Valiant

by Bradley Carter

  Recently, he and I were called to a woman’s home in the middle of the night on a report for a missing young girl, the same one we later found strangled in a ditch. That night, I had witnessed a younger blonde man with glasses, sneaking from behind a tree near the home. He was carrying a sledgehammer with a red handle, trying to conceal it beside his leg. Those who spoke of him only knew him by his street name—Craze.

  Cole held back, but followed the man to a place once thought to be where the missing children were held. As it turns out, Craze was working for El Toro, and the two confronted a snooping Officer Cole outside of an abandoned building. He told the detectives the two criminals escaped him, disappearing into the night. I guess it’s plausible, but it seems unlikely the Devil and his hired gun would run away from the threat of a sole policeman. Call it another of the human body’s senses, other than the five we know of. Personally, I wonder if they somehow didn’t threaten either his life, or his son’s. Children can be leverage.

  Shortly after that night, Craze’s body was found at the bottom of a hotel swimming pool. So I can understand if Cole was too frightened to tell the truth. It’s hard to tell. He’s neither the most confident nor the most personal friend I have. He doesn’t ask how things are going with me or if I’m doing okay, and in a way, I’m glad. It’s not that he doesn’t care, but he never thinks to ask. Despite his lack of communication skills, he’s still the Officer Cole we all know and love.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asks.

  Austin unzips his backpack and slides his job application into a folder.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” he replies.

  Haylee pushes her chair back and leans over to plug her cellphone charger in the wall socket underneath the table. Austin passes by his father, seeing him staring at Haylee and notices Cole’s fidgeting has stopped.

  “I’ll be right back,” says Austin, snickering.

  His cellphone buzzes again. Haylee watches as he snatches it from the table, shoving it in his pocket. Gathering her things, she goes to her bedroom to put them away. Cole turns to look over his shoulder and out the windows. His head stretches to the side so he can see around the corners, like he’s looking for something.

  “You’re off tonight?” I ask.

  Cole’s face whips back to me. His eyes float down to his folded hands.

  “No, no,” he replies. “I took a trade.”

  “How’s the smoking?” I ask, taking a sip from my cup.

  Nodding, still watching himself pick at his fingernails, he replies.

  “It’s been almost a week. It’s rough but you know—”

  “Oh shit…” I say.

  Cole’s head lifts to see me set my cup on the counter.

  “…I need my jacket.”

  Hurrying off, I’m the last to leave Cole alone in the dining room. He scans the room. His son’s backpack lay open next to a chair. In a hurry, Cole removes a textbook and rushes over to the sofa to stuff it deep behind a cushion. Checking again to make sure no one would see, he hustles to the front window and flips the lock to open.

  The sound of a toilet flushing comes from behind the bathroom door, and a beat later, Austin comes out to get his things. Haylee makes her way back as well, passing me as I reach for my keys and duffle bag.

  “I’ll see you later,” says Austin, winking to her.

  She smiles, but her face goes straight when he turns his back to leave.

  We’ve all experienced the distrust of someone we care about. You try and tell yourself it’s all in your head, but then the signs tell you otherwise. Things don’t seem to add up. They don’t make sense. Why would Austin be so protective of his phone? I want to sit Haylee down and talk to her about it. I’ve always been there to listen and give advice to make her feel better. It’s a talk I should offer to have if I weren’t in such a hurry to leave for work.

  I give her a hug and tell her to lock the doors and not to answer it for anyone. We have yet to talk about the abductions. It’s something else I plan to sit her down for. There’s no doubt she’s heard things from her friends and classmates. The victims are all children close to her age. But Haylee’s smart. I can leave her alone at home, confident she would know what to do if anything bad were to happen.

  4. BURN THE BULL (Part 1)

  AFGHANISTAN - 2004

  Every species of life recognizes danger. They all experience fear, but not all can escape.

