The Bear

by Dustin Stevens

  Met with exactly the type of reaction he expected, and would have had himself if in their position, all three bursting with anticipation, hopeful to soon get a heading they could pursue.

  Five minutes after that, the round of requisite calls complete, they and Billie were all back in the SUV. Armed with a location just outside of Okmulgee, they tore west across the prairie.

  Around them, a steady band of red light could be seen passing in equal sweeps, a product of the magnetic strobe Martin had stuck to the top of the SUV as they climbed in.

  Running at more than ninety miles an hour, all three seemed to be leaning forward, practically willing them ahead.

  In the two days since Serena Gipson had disappeared, there’d been no word. No contact with her family that Reed was aware of, no tips from concerned citizens saying they’d seen something suspicious.

  Nothing, the girl seeming to have disappeared.

  Just like Darcy Thornton. And Suzanne Bonham. And Carly Whitehair.

  And too many others.

  A fact that seemed to push renewed urgency into Reed’s system. Every minute that they lingered, the odds of Serena ever being found dropped. Every wrong turn they took, every interview they conducted, was only longer that the girl was subjected to whatever horrors had befallen her, the condition of Thornton showing what the kidnapper was truly capable of.

  They were already up against the universal rule of forty-eight hours, the point at which the odds of retrieving anything more than a body dropped precipitously.

  It had to end tonight.

  “In one half-mile, turn left,” the same voice that Reed despised so much announced.

  Keeping his foot locked on the accelerator, Reed waited until they were less than a hundred yards out before slamming the brakes. Fishtailing slightly, the vehicle seemed to rise onto two wheels as they coasted through the intersection, not leveling out again until he mashed on the gas, sending them hurtling onward.

  Seated bunched up behind the steering wheel, gripping it in both hands, he glanced to the screen again before lifting his gaze to Martin.

  “I’m guessing that dotted line on the map there means we just passed onto the reservation?”

  His mouth still drawn back tight, Martin turned his focus to the phone, his features illuminated by the faint glow.

  “Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that. Okmulgee is basically the hub of the Creek Nation.”

  To Reed’s knowledge, there weren’t any reservations in Ohio. He’d heard plenty of stories about Tecumseh and Logan and the various other famous chiefs in the area, but never had he needed to worry about crossing boundary lines.

  Not that there wasn’t already enough bureaucracy to sift through.

  “Do we need to let them know we’re in their jurisdiction?” Reed asked.

  His attention still on the phone, Martin’s eyes glazed as he thought on it, considering their position, before eventually nodding just slightly.

  “Yeah. Just trying to think who I know over there. Been a while since I was this far west.”

  If Reed was back in Columbus, the process would have been easy. He would have called Captain Grimes, asked him to dial up his counterpart for wherever they were headed, maybe even request some additional assistance if need be.

  This was on a whole different level, though, Reed not even feigning to know the best way to suggest how to proceed.

  “You will arrive at your destination in one-quarter of a mile.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  The lights inside the room were set to turn off at ten o’clock sharp each night. Programmed to run on a standard sixteen-eight split, they came back on each morning at six, alerting whoever was inside that it was time to wake up.

  Just because they were being held captive didn’t mean they were entitled to spend their lives in bed, waiting for The Bear to bring them food.

  Not on this farm.

  The world was dark as The Bear came to, lying facedown on the floor. Cracking open his eyes, he could feel agonizing pain enveloping his skull, feeling as if his head was fitted inside a vice.

  A low groan passed his lips as he attempted to work his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feeling as if it was two sizes too large, it scraped against the back of his teeth, the taste of blood registering.

  Blinking twice, The Bear pressed his fingertips into the bare floor by his waist. Walking them forward, he brought them even with his shoulders, using them to leverage himself a few inches up off the hardwood.

  As he did so, the skin of his cheek remained fixed in place, clamped to the floor. Peeling away a millimeter at a time, the bare skin sticky, it tugged gently as he raised himself, amplifying the pain in his head.

  Just six inches into his ascent, no more than halfway through a pushup, The Bear gave up on the task, shifting his weight onto a hip. Allowing momentum to carry him over, he rolled onto his backside, raising himself so he sat upright on the floor.

  A position that set his right leg ablaze, the leg jutting straight out before him.

  Raising his face to the ceiling, The Bear clenched his features tight. Sucking in bits of air through his teeth, he kept himself tense, feeling the torment in his leg and head pass through him, seeming to set his entire body afire at once.

  “Shit,” he whispered, barely able to push the word out as he raised a hand to his face. Finding it warm and sticky beneath his touch, he pulled his fingers back, running the pads of his thumb and index finger together, feeling his blood settled into the ridges, adhering the skin together.

  How long he had been lying there, it was impossible to know. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was hitting the girl with an overhand right, hearing the satisfying crunch of his knuckle mashing into her misshapen cheek, feeling the consciousness evaporate from her body as she crumpled to the floor.

