Threat of Darkness

by Valerie Hansen

  “No black-and-whites yet,” John remarked. “Looks like we beat the reinforcements.”

  “We don’t have to wait for backup, do we?”

  “No. Just let me go in first,” he said, surprised to see her fall back at the door so he could pass. Apparently, she did have some sense when it came to self-preservation, although he sure hadn’t seen much sign of it before now.

  “I’ll go check our computers to see if we’ve gotten a legal hold order yet,” Sam said. Veering off toward the office area she called over her shoulder, “Danny’s down the south hall, room one-ten. Meet you there in a few minutes.”

  “Got it.”

  John was just short of breaking into a run. Keeping his impatience under control wasn’t easy. He shortened his strides, then slowed even more. One-oh-six, one-oh-eight… There it was. One-ten.

  The door was closed but a thin, pale, young nurse was standing in the hallway, wringing her hands and looking upset enough that it caused him to hesitate and ask, “What’s going on?”

  “It’s awful.” She eyed his uniform, her frightened gaze lingering on his badge. “I’m so glad you’re here. Dr. Weiss is arguing with a parent. He sent me out of the room and told me to call Social Services. When I came back they were yelling so loud I was afraid to interrupt.”

  “Okay. I’ll take over. You go outside and wait for the other deputies so you can direct them to the right place.”

  “Yes, sir. Gladly.”

  John paused barely long enough for the panicky nurse to make herself scarce, then knocked. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, he pushed open the door and placed himself squarely in the doorway. “Evening, folks. Is there a problem?”

  Ben Southerland turned from confronting Dr. Weiss, rounded on John and shook his fist. “Go away. We don’t need the cops. There wouldn’t be any problem if these bureaucrats would stop insisting on useless red tape. If they don’t get their act together in the next few minutes I’m going to take my son and leave, with or without permission.”

  “I’m sure the hospital has the boy’s best interests at heart,” John said calmly.

  “He’s a minor. I’m his father. And if I say he’s leaving with me, he’s leaving with me.” Pivoting, the man reached for Danny.

  Instead of waiting meekly for capture, the child ducked, scooted beneath the covers then scrambled to the foot of the bed where there was a gap between the footboard and the side rail.

  John saw him slide to the floor, then clamber under the bed and draw himself up into a ball, thin arms wrapped tightly around his bent, knobby knees.

  Roaring displeasure, Southerland circled the bed and made a wild grab for the child.

  Danny bolted.

  John lunged and snagged him around the waist in passing. For a second he wondered if he’d tangled with a bobcat instead of a slightly built seven-year-old. The boy went wild, shrieking, kicking and thrashing so forcefully John was afraid he’d hurt himself, not to mention inflict damage on his erstwhile rescuer.

  “Easy,” John kept saying, but there was certainly nothing easy about containing this frantic child. Between the pummeling punishment of the small fists and feet and trying to keep Danny out of his father’s grasp, John was rapidly running out of options.

  Southerland shoved the doctor out of the way and made a grab for John’s arm. “Let go of my son.”

  He dodged. “I will, as soon as everybody calms down.”

  That promise did nothing to placate either the man or the boy. Every new effort Ben made led to renewed attempts to escape and the terrified child began to wail.

  John saw the irate father draw back his arm. He swiveled to shield Danny and took the full force of the blow to the side of his head near the temple. It staggered him. He faltered, loosening his hold.

  Danny hit the floor running—and barreled right into Samantha’s open arms.

  Stunned but still conscious, John saw the tiled floor coming up to greet him. He caught himself on his hands and knees and shook his head to try to clear it. People were moving and shouting within his sphere of vision, yet their actions didn’t seem to make sense. At least not enough to allow him to act.

  * * *

  Southerland bent over John and managed to wrest his sidearm from its holster. He straightened, casting about as if he were hardly aware of where he was or what he was doing.

  Samantha saw a wildness in his eyes, blind futility coupled with the determination to escape no matter how high the cost.

  He swung around and pointed the gun directly at her! Samantha pivoted to try to protect the little boy but she knew that any bullet fired from that short a distance could easily pass through her body and still wound the child, perhaps fatally.

  She wanted to run but her feet stayed rooted to the floor. Danny clung to her and sobbed as if his little heart was breaking. So was hers. She just hoped she’d live long enough to see him permanently removed from the hazardous environment in which he had spent his early years.

  All she could think to do was hold him tight and pray without words, reaching out to God as if He were a life preserver and she was drowning in a bottomless well.

  Her pulse beat in her ears until it drowned out reality. Clinging to the child, she waited, wondering if this was going to be the instant she drew her final breath.

  The room was spinning. Time stood still. Then, she realized she was hearing rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway and fading away.

  She chanced a look. Danny’s father was gone. And so was the doctor.

  * * *

  John recognized the voice calling his name. It was Samantha. And she sounded worried. If Southerland was unhinged enough to take a swing at a uniformed officer of the law, there was no telling what else he might do.

