RUMORS

by Bellus, HJ

  But there’s also a rumor of Dalton being related to the Crays who own the largest ranch around a few towns over, two hours away. I can’t quite remember everything, just caught bits and pieces from one of my grandmother’s phone calls. It didn’t sound too good, but then again, what rumor ever shines a person in a glowing light?

  “Frankie here was just helping me pull out some more chairs to put around the dessert tables.”

  Dalton stares down at me, expecting me to confirm this. His gaze makes me feel uncomfortable. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s so concerned about me, so I deflect my gaze down to my worn shoes. My toes nervously wiggle in them as I grow more and more uncomfortable with each second.

  “Frankie, is this true?” Dalton asks, taking a step back, giving me space and oxygen to be and breathe.

  I nod, with my long dark hair waving over my shoulders as I continue to stare down at my shoes.

  “Thanks for your help, Frankie.” I don’t have to look up to see the pastor has made it to my side.

  It’s enough to make me move. I sidestep his venom, take a deep breath, and move toward the stage and sea of people.

  “Frankie.” A hand grabs my wrist causing me to lurch up in the air. “Sorry.” Sheriff Cray drops it. “If you ever need anything, there is help.”

  The sincere tone in his voice nearly makes me want to scream the truth from the dark cave inside of my soul. But I can’t.

  I’m brave enough to glance up at him. He’s worried, concerned, and here to help. I can’t trust him. I can’t trust anyone. “Thank you.”

  Each letter sounds stuttered out in a mess.

  “I don’t care what’s going on or if you’re even in trouble with the law. I’m here.” He nods.

  I nod right back then run until I find Grandma. She’s about to take the stage to receive her award.

  “There you are.” She wraps me up in a hug. It’s not because she knows something is wrong; it’s just the way she is. “I was wondering where you went off to.”

  “She was helping me with chairs.” He’s back right by our sides, never leaving me alone.

  “Oh, goodness. I was getting worried that you…” She trails off, hugging me once again.

  We all know what she was going to say without her having to finish. I should’ve stayed home, I should’ve run home…there are so many “should haves” that it makes me sick. Never again. That was the one promise I made myself a long time ago. And it did. I feel like trash, even worse than I did before. The smell of his evil causes my stomach to whirl in a revolution. I hate it. I hate my skin, despise my body, and just want to disappear.

  “Oh, heavens, it’s warm out here.” Grandma fans her face.

  The pastor holds out a bottle of water. “Here you go. Can’t have you parched for the big day.”

  “Thank you.” She twists the top, takes a long gulp, and then pats his shoulder. “What would we do without you?”

  I don’t have the time nor energy to even begin to answer that question. The highly respected pastor of our town is idolized even though he’s far worse than Satan.

  The ceremony goes by in a blur, then I find myself sitting in my safe haven at my dinner table, avoiding the eye contact of Satan himself.

  Chapter Four

  Frankie

  I excuse myself as fast as I can. Grandma knows my appetite fluctuates with my mood swings and doesn’t say a word. I ignore his voice as I race to the bathroom. How, after all this time of staying in safety, did he get me again?

  My skin burns and brain flames at the thought. The bathroom door slams behind me. My flesh is a searing hot pain now. Flinging off all my clothes, I drag my nails up my arms, relishing in the hot pain. It’s not enough. I have to scrub him off. Grabbing a loofah, I do just that until my skin bleeds, aching in sorrow right there with me.

  I glance up catching my reflection in the mirror. My hair. It was supposed to be a curtain of safety and failed me. It pisses me right off, remembering what he stole from me time after time. Flinging open the drawer, I grab a pair of scissors. I’m not tender nor careful as I slash away until it’s all gone.

  Out of nowhere, exhaustion hits me. I slide down the wall until I collapse in the middle of my own storm of chaos. I let the tears finally fall. I hate it when it happens, but in the same sense, it’s a freeing sensation that only lasts a few moments.

