The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

  Dropping her hands to her side, Maisie rocked back on her heels. “She looks like a wolf. Well, an all-black one, anyway.”

  “Yeah, she sure does,” Reed agreed. More than once he had used the same description, finding it as apt as any. “Listen, there is one more thing I was hoping to get from you. Is there an old T-shirt or something of Serena’s that I might be able to borrow for a few days?”

  The girl’s nose crinkled slightly as she looked to Reed, her brows coming together. “You mean like the ones she wore to work?”

  “No, something more like an old favorite or one she might wear to sleep in. You’ll get it back, I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Climbing back into the SUV with Billie, Reed drove three blocks away, heading for the outskirts of town. Not wanting to sit in front of the Gipson house, in plain sight of Maisie and Josie, he pulled up on the tail end of a residential street in front of a white clapboard house. With the driveway sitting empty, he didn’t need to worry about anybody looking out and growing concerned, sidling up alongside a low curb.

  Leaving the engine to idle, he glanced to the rearview mirror as Wyatt pulled in behind him. Mimicking his movements from an hour earlier, he climbed out and jogged forward, depositing himself into Reed’s passenger seat.

  Slamming the door shut, he glanced over his shoulder to the backseat and asked, “What’s with the Ziploc bag?”

  “One of Serena’s favorite T-shirts,” Reed replied. “For Billie, in case we get close enough to use her scent.”

  Wyatt’s jaw sagged slightly as he processed the information. He raised his chin slightly, considering it, before asking, “Anything else?”

  “Not a lot,” Reed said. “Have you run a cellphone trace?”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Sorry, left that part out. The cook from the diner gave me her number, but it didn’t turn up anything. Last hit was less than a mile from the edge of town.

  “After that, either turned off or destroyed.”

  Knowing it was more likely the latter, Reed said, “Guessed as much. Otherwise, I figured out she doesn’t have a boyfriend and doesn’t really see any of her friends. Sounds like she’s been pretty reclusive since her father passed away.

  “You?”

  “Same,” Wyatt said. “Her room looks more like a study hall than the bedroom of a twenty-five-year-old woman. Instead of rock star posters, the walls are covered in diagrams and notes.

  “Her sister said she was studying to become a nurse.”

  “Where at?” Reed asked.

  “CSC,” Wyatt said, rattling off the acronym before catching himself and clarifying, “Connors State College, on the west end of town. Two-year school. Nursing and agriculture, that sort of thing.”

  Making a mental note of it, Reed nodded. From what they’d gleaned thus far, it sounded like Serena Gipson lived a very narrow existence. When she wasn’t at class or at the diner, she was at home, tending to her siblings or her disabled mother.

  Not exactly the vibrant social life someone would normally associate with a girl her age.

  Especially one who looked a certain way.

  “Could be something there,” Reed said. “Someone that saw her in class and developed an infatuation.”

  Pondering it a moment, Wyatt said, “Could be. Definitely be worth swinging out and talking to some folks.”

  “For sure,” Reed agreed. Glancing to the clock, he considered the afternoon hour, knowing that class would likely be ending soon, if they weren’t already done for the day.

  Tomorrow being Friday, they could start first thing, tracking down as many of her classmates and professors as possible.

  Before that, though, it would be nice to have something more to work with, specific questions they could use to winnow things down instead of going on a general fishing expedition.

  “Anything else?” Reed asked.

  “Mostly just confirmed what we already knew,” Wyatt said. “Her suitcase and duffel bag were both in the closet, her laptop and wallet were both sitting on the desk.”

  Not once in the previous day had Reed thought that Serena Gipson’s leaving was a conscious decision. After being to the girl’s home and seeing her situation, he couldn’t imagine anybody blaming her if she’d tried to step away for a moment, but he just didn’t see it.

  Not after what he’d witnessed the night before. And not after meeting her twin sisters and hearing about her mother.

  Nobody went through all she had just to one day decide to toss their hands up and escape.

  Falling silent, Reed worked through things. He focused on the particulars of the case for a moment before slowly pushing them away. Allowing his eyes to slide shut, he shifted his focus not to the disappearance, but to how he might handle things if he were back in The Bottoms.

  The steps he would go through, and more importantly, the resources he would have available to him.

  “How does this work?” he asked, his eyes opening slowly. With his face aimed forward, he stared out across a wheat field stretched from the edge of the street into the distance, disappearing over the horizon.

  Over a month from coming off, the stalks were still green, just beginning to shift to gold.

  “What’s that?” Wyatt asked.

  “What are we working with?” Reed asked. “If an official case hasn’t been opened, how much do you have access to?”

  Flicking his gaze to the side, he could see Wyatt make a face, the response not exactly what he was hoping for.

  “Not a ton,” Wyatt confessed. “And every search or request I make in the system is listed under my name and badge number. I’ll do everything I can, but we’re going to have to be careful.”

  Having assumed as much, Reed nodded. “I know a guy, something of a cyber savant. Anything we can’t get, I’ll ask him to dig up for us.”