  And in the same instant realizing the chain she’d been wielding was coming directly for him, unable to redirect his course or even make an attempt to block it before the heavy links mashed into him.

  Seeing it in his mind, replaying the incident from start to finish, The Bear felt his features twist up. Venom seeped into his system, his eyes narrowing as he twisted a few inches to the side, turning to glare in her direction.

  Not that long before, he’d been standing in the kitchen. A long day of work behind him, the truck was loaded for the next morning, ready to be taken into Tulsa.

  Well-deserved beer in hand, he was only checking to make sure she was okay.

  And then all this.

  “Whole damn thing was a setup,” The Bear muttered, realization creeping in, pulling the wrath he felt upward.

  Everything from her pretending to choke on the brisket to the pile of loose papers laying beneath his feet. All of it was well orchestrated, everything the girl had done since arriving part of a plan, meant to lure him in so she could attack.

  Pressing his chin into his shoulder, The Bear continued to glare. Ignoring the pain the position caused, he stared into the darkness, barely able to make out the silhouette of the girl on the floor beside him.

  She had displayed some spunk. She’d gone through the usual bouts of crying and hysteria, had reacted to the brand about the same as the others, but there had been a clear underlying bit of self-reliance. Not quite rising to the point of defiance, but enough to make The Bear believe that this one could last for a while.

  Or at the very least, would prove a worthy choice, lasting much longer than some of the others he’d brought around.

  Certainly, longer than Molly herself.

  How wrong he’d been.

  Working his jaw from one side to the other, The Bear managed to conjure some saliva. Using his tongue, he pushed it around his mouth, peeling away the dried blood, before spitting to the side, making a quick assessment of the situation.

  The most obvious was that his knee was busted and would, at some point, require medical attention. Making it worse was the fact that his head ached, probably lookin
g as bad or worse than the girl, impossible to hide.

  And he had work to do the next day.

  Just two full days she had been around, and already she was making a mess of things.

  Even Molly hadn’t managed to work that fast.

  A little feistiness he could respect. After years of doing this, he might have even welcomed a bit of pushback, the last one too weak for her own good.

  But not this.

  “You’ve done messed up now,” The Bear whispered, pressing a hand into the floor. Paper shifted beneath him as he started to rise, pangs of agony coursing through his system.

  The girl had taken her shot; she had put up a fight, but ultimately, she had failed.

  And it was time for her to go.

  “Mistakes have consequences.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  The flashing strobe atop the SUV had been killed the moment the GPS told them they were making the final approach to their destination. Without government plates, the main goal was to be able to run fast and hard without fear of being pulled over, neither wanting to sacrifice the time it would take to explain to a fellow officer where they were going at such a high rate of speed.

  Once that was no longer a concern, Martin had snaked a hand up through the window, flipping the switch at the base of the light, the view of the world around them shifting without the red hue passing over things.

  Within the confines of Tulsa or Muskogee, arriving with it on might not have been a cause for concern. People in towns were more accustomed to such things and wouldn’t give a second look to a single strobe moving past.

  Where they currently were, though, miles from anything, it would stand out.

  Especially if the house they were approaching was indeed home to whoever was behind the disappearances.

  “How we going in?” Martin asked as Reed made a right, easing off the road onto the twin ruts of a gravel driveway.

  Remaining silent, Reed stared up at the spread before them, knowing exactly what Martin was referring to, not yet ready to answer.

  The lane they were on looked to extend more than a hundred yards back from the road, culminating in a white two-story home with green shutters and shingles. A host of mature oak trees dotted the yard, fields with corn less than a foot tall pushing up close on all sides.

  Out behind, a barn rose tall, a series of greenhouses and smaller outbuildings spread in a wide ring.

  Beyond that initial cluster, Reed couldn’t see anything else, not a single light visible, the fields looking to extend for miles in every direction.

  Forcing himself not to lean on the gas, to send gravel spurting and the SUV hurtling down the drive, Reed kept the wheel clamped in both hands. Little by little, their destination grew closer, the lane nudging them to the left of the home, ending in an open gravel lot that served as the centerpiece for the home and the various nearby buildings.

  More than fifty yards across in total, the area was covered in pale gravel crisscrossed by a few stray trenches, displaying where vehicles had passed at various times. Aside from the headlights of the SUV, a pair of stanchion security lights cast down a pale white glow.

  Off to the side, an aging work truck could be seen. Otherwise, there were no signs of life, the world silent.

  “Jesus, look at all those buildings,” Martin whispered, his eyes wide as he swung his gaze around the perimeter before them. “He could be hiding her in any of them.”

  Grunting in agreement, Reed felt his heart rate begin to climb. The familiar brine of sweat passed his lips, his gaze sweeping in the opposite direction.

  Making it almost through a complete loop, his focus stopped abruptly. His chest clenched, his right hand shooting out for the extendable baton still nestled alongside the middle console.

  “Back door.”

