Saving John

by Gabe Sluis

  Chapter 16- Saint Anne

  The walls were papered with scenes of early settlers and the ceilings were low. The single window let in morning light that was filtered by the sheer curtains, and the solid red tapestry companion set was held to the sides by hooks. The room was still, until the mattress creaked as the tall, lanky man swung his feet down to the warn hardwood floor. He stood, ignoring the ancient pressed metal alarm clock on the nightstand, and creaked his way over to the bureau. Inside contained a pair of tan slacks and a starched uniform shirt. Black long-toed cowboy boots were polished and his gun belt hung on the back wall. Sheriff’s deputy Bob Kirkwood dressed himself for work.

  Kirkwood stepped out of his single room, taking a pouch of chewing tobacco out of is back pocket. After depositing a large chaw in his upper lip, he turned and locked his door. He walked down a set of wooden stairs and out the front common door of the lodge. Finding himself on the concrete sidewalk of Main Street, Bob looked both ways and hitched up his lawman’s belt. It was early, few souls were in sight, but the diner across the way was open, sure as the sun was to rise. He made his way across the street, as he did most mornings, and took a seat at a booth along the picture window.

  The diner was typical of a small family owned operation. Picnic print tablecloths and flimsy chairs, paper napkins and worn utensils, thought provoking signs reading, “Free beer tomorrow,” hung on the walls. The vinyl moaned as the deputy sat and flipped over the coffee mug in front of him.

  The middle-aged waitress came over, plopping down a newspaper and simultaneously filled the mug. The pouch of tobacco came back out and the half used dip was sloppily placed back inside.

  “Any word from Brad?”

  “Notta yet,” Bob Kirkwood answered. His hair was now mostly gray. His nose was long and hooked like a beak, while untrimmed nose-hairs reached down to join up with the mustache beneath. Bob extended a lanky arm to pick up the newspaper as he sipped at his hot coffee.

  “I hope they get that bastard soon. You never would think something like this would happen in our back woods.”

  “Well, you know ol’ Brad…” the lawman sneered sarcastically, “He will do just fine bringing that lunatic to justice.”

  “It’s just so strange with all that’s been happenin’ lately,” Darla said, looking around the rest of the diner with little interest. “With all the wheels suddenly not turning and people acting strange all over the place. It seems like Golden was the start of it all…”

  “Don’t you worry, I’m sure it will all sort itself out. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Darla was turning to go when another deputy, this one short, out of shape looking, and slightly impish, came through the door and went right for Kirkwood’s booth.

  “Parker said I’d find you here, boss,” the deputy said, sliding into the other side of the table. Bob Kirkwood continued to read his paper as if there was never the interruption. “And I never want to interrupt your breakfast, but I figured I aught a come over here myself and tell you… So last night, I was on the roster for guarding the water plant, ya see, and everything was fine the first…”

  “Get to the point, already!” Bob interrupted. He set his paper down and stared right at the junior deputy, causing his concentration to once again falter.

  “There was a trespasser. A kid. Well, not a kid-kid, he is in his early twenties. But he came sauntering down one of the old overflow tunnels that lead into the hills, playing some deafening whistle.”

  Bob tossed his paper aside and rose, leaving Deputy Monahan scrambling behind. He pulled a couple bills from his wallet and laid them down on the front counter and got Darla’s attention from across the room.

  “Something came up, box up my usual and run it over to the station with the prisoners. If you can’t spare anyone, just call over and I’ll send Monahan here over for it.”

  The lawmen left the diner, one following the other, down a few blocks to where they worked. Kirkwood questioned the young deputy most of the way.

  “So, he is in a cell now, right?”

  “Just like you instructed we do with any suspicious individuals. We put him right next to Daniel,” Monahan answered.

  “Just what the hell did he say he was doing in a restricted area of town in the middle of the damn night?”

  “That’s why I thought I should cage him and make sure to come find you. No ID, just wet clothes. He seemed lucent enough, but he had no clue where he was and started off with some story about being separated from friends and a sea monster that grabbed him then burst into bubbles…”

  “Good God. That’s why we are stepping up security around here with all the strange stuff going on. It seems like crazies are coming out of the brickwork past couple of days. We are not going to take any chances,” Bob said, more to himself than his subordinate. “Until Zale comes back from the north, I’m in charge of this town, and I will keep things safe. I’m not going to have any more lunatics causing problems.”

  They stepped onto the curb and sidewalk on the corner of the Sheriffs department, walking past the side of the brick building. There were window archways built into the brick at a man’s shoulder height, with vertical steel bars preventing the prisoners from much more than a view. Donny heard only the clicking of boot heels at the two walked past and into the front office.