  A scorpion hustled away across the sand under the shadow of the man. The tiny creature’s body crunched under the weight of a black laced boot and was left lifeless in broken parts to bake in the open sun.

  A line of twelve Afghani men and women stretched along a wall, hunched over with their faces above their knees. The chains linking them together rattled from the trembling of their hands. Drops of sweat and tears fell from their faces, leaving darkened spots in the sand.

  A tall shadow cast over each of them as a man paced in front of them. His tight tank top stretched over his muscles and tucked into his tactical pants. The sun beamed its heat over his scalp through his short buzzed hair. With his hands folded together behind has back, he examined each of the bodies shivering with fear at his feet. His skin was tight and rock-hard from the muscles underneath. On the back of his right shoulder, just below the scapula, was a tattoo of a bull’s head and horns.

  Sitting empty in the open space were three wooden boxes, each big enough to hold a body, but only if they were crouched and folded to fit. Each lid was hinged open on top, with metal latches to lock once the box was closed. These boxes were known as ‘blackout boxes’ and were used for torture. A prisoner would be confined inside, with no room to move, and left for hours, sometimes days, in solitude. With no ventilation, these boxes were like an oven inside, but this man had a more dramatic use for them in mind.

  Behind him stood six soldiers. Not one of them held a weapon. They didn’t have to. The prisoners were threatened by the man’s presence and the sight of the empty blackout boxes. They wouldn’t dare fight back.

  Next in the chain of command was Lieutenant Warren Schaeffer. The only of one of a handful who wasn’t afraid to try and rationalize with a crazed psychopath.

  “Captain, this is wrong,” said Schaeffer.

  The Captain stopped, tossed a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, and turned to his Lieutenant. Schaeffer could see his own reflection in the lenses of sunglasses that covered evil eyes.

  “People only care about one thing,” said the Captain. “Themselves. No matter how devoted you think they’ve become to helping you succeed, no matter how many promises they’ve made you, or how much you’ve foolishly grown to trust them, in the end they will betray you. It’s human nature.”

  Schaeffer dropped his head, shaking it.

  “They’re not talking because they don’t know anything. They don’t know anything because they’re not the enemy. These people are allies. There is no reason for them to be here and no reason for you to be torturing them.”

  The Captain’s gum chewing paused and he held a stare at his officer. His face leaned close to the Lieutenant’s neck and he sniffed and then backed away.

  Churning the gum between his teeth, the Captain turned to three soldiers standing next to a small shack and nodded his head to the side. The soldiers disappeared inside and the Captain stood glaring at his Lieutenant as cries came from behind the walls. Screams that came from young lungs. They drew everyone’s attention. These shrieks echoed from the throats of children and into the ears of the men and women chained together—their parents.

  Each couple cried out when their sights fell upon their sons or daughters being dragged from the shack. Cries that translated as terror, no matter in which part of the world they were heard.

  Three of the children were dragged by the hair, kicking and screaming and being shoved into the sand aside each empty wooden box. Their parents pleaded in their native language to let their children go free, but their voices fell deaf on the Captain’s ears. />
  “Everyone knows something.” he said, to Lieutenant Schaeffer. “All you need to do is rip it out of them. There is only one thing people care more about than themselves. Only one thing they will give up their own lives to protect—their children.”

  Nodding to the other soldiers and smacking his gum, the Captain watched as they carried out his orders to lock the each of the young kids in a box. Through tiny holes drilled in the sides, the children could see their parents watching as the bolts clicked shut.

  One man rose to his feet, pushing himself toward his young son’s small wooden prison, and dragging the other parents along beside him. The Captain took a step and slammed his tight fist into the prisoner’s face, knocking him unconscious. Still chewing his gum, he gripped the front of the man’s robe and drew one hand back, unleashing a smack of it across the sleeping man’s face, barely waking him up.

  “You don’t want to miss this!”