  Leaning on the bedstead, John pulled himself up and blinked to clear his vision. Samantha was still standing by the open door with the child clinging to her. He reached to rest his palm on the butt of his sidearm, just in case—and found an empty holster!

  That was enough of a shock to supply a jolt of head-clearing adrenaline. John tensed. Scanned the room. He and Sam were the only adults present.

  “Where did everybody go?” John asked.

  She shook her head and quickly came to his side. “I don’t know. Ben looked as surprised as the rest of us were when you went down. Then he grabbed your gun and started waving it around. I was afraid he was going to shoot us all but he ran instead. I guess Dr. Weiss followed him.”

  Reassuring the child as she placed him back in bed, she studied John’s pupils and gently cupped his cheek. “Look straight at me.”

  “I’m fine. He just blindsided me, that’s all.”

  “You took the blow meant for someone else.”

  “It won’t matter what excuse the guy decides to give for swinging. Assault on a cop will land him in jail.” John reached for the radio clipped to his belt, reported the threat of an armed and dangerous suspect and gave Southerland’s description. In the distance, sirens already wailed.

  Samantha folded her arms across her chest and gave him a lopsided smile. “That went well, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, great.” He eyed the quivering child who had once again assumed the balled-up pose he’d struck while hiding under the bed. “Suppose you introduce me to Danny here and tell him I’m one of the good guys. I’d hate to have to go through another wrestling match with him. He is one tough kid.”

  “Gladly.” The expression of gentleness and empathy on Sam’s face as she addressed the little boy touched John’s heart. “This is the kind of nice person I was talking about when I said police officers are your friends, Danny. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. He was trying to help you.”

  Tears were sliding down the child’s flushed cheeks. “Daddy hi
t him.”

  “Yes, he did. And he’s going to be in trouble for doing that,” Samantha explained. “It’s not right to hit.”

  “My daddy hits me.”

  “We know,” she said. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore right now if you don’t want to.”

  John was puzzled until she turned her glance his way and explained, “The court order came through via fax while I was in the office a few minutes ago. Danny won’t be going home until the authorities determine it’s totally safe for him there.”

  From the doorway there came a sharp intake of breath. Auburn-haired Lindy Southerland, Ben’s wife, was standing there, trembling and gaping at them as if she couldn’t decide whether to stand her ground or turn and flee.

  Danny spied her, shouted, “Mama!” jumped off the bed, raced across the room and leaped into her open arms.

  She held him close for a few moments, whispered soothing words and stroked his back to comfort him, then looked up.

  There were tears in her wide, green eyes when she focused on Samantha and John to ask, “What do you mean he can’t go home? What have you done to my baby?”

  TEN

  The timely arrival of social worker Brenda Connors saved Samantha from having to explain the details of the legal protection order to the distraught mother.

  Instead, Sam stuck with John to make sure he was going to be all right. As soon as he had spoken with the first of the newly arrived officers regarding his role in the altercation, she took his arm and directed him down the hall to the E.R.

  While Samantha was helping fill out the necessary paperwork, another nurse ordered him onto a gurney, took his vitals and put an ice pack on his temple.

  Samantha was pleased to see that his color was good when she rejoined him a few minutes later. “How do you feel?”

  “Besides embarrassed, you mean?” He winced and shifted the ice pack.

  “Yeah. Besides that. Any headache, blurred vision, other unusual symptoms?”

  “Not that I can tell.” He started to try to get up.

  “Hold it, mister. You can’t go anywhere until a doctor sees you.”

  “You know as much as a guy like Weiss would. What became of him, anyway?”

  “Last I heard he was cooling his heels in the staff lounge, sitting there talking to himself.”

  “Good. I’d rather not end up as his patient. He’s probably so mad at me he’d slap me in the hospital just for spite.”

  She shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. “No, he wouldn’t. He may be fooled by his buddy Ben, but he’s still a good doctor. He won’t order any tests or treatment he’s not certain you need.”

  The curtains parted and a younger medical man entered. “Who won’t? Are you two conspiring in here?”

  Smiling a greeting and feeling immensely relieved, she introduced the two men in spite of their official name tags. “John, this is Dr. Adams. He’s new to our staff.”

  To her surprise, her old friend began to eye the broad-shouldered, dark-haired physician as if he were sizing up a rival. Well, well. That was an interesting reaction. It would also be an encouraging one if she were at all eager to renew their formerly close relationship.

  She wasn’t, of course. John Waltham had made his position clear. In thinking back over their recent conversations, she tried to recall one of the many instances when he’d insisted that any attention he paid to her was purely business. For example…

  Samantha almost choked. At that moment she could not bring one single incident to mind. Not one. There had to be some, of course. Otherwise, she’d have to admit that their lack of emotional connection since John’s return to Serenity was entirely her doing.

  That could not possibly be the correct conclusion. She had been the one who’d been left behind. She was the injured party in all this. Wasn’t she?

  Dr. Adams scribbled something on a clipboard, then told John he’d be discharged if no other symptoms appeared in the ensuing half hour.