  Bob Kirkwood walked in the station, past the duty desk, and back into the squad room. The station was set up like any small town sheriffs office, front desk with a thick frosted glass separating the general public from where the real business was conducted. On the left, facing in, was a long glass window that gave visual access to the holding cells. The back of the room had a large chalkboard and doors leading to equipment storage and the locker room, while the right side had offices for the Sherriff, a conference/questioning room and bathrooms. Overhead ceiling fans circulated the stale air and fluorescent lights buzzed. The deputy on front desk duty pulled his book out from beneath the desk after Kirkwood and Monahan entered to his left. He thumbed through the pages, settling back into his place. The waiting room was empty anyway, save for the portraits of past Sheriffs that hung on the wall with their unsmiling, serious faces.

  Bob took a quick scan of the room, noting only one other uniform present at a desk, as he breezed into the first private office. The name on the glass read- Bradley Zale, Saint Anne County Sheriff. Bob plopped back into the worn black leather chair and put his feet up. A picture on the desk of a round, white haired man supporting a thick mustache, curled at the ends, was holding a fish with a young girl who shared a family resemblance. They both beamed back at Bob. He snatched up the framed photo and placed it face down in the pencil drawer of the oak desk and slammed it shut. Now he was comfortable.

  “Now, numb nuts, I want you to tell me the whole story, from the beginning, before I go back and question this kid.”

  Monahan, fingering his gun belt at the buckle, took a deep breath, slightly bending forward, and began to give his report. But, before a word passed his teeth, the man on the duty desk opened the swinging door to the back area of the station and called out. “Bob, there is someone here to see you!”

  “Ahh, hold on, must be my breakfast. Send him on back!”

  Moments later, without a sound Renault walked into the interim Sheriffs office. Monahan took a step to the side, surprised by the look of the newcomer, who was without doubt, not a breakfast delivery boy. Bob Kirkwood, boots still propped up on the desk, cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

  “Can I help you?” He asked, sincerity absent from his voice.

  “I know you can,” Renault began. His speech was even, and his gaze heavy. “You have someone locked up in here. Donny Bright, he goes by. I would like him to be released to me.”

  “Whoa there fella. I don’t have the slightest clue who you are and you come into my office and demand I just release someone in our custody? What the hell is this, a joke?”

  Renault stood firm.

&n
bsp; “No. Not a chance. I haven’t even spoken to this kid yet. He was caught trespassing in a restricted area of this town’s waterworks,” Bob Kirkwood said, getting to his feet as he really began to pick up steam. “Who knows what he was up to down there… No ID? That’s another infraction. We have laws, here in this town. We may be even putting him on a psych hold from what this deputy has told me. So, you will just have to bring your yuppie ass back down here after he has been fully processed.”

  “Under Sheriff, I urge you to reconsider,” Renault said flatly.

  “Get out of my station! Get out, and watch it mister. I’ll have my eye on you! Play your cards right and I’ll have you in a cell right next to your little boyfriend!”

  Renault turned and walked out of the office before Kirkwood could finish his rant. Following him out of his usurped office, the Sheriff’s second in command found he was speaking to thin air. Bursting through the swinging door into the front lobby, Bob Kirkwood found it to be empty as well.

  The muffled sounds of the tall man berating the man at the duty desk reached back to the holding cells, where Donny had been holding on to the cell bars, watching the exchange through the glass. Sitting on the desk closest to the glass, Donny noticed his pan flute. He wished the deputy hadn’t taken it away from him, and he didn’t know why he had. It wasn’t like it was a weapon or something…

  “Donny,” Renault softly called through the bars leading out to the street.

  “Renault! I saw you in here just a second ago. You found me! Are Chris and Jake with you?”

  “They are on their way. It seems as if you will have to remain put for the moment. The Under Sheriff is not going to budge on your release, of that I’m sure.”

  “Well, do what you can… Oh crap, here that guy comes,” Donny said, jumping away from his window and onto his bunk. The rattle of the cells welded metal furniture was answered by the door to cells being thrown open.

  “One of your buddies just came in here looking for you,” Bob said to Donny as he and Monahan entered the room. “That one with the dye job and punker haircut. Looks like you keep good company…” He looked around the cellblock, finding only the prisoners that were expected.

  “How you doing over there, Daniel?” Bob said. Realizing he was not the one being spoken to, Donny looked behind him and noticed another figure occupying the cell’s bed, which he had not noticed before. The big round man curled away from all eyes and made an acknowledging noise, but did not move. “Well, if you still haven’t decided to talk to me yet, I’ll just give you all the time you want.”

  “Now you,” Bob said, leaning back against the glass partition, focusing on Donny. “I want your story…”