  “Baby girl, are you okay?” A knock sounds, followed by Grandma’s voice.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, just finishing up.”

  It’s a lie, just like everything else in my life.

  “Love you more, Frankie Girl.”

  “I love you, too,” I respond in a cracked and defeated voice.

  I scramble with my heart swallowing me whole to clean up the hair and broken matters. My chest clutches and scratches at itself like a storm that has no control. I’ve lost all sense of everything. After everything is cleaned up except for me, my soul, and diseased self, I open the door, tugging down on the strings to my hoodie.

  Tears. Genuine, real, hot, greedy wetness wells in my eyes and spills over. Grandma will be crushed seeing my hair gone. It’s been our thing, our pasttime of her braiding and re-braiding my hair no matter how old I am. It was ours and even the devil was able to rip that sacred piece of my life away. He has taken everything from me.

  I just didn’t know how much.

  Grandma is curled up in her blankets by the time I make it to her room.

  “Grandma,” I whisper. Her night lamp is still beaming bright with her Bible closed on her bedside table. It’s never closed before she falls asleep.

  She doesn’t respond. I creep over to her lamp flicking it off. She doesn’t move. The steady rise and fall of her chest reassures me as I round back to the bottom of the bed, bringing her blankets up and over her. Again she doesn’t rustle or move. I chalk it up to her age and the day’s event, not to mention, the several errands we did. The ceremony was amazing and she deserved every ounce of glory that was sent her way. My nails reach up under my hoodie, raking at my tender, sore flesh. I ruined it all. The evil snaked its way in, even on the most precious of days.

  I’m exhausted. So tired of everything that I find myself collapsing down in bed next to her. I whisper over and over my favorite childhood bible verse. The one I loved, hated, and still try to muster up an ounce of fondness for.

  I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13.

  It’s never worked, but something tonight tells me I need to hold tight to those words.

  And when I begin to believe the words of God for a few seconds, I whisper the whole truth to my grandma. The reason why I can’t go outside. I let my hopes, fears, and wishes float free, too. He ripped the last shred of me from my being today, and now I have nothing to lose.

  Or at least that’s what I thought.

  Chapter Five

  Frankie

  Grandma’s rooster crows. I pry my eyes open, realizing it’s still dark out. That damn thing has a habit of waking far too early. My hand goes to my hair, running over the uneven short strands. It’s all gone. Now if I can only make everything else vanish along with it. My skin pricks with goose bumps knowing the look of dismay on Grandma’s face when she sees it.

  I let my eyes flutter shut, concentrating on my breathing for long seconds, hoping a few more hours of sleep will come. It doesn’t. The rooster continues to crow. I hear my horse whinny in the far off distance. It’s a reminder of another soul I’ve abandoned over the years.

  I cuddle up to Grandma’s side, throwing my arm over her and once again do my best to coax slumber my way. Minutes pass and I’m still wide awake, refusing to allow venomous thoughts to invade my morning peace. I fight the urge to run my fingertips up and down Grandma’s arm. Her wrinkly, smooth skin always comforts me. I love the feel of it and it always centers me, but I don’t want to wake her up.

  I force my palm to splay out across her stomach. She didn’t even cover up last night, rea
d her Bible, or pin her hair back. It takes only a matter of seconds that race by before I piece the puzzle together. She’s not moving. I can’t feel her breathing or hear her light snoring.

  I bolt up from the bed and the rest is a blur. A fuzzy, messy storm of heartache and fighting to catch my breath.

  “June, help! I need help!” My vocal cords rip in pain. “Help me! She’s not breathing.”

  My fingers go numb around the phone as I rock back and forth screaming and wailing. Her eyes are closed and she’s not moving. My thoughts are scrambled into a melting pot of hurt and despair.

  June says something on the other end and I hear her talking to someone. I don’t process any of it. I can’t even figure out what’s before me. My skin prickles and itches under my hoodie. I throttle the phone across the room. It crashes against a wall crumbling to pieces like my life right before my eyes.