  Schaffer stood frozen as his superior leaned behind one of the boxes and lifted a plastic squirt bottle filled with a clear yellow liquid. As each box was doused with fluid, the mother’s cries echoed throughout the desert. Emptying the bottle, the Captain tossed it over his shoulder and grabbed Schaeffer by the throat, holding his face in front of his own.

  “Never question my orders,” he said, flicking a butane cigarette lighter he had pulled from his pocket. “You simply follow them and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

  The other soldiers stood watching as the Captain smiled, chewing his gum, and backed away, leaving Schaeffer with the burning lighter in his hand. It went without saying, either the Lieutenant did what he was told or would pay a price of his own.

  5. PANIC

  From the hotel to the nearest pharmacy is a five-minute drive in mild traffic. There’s only one intersection to get through. It’s a two lane road that crosses a highway. The light at the intersection changes from red to green on a timer, as most of them do. To Jace, however, it’s the slowest stoplight in the city.

  Since leaving his hotel room, he had managed to avoid contact with anyone. He left through a side entrance instead of the main lobby to prevent the clerk behind the front desk from seeing him. Hustling across the parking lot, he kept his head down. Once inside his car, he locked the doors before starting the engine. When the key turned, a loud woman’s voice from a morning talk show came through the stereo speakers, startling him. Jace smacked the knob, silencing the radio. He sat for a moment, scanning the lot through his window before driving away.

  The sun still rises in front of him. Even with his hand shielding his eyes, he can still only take split-second glances at the traffic light to see whether or not it’s changed. Speeding from right to left, the vehicles on the highway seem like an endless streak of shadows. A semi trailer zooms by, and Jace’s car rocks from the rush of wind.

  From the right side of his eye, he notices a dark colored van coming to a stop beside him. His head doesn’t turn. He doesn’t move. He sits frozen, staring at the needle resting at zero on the speedometer.

  Heat begins to radiate from under his skin.

  His chest flutters.

  Sweat beads from underneath his hairline.

  Careful not to draw attention, his head slowly moves to get a glimpse of the van waiting at the light beside him. The driver’s side window is down, and a strong muscular arm rests on the steering wheel, but Jace can’t see the driver’s face. His jaw trembles at the site of the decal on the side of the van. A large crooked ‘A’ in the center of a bold circle—The A Corporation.

  With the light still red, Jace slams his foot on the gas pedal. The tires squeal as his car races across the highway. Horns blare and wheels screech when drivers hit their brakes to avoid slamming into Jace’s tiny car. He threads through small open spaces across six lanes, squinting with expectation of getting hit. As his car makes it safely to the other side, Jace looks back in his mirror. The dark van still sits waiting at the light on the other side at the light.

  Jace pulls into a lot outside a grocery store. The pharmacy is at one end of the building, but is only accessible through the main entrance. People are already filling empty parking spots and making their way inside. With sweaty palms, he opens his car door and makes his way inside, blending in with the other customers.

  Not everyone realizes it when it happens, but in crowded areas, people subconsciously look at the new faces entering a room. Usually, they don’t think anything of it. Their minds are occupied with personal thoughts, or their next errand to run. When Jace walks through the door, he can feel all the eyes on him.

  The subtle mumble of shoppers and cashiers goes quiet.

  The beeps from items being scanned at the checkout line fall silent.

  In reality, neither of these things are true. The commotion goes on as it always does. Yet to Jace, every person within his line of sight knows about him running the red light. Every nose can smell his fear and apprehension. Every lip snarls at his presence. Every mind knows exactly what he’s done, and everyone is out to get him.

  He keeps his eyes to the ground, watching one foot move in front of the other toward the pharmacy. It’s a less crowded area than the rest of the market. No one waits in line. At the drop-off window, it takes a minute for the woman to finish what she’s been doing before acknowledging him. The signed prescription shakes between his fingers. He stands unaware of the nibbling of his bottom lip. The woman waves for him to approach, and all of his nervous habits stop once he slides the script across the countertop.

  “Is this your first time taking this medication?” asks the woman.