  Fifteen minutes later, Walt stuck his head between the curtains of the exam cubicle. Samantha took one look at the grin splitting his weathered face and guessed he’d come to gloat.

  “Lose something, hotshot?” the older man drawled, clearly enjoying his chance to get in a dig.

  “Temporarily misplaced my weapon,” John replied with a wry grimace. “Has there been any sign of it?”

  “Nope. Not so far. The chief is still trying to get a straight story out of the doc who witnessed the attack. According to him, you egged Southerland on and the guy just snapped.”

  Samantha’s ire rose. “That is so not true!”

  “We figured as much. What none of us can understand is how a bean counter got the drop on you.”

  “John was protecting a little boy,” Samantha insisted. “If he hadn’t turned aside when he did, that blow would have hit the child.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I most certainly do say. I saw the whole thing.”

  “Okay. Since you were a witness, too, we’ll need your statement. I’ll go tell the chief.”

  “Fine. You do that.”

  Samantha planned to keep some details of her involvement to herself rather than air them needlessly. When it came time to be specific, however, she was going to have to admit that she had only arrived in time to see Southerland hit John and had not been privy to whatever had occurred in the minutes prior to the blow.

  “How are you really feeling?” Samantha asked him as a physician’s assistant began to check him over one last time and signed off on his head trauma.

  “Dumb. Foolish. Inept. Clumsy. Careless. And I’m sure Walt could add a few more choice opinions. Shall I go on?”

  “I think that about covers it. I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  “I’d trade it for my gun right about now.” He grimaced. “I can’t believe the guy got away with it. I’ve had hardened criminals try moves like that and fail. Now it’ll go on my record that an untrained civilian disarmed me. How will something like that look on my résumé?”

  “Like you’re human.” Samantha sighed. Her own head was pounding and she’d missed supper, but there were more important things on her mind than personal comfort.

  She laid a hand lightly on John’s forearm to make sure she had his full attention. “I really do need to know how you feel. As soon as the chief is done with me I still want to visit Bobby Joe, if you think you’re up to it.”

  Sliding off the edge of the exam table, John grasped both her hands. “Of course. We can kill two birds with one stone. I’ll tell Levi you’ll stop by tomorrow and see him, unless he wants to follow us to the station and take your statement tonight.”

  “Will I really be able to get into the jail? I know I was out of line before when I insisted you had to break the rules for me. I really don’t expect you to do that.”

  “We’ll take a witness in with us. Somebody who’s impartial. As long as you don’t ask Bobby about his crime we should be okay. I figure the kid will have a court-appointed attorney once he’s arraigned but I don’t want to have to wait that long.”

  “Neither do I. We’ve lost a lot of time already.”

  Samantha felt him give her fingers a squeeze before releasing them. She knew she’d had her priorities straight when she’d put aside her search for Brutus to help Danny. It was just frustrating to be unable to do both tasks equally well.

  * * *

  The sun had set by the time they finished speaking with the chief and left the hospital. A waning crescent moon was masked by drifting clouds.

  Samantha knew that Brutus’s dark fur would be almost impossible to spot unless he happened to be standing under a streetlight—and there were none of those anywhere near her farm.
>
  Each moment that brought her closer to the jail also increased her nervousness. Every muscle was taut, every nerve ending firing. Her head pounded. Her palms perspired. She wasn’t afraid of the prisoner, himself; she was afraid he could not, or would not, help her.

  They’d corralled Walt and asked him to meet them at the station. Samantha wasn’t thrilled to have to include the older cop as a witness but since she’d known him all her life, she figured he’d be a better choice than Glenn or Chief Kelso, not to mention Sheriff Allgood, who had a well-earned reputation as a curmudgeon’s curmudgeon.

  They passed through the first locked door and into a dingy hallway lined with several small cells. The antiseptic-smelling place was nothing like the impressive pictures she’d seen of federal prisons, other than sharing a somber atmosphere that was so depressing it made her shudder.

  The forlorn-looking youth sitting cross-legged on a gray blanket atop his cot might have brought a surge of sympathy under other circumstances. Not this time. She figured Bobby Joe’s partners in crime were behind Brutus’s disappearance and that assumption seriously dampened her usual compassion.

  He looked up as Sam paused outside the cell. John and Walt flanked her. The prisoner’s eyes were red rimmed and his whole body trembled as if a web of tangled puppet strings were jerking at it.

  Recognition was slow in coming. He swung his legs off the cot and perched on its edge while he squinted at her. “Sa-Samantha?”

  “Hello, Bobby Joe.”

  “Did my sisters send you?” There was a hopeful tone to the question.

  “No. Nobody sent me. I came to ask if you knew who took my dog.”

  “Your what?”

  She clamped her teeth on her lower lip to stop it from quivering before she continued. “You heard me. My dog. Somebody broke into my house. My old dog is missing.”

  His shoulders slumped and he leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “I thought you came to spring me.”

  “You haven’t had any other visitors?” she asked.