  Without waiting for a response, Reed pushed out from the side, leaving the lights on as he stepped out. Feeling the cool of the night flush against his skin, he paused long enough for Billie to spill out behind him, both of them making it to the front of the SUV by the time Martin exited to join them, their gaze all aimed in the same direction.

  Twenty-five feet away, the back door to the home hung open. Busted from the top hinges, it sagged at an angle against the side of the house, a lone aberration against an otherwise neat and orderly setting.

  The kind of thing that didn’t happen by accident, and certainly wouldn’t have been left that way.

  Reed’s pulse pushed through his temples as he broke into a jog, moving across the clipped grass, ignoring the narrow concrete sidewalk connecting the home to the gravel expanse. Baton handle gripped in his right hand, he depressed the release button on the side as he went, flicking it out parallel to his body, the steel shaft extending to more than two feet in length.

  With each step he took, everything else seemed to peel back around him, tunnel vision setting in. No longer was he concerned with the remaining outbuildings. He could barely even hear Martin struggling to catch up behind him.

  In their stead, his focus went entirely to the damaged rear door, to what might have caused it to be that way.

  To Serena Gipson – or her abductor – hiding within.

  Three feet in front of Reed, Billie moved with the same purpose. Barely able to restrain herself, twice she glanced back, her exposed teeth flashing, two solid days of being contained in the SUV saddling her with more energy than she’d known in years.

  No longer.

  Lifting his pace to a sprint, Reed bore down on the back door, still three feet out as he raised his face toward the sky and bellowed, “Clear!”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  The instant the sound was out of Reed’s mouth, Billie shot forward as if fired from a cannon. Blowing through the rear door, she was nothing more than a shadow as she tore inside, Reed a full three strides behind her.

  Barely slowing his pace, he tore in after her, bursting through a small mudroom before pulling up inside a wide kitchen. His pulse thundering, he flung his gaze in either direction, his baton held at the ready.

  Around him, everything stood shrouded in darkness. Pinching his gaze, he made out a long counter running the length of the room, the top completely barren of food or even appliances.

  No signs of life, the only things to even hint that somebody had been by recently were the air being redolent with the smell of beer and a sprawl of glass shards and suds spread across the tile floor.

  His body tense, Reed remained in place, allowing Billie to work. With his legs flexed, he looked from the mess on the floor to the back door, practically seeing what had taken place playing out in his mind.

  On the second floor above, he could hear Billie moving about, tracking her movements across the ceiling, the house creaking beneath her weight. Gripping the baton, he waited, ready to give assistance if needed, fixed in position until he heard her begin to descend back down the stairs.

  Only then did he lower the baton to his side, waiting as she presented herself back at his feet a moment later.

  “Good girl,” Reed whispered, extending a hand to her neck, both continuing to survey the silent home.

  As they did so, Reed could hear Martin finally arriving behind them. Pushing through the back door, he stumbled forward, panting hard. Leaning heavily against the frame of the door leading from the mudroom into the kitchen, he held his service weapon in one hand, sweat streaming down his forehead.

  “Anything?” he managed to get out between gasps.

  With barely a glance over, Reed gave a terse shake of his head. “House is clear.”

  Remaining in position for a moment, his weight pressed against a forearm at shoulder height, Martin continued to gulp in air.

  “You sure?” he managed to get out.

  His mind already working forward, piecing together the next steps, Reed glanced over, his jaw set. “Positive.”

  Pulling himself from his thoughts, Reed took an exaggerated step to the side, affording Martin a better view. Using the weap
on, he pointed out the mess on the floor beside the sink and said, “Best guess, looks like something happened to make our guy drop his beer and haul ass.”

  Fast enough to blow through the back door, not caring what damage he did on his way out.

  “Think it was us?” Martin asked.

  Without answering just yet, Reed squatted down. Extending a hand, he traced his fingers over the outside of the spilled beer, dabbing the pads of them against the tile.

  “Doubt it,” he said without turning to look back. “This is already sticky, looks like it’s been here a while.”

  Behind him, Martin shoved himself away from the frame. Lumbering closer, heat seemed to emanate from the man as he peered down over Reed’s shoulder.

  “How you see it?”

  The middle part of the sequence was obvious, spread out on the floor and hanging at an angle from the rear doorframe. It was the parts that came before and after the man tore through the back door that was tougher to decipher.

  On one end, if it hadn’t been their arrival that had spooked him, it begged the question of what could have possibly been strong enough to send him tearing off into the night.

  And on the back, whether the guy had jumped into a vehicle or if he was nearby, the possibilities for where he could be opening exponentially depending on whether he had chosen to use the road or had disappeared into a network of paths cutting back through the farm.

  Whether he was stowed somewhere nearby, watching them even now.

  With so many questions flooding in and his adrenaline still redlined, Reed felt his frustration spike. Piecing together the information from the markets and getting the address was a coup. It had led them to where they wanted to be.

  And still, it threatened to not be enough, just one more stop along the way, causing them to expend more time Serena Gipson might not have.