  Twice Wyatt wagged his jaw, no doubt wanting to voice one of a handful of questions, though each one he let pass without comment.

  Never look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that.

  “I’m on shift tonight,” Wyatt said. “Go on here shortly until midnight. Yount has the weekend this month, so I’ll be free after that until Monday.”

  Reed offered a small grunt in response, the news actually fitting with what he was hoping for. Because of the way things had played out, Wyatt had been able to get a head start on the investigation the night before, speaking to the cook and the clerk. There was no reason to doubt a word he’d said, though Reed still wanted to speak to them himself.

  Get a better feel for the town and the people in it, get a more well-rounded picture of Serena Gipson than just the viewpoint of her younger siblings.

  And it probably wouldn’t be a bad thing for him and Wyatt to be seen together as little as necessary, if at all possible.

  “What about the Ecklunds?” Reed asked. “That going to be a problem?”

  Letting out a quick snort, Wyatt’s head shot back an inch. “Only if we’re stupid. Like I said, I’m sure they’ll keep tabs on what I’m looking up or check the GPS in the patrol car, but it’s not like you need to be looking over your shoulder. The old man called you in for one of his standard dressing-down speeches. As far as he’s concerned, that’s the Word of God, never to be questioned.”

  Reed felt his eyebrows rise, one corner of his mouth curling up in unison. He knew the type, the hiring pre-requisites for police chiefs sharing a universal template.

  As fast as the mirth arrived, it faded, and Reed’s focus shifted to the clock on the front dash. Again, he ran the math in his head, computing how much time had passed already without them getting anywhere to speak of.

  Time that could be taking Serena Gipson further away or subjecting her to unspeakable torment.

  What had started as a tentative first step needed to be ratcheted up tremendously if they were going to have any hope of finding that girl alive.

  “Okay,” he said, “so I’ll let you head to work. Billie and I will make the ro
unds through downtown. After that, we can figure out our next steps.”

  His mouth drawn into a taut line, the pose matching the one he’d made in the alley the night before, Wyatt nodded. “Sounds good. You’ve got my cell number, be sure to hit that if anything turns up.”

  “Will do,” Reed said. “And you do the same.”

  The thought of telling him to maybe check in with the Gipsons again later to ensure no effort to contact them had been made occurred to Reed but was dismissed as fast as it arrived. With no phone, it seemed unlikely.

  And continuing to badger two frightened kids wouldn’t do anybody any good.

  Reaching for the door, Wyatt cracked it open an inch. Warm air flooded in as he paused, considering his words, before saying, “And again, thank you for this.”

  Just in the last few minutes had Reed really started to feel like he was back in his element, the sense of urgency that a case such as this demanded beginning to roil through him. Like some form of narcotic, he could feel it seeping through his system, his mind already working two steps into the future.

  It was still way, way too soon to be offering thanks.

  “Haven’t done anything yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  This time, Serena Gipson wasn’t as surprised by the man’s sudden appearance. Perched on the bed, her chin resting on her knee, she knew it was only a matter of time before he returned. With her focus square on the door, she waited, steeling herself for the moment of his arrival.

  Prefaced by the sound of metal locks sliding free, she felt her heart rate increase, heightening the throbbing in her temple. Her body temperature climbed, pulling perspiration to the surface, though she managed to remain completely motionless as she stared straight ahead.

  The same cocksure smile, pulled back so it was almost a sneer, was on the man’s face as he stepped inside, the heels of his boots thumping against the floorboards.

  Each sound seemed to echo through the room, causing Serena to flinch slightly, no matter how much she tried to fight it.

  His hands on either hip, he stood, openly appraising her. Equal parts condescension and longing, it seemed he might lunge for her at any moment.

  Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt tucked in tight, an oversized buckle rested across his flat waist. Above his square shoulders was a chiseled jawline and shaggy hair, a faint indent framing it, showing where a hat had recently rested.

  Outside of being larger than most, he was both unknown and familiar, recognizable as one of a thousand just like him walking across the plains.

  “Where am I?” Serena asked, the words just barely out of her mouth before the man covered the space between them in two quick strides. Pulling his right arm across his body, he swung it up in a reverse arc, the back of his hand connecting hard against her cheek.

  Not expecting the movement, or the blow, it caught Serena flush across her jawbone. Spittle flew from her mouth as her top half was lifted from the bed. Hanging suspended for a half-second, she landed in a twisted heap, the springs of the bed bouncing her a few times as she settled.

  Pain erupted through her entire head, shockwaves connecting with the swelling already covering her face, seeming to set her skin afire.

  A sheen of moisture came to her eyes as her jaw gaped, fighting to pull in air.

  “See, now, already we’re getting off on the wrong foot,” the man said in a faint drawl. “I don’t know how things might have worked for you in the past, but here’s how this is going to go now.”

  Stepping forward, he brought himself back into her field of vision. Standing along the side of the bed, his hands were back at his waist, a thin tendril of blood snaking down from his middle knuckle.

  “You opening your mouth out of turn like that? That was a mistake. And mistakes have consequences.”