  Jace nods, looking back over his shoulders.

  “I think so.”

  As the woman’s fingers tap the keyboard, Jace rests his elbow on the edge of the counter and rubs the center of his forehead up and down with the tip of his index finger. His skin is slick from its pores leaking more sweat. The woman’s typing becomes louder. The treble from the music playing over the loudspeaker sounds higher pitched and piercing, but only to his ears.

  “I’ll have the pharmacist speak to you about the side effects when you pick it up,” says the woman. “It appears you have an unfilled prescription on your account from another store. Would you like me to transfer it so you can get that filled here?”

  “How—?” Jace clears his throat. “How long will that take?”

  The rapid pounding of keyboard fingers briefly stops.

  “About twenty minutes. Would you like to wait?”

  Jace nods.

  Inhaling a deep breath through his nose, he finds an empty aisle to browse; preferably, one he can hide in to find something to focus his attention on. He paces through a row of shelves with shaving razors. All kinds, from the cheap plastic kits that leave your skin red and irritated, to the brands claiming to guarantee a smooth shave with three-inline razor technology.

  On the other side of shelves is decongestant. Pills to take for twenty-four hour stuffy nose relief. Saline nasal spray. Antihistamines. Twenty-five milligrams of Benadryl, but the label of ingredients says diphenhydramine. It’s the same as sleep aid, but packaged differently and marketed for allergies.

  In another row are office supplies. Ten red ink pens for $2.99. Black pens for the same price. Computer mice, printer ink cartridges, cellphone screen protectors, all marked up higher than what they would cost at a retail store.

  In the corner of the pharmacy sits a free blood pressure machine. There’s no need for Jace to use it, since he can feel each pulse pounding through his neck. With two fingers pressed against the side of his neck, he counts. His pulse races faster and faster. A tightening sensation pulls in the center of his chest.

  A young boy passes by, walking alongside his mother. From the back, the kid looks familiar. Flashes come from inside Jace’s head of the kid screaming and reaching.

  The music from the speakers in the ceiling becomes louder, piercing his eardrums.

  He smashes a fingertip in both, but the sound comes from insid
e his head.

  He clinches a fist, feeling the clamminess of his hands.

  His lungs breathe faster, sucking in less air each time.

  He takes off, and bolts through the aisles as fast as he can without running.

  He turns a corner, expecting to see front entrance. Instead, he finds himself in a labyrinth of more grocery aisles. The sound of a crying infant seems to come from every row.

  Jace’s hands tingle like millions of pins pricking the skin.

  The fluttering in his chest becomes a steady sharp pain.

  It hurts to breathe.

  Everyone he passes seems to stare.

  Every direction seems to be the same.

  He stops to take a minute to recover, but the longer he stands still, the more paranoid he becomes.

  An elderly couple stand together, examining their grocery list and blocking his path. Jace whizzes passed them, but only to be slowed by three teenage boys walking side by side. With a twist of his body and his hands held up, Jace squeezes between them.

  The sliding glass doors open at just the right moment, as though welcoming him into the fresh air and the open space of the parking lot. Hustling past a stack of plastic shopping baskets, his leg grazes them, knocking them over.

  “Sir?” shouts a clerk from behind the register.

  Jace pays her no mind. His walking becomes a jog and then a run to his car. His head never turns back. Throwing open the door, he falls in the driver’s seat and slams the door and flips the locks.

  Panting alone inside a confined space is more calming to him than being out in the big open world. Watching passersby from his rearview mirror, the tingling of his hands fades away. The pain in his chest dissipates.

  Pulling his cellphone from his pocket, his trembling fingers are barely able to press the correct numbers. The line seems to ring forever. Answering the other end is a woman’s voice. A voice he hasn’t heard for quite some time. The soft voice tries to calm him, telling him she can’t understand what he’s saying. All she can hear is huffing and puffing, as if Jace has run a marathon or finished a workout.