would be watching you?"
"You got a couple of hours? I could run down the whole list."
"I'm just trying to do my job. Trying to figure out what's going on here."
"Nothing you want to get in the middle of, Chief. Trust me."
Louisa turned her head slightly, looking towards the trees behind the large, tan house. "Maybe I can help?"
Strickland actually chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I guess that depends. Do you know where my family is? I think they're being kept from me."
This time Louisa's smile did falter. It dropped into a confused grimace, and she tried to recover it, but not especially convincingly. "I thought they were out of the country. Your daughters' school attendance records--"
"What?" he barked, the false relaxation disappearing in a sudden snap. "That's bullshit."
Louisa could see the bare skin of his muscular arms tense, his fist clenching tightly.
"I saw it myself," she said, lowering her voice to attempt to calm him.
He ran his palm over the smooth surface of his shaved head, still slick with sweat from his morning run. "Impossible. Jenn?my wife?she hates planes. She only flew once in her life and it was miserable. Swore she'd never do it again." He closed his eyes, trying to block out the increasing light and heat of the morning. Just saying his wife's name again stabbed at his chest like a dull knife. Behind the squeezed shut lids red flashed and a shrill scream echoed through the caverns of his mind.
Louisa's face twisted into a confused grimace. "But why?"
Strickland pried open his eyes and looked at her. "I think you should go. It's not safe for you here."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I," he replied softly rubbing his temples with the fingers of his right hand. A gentle touch pressed against his left arm and he tensed.
"I'm the police," Louisa said softly. "I'm here to help."
Strickland closed his eyes again and almost immediately his dark world shifted into cloudy crimson. His ears throbbed and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles paled like a reverse blush. A deep, pounding thud was suddenly audible, his heart slamming underneath his ribcage, thrashing against the curved bone again and again, and fresh sweat broke the surface of his skin, running down the back of his neck.
"Are you okay?" Louisa asked, removing her hand from his arm and casually wrapping her fingers around the handle of her nightstick. "Whatever trouble you're in, I can help."
"Just go," Strickland replied, trying not to snarl, but mostly failing.
Louisa drew back, scowling. Something was going on here. Something that felt larger than her little one horse town.
"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
She turned and walked back towards her car, the world quiet and peaceful in this rural one-time farmland. But things were definitely not peaceful inside the head of William Strickland. Things were so loud and conflicted there, she could almost hear his thoughts. She slid into her car, shut the door, navigated a flawless three-point turn, and then was gone.