  Leaning forward, he rested his hands on his knees, peering in at her. “This time was just a tap. To introduce you to how things are done around here. Keep it up, and it will get a whole lot worse.”

  Keeping her gaze averted, Serena could feel his stare on her skin. She could feel tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, her bottom lip quivering.

  Remaining in position, just a couple of feet separating them, he lingered for almost a full minute before finally pushing himself back upright.

  “Where you are isn’t important. It doesn’t matter, because it’s not like you’re going anywhere ever again.”

  The fierce pain of the initial blow ebbed back slightly in Serena’s face, replaced by a dull throb. Working her jaw a few millimeters to either side, she continued to pull in air, keeping herself pressed tight against the mattress, compressing her body into as small a target as possible.

  “Going places is what got us into this mess in the first place, isn’t it, Molly?”

  Turning to the side, the man began to pace, his boot heels echoing against the floor.

  “A quick trip to the grocery store, or the nail salon, or the gym. How stupid do you think I am? Hell, when was the last time you worked out?”

  With each word he said, the mix of emotions inside Serena grew stronger. Not daring to make another sound, to even consider sitting back up, she remained completely motionless, listening as the man made a loop around her.

  When he reached the opposite corner of the bed, the breadth of her back exposed to him, she clenched tight, waiting for another a blow.

  A blow that never came as he continued his pacing, setting himself to moving on a second rotation.

  “No more,” the man said. “From now on, everything you need is in this room. You’ve got a bed. You’ve got your clothes, your books, and you’ve got a shitter.

  “Any more than that is if and when I feel like it.”

  Coming back to the place he had started, the man again stopped. Leaning forward, he brought his face down level with hers, his hazel eyes peering into her face.

  “You want something to eat? Water? A few minutes outside? You get nothing unless I say so.”

  Pausing, the man’s face grew stony. His nostrils flared, his lips pulled tight as he stared at her.

  “We’re not going back to the way things were, Molly. That shit you pulled before, the things you put me through? Never again.”

  Staring back at him, Serena wanted so badly to say that her name wasn’t Molly. That he had the wrong woman.

  That as far as she could recall, she didn’t even know anybody named Molly.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  No part of Reed wanted to take Billie home. After meeting with the Gipson family and watching Wyatt head to work, his preference would have been to circle back through the neighborhood grid to where he had been the night before. Parking right on Main Street, he could go into Hanley’s Diner and then swing by the Sinclair Station, speaking to the two people outside of himself who had seen Serena Gipson.

  If he was home in Columbus, there would have been no discussion. With his badge hanging from his neck, he would have taken her directly through the front door of both establishments, not caring who saw them.

  She was his partner. That was how such things worked.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t in Columbus. Or Ohio. Or even any of the states surrounding it.

  He was in Oklahoma, working in a town he’d been in a total of one day, with a chief of police who already had a target on him. He had no badge, no jurisdiction, no way of justifying his presence in the slightest without Wyatt by his side.

  Which meant he needed to lay low, occasionally doing things against his better judgment, such as leaving his partner with his parents for a couple of hours.

  No matter how much it pained him.

  Stepping into the Hanley Diner, Reed almost felt like a rookie beat cop just starting out. Unfamiliar with his surroundings, with the reception he might receive, he passed through the front door, the world seeming to shed three or four decades in the process.

  The place looked like something he would have imagined being popular in the sixties, the kind of
spot where high school kids would congregate after football or basketball games. Along the front windows were a handful of booths, their vinyl seats cracked and fraying from years of wear.

  On the opposite side was a bar with metal stools secured directly to the floor, an open kitchen window behind it. On the counter rested a manual cash register, a stack of laminated menus just a few inches away.

  In the center of the room were a couple of tables sitting perfectly square, chairs pushed in tight on either side. Allowing for clear aisleways, the lone waitress took advantage of one as she approached. Somewhere in her mid-forties, she had a shock of auburn hair tied up behind her head, her lower jaw working at a wad of gum the size of a walnut.

  Looking thoroughly bored, she openly appraised Reed as she approached before asking, “Just one?”

  The air was redolent with all the scents Reed would expect in such a place. The most notable being grease, he could make out charred beef and stale coffee, hints of cleaning solution underlying everything.

  Not necessarily the worst of aromas, but not one that instantly made him want to pull up a chair and start perusing a menu.

  “Actually, I was hoping to speak with Curt Walton,” Reed replied. “Is he in?”

  Rolling her eyes hard enough to risk retinal damage, the woman tilted her head back toward the kitchen window. Raising her voice to something just shy of a shriek, she yelled, “Yo! Curt!”

  At four o’clock in the afternoon, any lunch traffic there might have been had come and gone. Still a bit too early for the senior citizen crowd, the diner was void of other customers, Reed the only one subjected to the auditory assault.

  Feeling folds of skin form around his eyes as he winced, he followed the woman’s gaze toward the window as a head popped into view. With nothing else visible, all Reed could see was a round face with a white kerchief covering the scalp, his skin wet with perspiration.