  The screams escaping from my body are silent. Blood drains down my arms as I collapse on my grandma. Tears I’ve held in forever flow out onto her clothing and they mean nothing right now. Not a damn thing. Nothing does because the one person I lived for and did my best to keep everything together for is dead.

  “Sheriff Cray, anyone in there?” A loud pounding on the door ensues. “Going to ask one more time before I come in.”

  Chapter Six

  Dalton Cray

  Still have a damn hard time believing this is my life. Never had a doubt going into law enforcement was my end game. The family I was raised in set me straight on that course. It’s so fucked up I never look back to try to process it. But being the sheriff of Birch Creek was never on the list. The tiny ass town just two hours from the place I grew up. It’s too close to the heart of the ranch where my story began.

  You could say it fell into my lap when I came back home over a year ago to take care of my Uncle Preacher on his ranch twenty miles from Birch Creek. Preach has a main ranch and a few calf ranches with cabins on them. He’s nearing his late sixties and still thinks he can cowboy the same as he did back in the day. He loves his cows, weed, and whiskey. He’s a simple man. He did so much for me growing up that I didn’t even think twice about coming to keep an eye on him. Preach doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I’m a tight ass and just living off him. He loves giving me hell for it. I’d never hurt his ego.

  This small one-horse town is odd as hell. They protect theirs and I’m starting to wonder if they do it a bit too much. No one had the balls to run for the office. Seems no one wants the burden of following in Sheriff Jones’s footsteps or deciding to grow a backbone.

  The old sheriff isn’t a bad guy, but not a good one either. When he retired, I was elected. Not one other soul ran against me. It all reeks a bit too much of abuse of power and the good ol’ boys running the town the way they want.

  I still find myself scratching my head, wondering why in the hell no other deputies ran. Figured since I’m stuck here I might as well make the best of it. It’s far from the fast-paced thrilling chaos of Dallas. But I’m finding there are parts I love and some I can do without.

  I kill the engine of my truck in the driveway of the house number that Jones told me. Call it dumb luck but I was on the way to the station, unable to sleep. It’s a common occurrence in my daily life, and I just happened to be a block away from the house he told me about. He didn’t give me any details. He’s out of town on vacation with just his wife and claimed his daughter called him, panicked about her best friend. I don’t have time to think too much about what I’m walking into when I spot the car in the drive.

  It’s the same one the girl from the ceremony got into yesterday. Something set off inside me when I ran into her. I can’t place it. Call it intuition. She’s silently screaming. I have no idea what it is. It could be drugs, hell, she could be hiding something, or shit could be simple teenage drama. All I know was that something wasn’t right. One thing I’ve learned is that you can never assume. There’s always a hidden truth under layers of deceit and pain.

  I rap on the door, hollering out my name a few times. I’m fairly certain I can chalk this up to teen drama in this quiet part of the neighborhood. A line of houses borders the city limits with their backyards in the country. Each place has a pasture and run-down barns that the owners have painted and kept up the best they can without tearing them down. It’s a simple grace, restoring the history of these parts.

  I grit my teeth in frustration, but then remind myself of the Golden Rule. You can never assume. Not being able to sleep sure as shit hasn’t been helping with my mood. Little things around this town set me off even when I know they shouldn’t. It also could be the fact I’m not the type of person to run things the way they’ve always been. That’s just plain, straight out bullshit that leads to something very dangerous and poisonous.

  No one answers the door. I twist the knob, finding it locked and then listen for a few beats. It’s dead silent. I pound a few more times hollering out my name. June flies up the driveway, sprinting with her arms pumping fast and tears streaking down her face. A set of keys jingle in her hands and before I know it she has the door unlocked and is racing in. I follow her, unable to get in front of her.

  Reality kicks in that this young girl is in front of me and I have no clue what lies before us. I outstep her in two paces pushing her back.

  “Last door on the right. Hurry.” She shoves her tiny palm in my back.

  I turn to her, brows scrunching together, little to no patience for this. “Stay here.”

  She opens her mouth to argue, but I shake my head, allowing no room for argument. I place my hand on the gun on my hip, continuing to walk down the hall. I holler out my presence one more time.

  Light whimpers come from the room June indicated. A weird feeling in my gut twists. This is not teenage drama; I’d bet my badge on it. Gun drawn, I twist around the corner to find a scene I never would’ve guessed.

  A girl. Upon closer look, the girl is on her knees above a still body. Blood. There’s blood. I remain frozen, taking in the scene. When I look closer, the blood is coming from the girl’s arms, none from the woman on the bed.

  I clear my throat. “Sheriff Cray.”

  I have no fucking idea where those words come from.

  “She’s-She’s dead.” A hollow whisper fills the room before she collapses on the older woman. Her tiny body is wracked with sobs that would hurt anyone’s heart.

  I walk near the bed until I’m close enough to feel for a pulse, only to find none. I kneel before the bed and glance at the young girl.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Can I come in?” June hollers from the hall.

  “Not yet,” I growl, staring over at the door. I need to get all the information and details before that little hurricane storms in.

  I glance back to the girl huddled on the older woman. She has her face buried on her side making it impossible to make eye contact.

  “I’m going to need you to tell me what exactly happened here.”

  I’m shocked when she talks, her voice so tiny I can barely make out each and every word.

  “She went to bed early. I thought she was exhausted from the day’s events. She reads her Bible every night and it wasn’t even cracked open. When I woke up, she wasn’t breathing.”

  “Okay.” I nod even though she’s not looking at me. “What happened to your hair?”

  This gets her attention. She rises up in a flash, blood still trickling down her arms, with her hands going straight to the short hair on the top of her head. Sobs well up in her until they come out in a crashing wreck. Self-harm, hacking her hair off, and a death, possibly murder. This isn’t going to be pretty and it’s far from drama.

  “June!” I holler. “Come on in.”

  June races in and is on the bed in the blink of an eye. I stand up and take a step back doing my best to piece the puzzle together and coming up empty-handed. I don’t sense any foul play at all. But this girl is hurt. I’ve seen this one other time back in high s
chool with my younger sister, Saige. Can’t let myself fucking go there right now.

  “What did you do?” June grabs her friend, bringing her to her chest.

  This comment gets my attention, causing me to tuck my phone back into my pocket.

  “Your hair and you hurt yourself again, Frankie May. What happened?” She squeezes her eyes shut, her own tears flowing down her face. “You have to talk one day. You have to tell me where my best friend went.”

  * * *

  “The results are in, Sheriff.”

  I glance up from reading everything I’ve found on Louise and her granddaughter. There’s a shit ton of articles centering around them. Well, mainly Louise and all of her volunteer hours. It seems Frankie began to disappear around the age of thirteen at my guess. She faded from articles in the church bulletin, school newspaper, and other local periodicals.

  I nod, gripping my coffee mug and take a gulp of the cold shit coffee.

  “Coroner report says massive heart attack.”

  The chair squeaks and squawks as I lean back. The office furniture in this place more than likely served the likes of George Washington’s crew.

  “No foul play?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “None,” the young Deputy Wilcox answers. He’s fresh from school and over-eager to get the job done. I’ve often wondered why the old sheriff didn’t hold out for him. If I was a betting man, it would be the fact his family isn’t too influential around these parts. It’s just the way shit works in areas like these.

  “What do you know about the granddaughter?”

  He leans on the doorjamb crossing his arms. Wilcox shakes his head before speaking. “She was close to me in school.” He scratches his head. “Well, no, she was quite a few years behind me, I think. Know something happened and she quit going to school. Town folks chalked it up to her having pretty bad anxiety and her grandma doing nothing but babying her, indulging her every need. You know, like a pity party type deal. That’s all I know.”