by Mav Skye
Without hesitation, Chloe bolted into a full-blown run, yanking Flip Flop back to the sidewalk. He struggled with her, growling, wanting to dash into the woods and remove the source of the threat, but he also respected Chloe as his Alpha, and she demanded they retreat.
They ran away from the forest back into the safety of street lamps, mailboxes and quiet homes with TV flickers behind soft curtains. Chloe slowed to a walk and eased back into the harbor of old homes and young families nestling in for the night. After a while, Spindler High came into view. She let Flip Flop into the back of her Highlander and settled into the driver’s seat, locking car doors and blasting the heat on high.
It was 9:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night. Chloe wasn’t ready to go back home, but where else could she go? Somewhere where she could get her mind off things, off Wes and her Aunt. She rested her face against her hands on the steering wheel. An idea flitted into her mind, and she acted on it.
Twenty minutes later, Chloe pulled into the gravel driveway beside the small parole office. It wasn’t directly behind the police station but nestled between a restored Victorian home used as an antique store and a vacuum and sewing machine repair shop.
She left Flip Flop in the warm SUV and stepped out into the crisp night. The darkness was no longer welcoming as it had felt earlier when she walked down Spindler streets, remembering that feel of bursting through school doors toward the freedom of summer break. No, that feeling had disappeared with the moving shadows in the woods. Now the night was haunting and crawling with the unknown, and Chloe couldn’t get inside the building fast enough. She flashed her badge in front of the security lock on the entry door. It beeped, and the locks slid aside, letting her in. The automatic fluorescent lights flickered on. Chloe squinted and let her eyes adjust before moving around the reception area. Her attention was drawn to the accent table. On top was a coffee pot, a wire basket full of tea and hot cocoa packets, a second wire basket containing creamer and sugar with a divider in between, and a stack of paper coffee cups. Coffee sounded good, but she decided to skip it and moved around the reception desk through a hall and into the back portion of the building that held the office section. Her desk was tucked into the rear corner. In the opposite corner was Captain Ben’s tiny office.
It was empty at this time of night—heck, it was mostly empty during the day as there was only herself, Officer Wallop, her boss, and the secretary who worked out of this office.
She went to her desk and sat down. A bobblehead snake, a gift from Chev last Christmas, nodded its head at her with a split tongue. It reminded her of Alicia’s tattoo. She withdrew a pencil and pad from the desk drawer and set it down beside her keyboard. The monitor flickered on. Picking up the pencil, she scribbled the name Thomas Slade on the notepad. She tapped at the paper with the tip of the pencil, before writing Night Devils, then girlfriend.
She typed Thomas’ name into the National Crime Information Center, otherwise known as NCIC. His name popped up, and she scanned through the narrative and detective’s notes.
The notes were straightforward and simple; Obviously, the detective had been bribed to keep it short, sweet, and damning enough for the judge to make a swift decision.
At first, Chloe found nothing she hadn’t scanned before until she noticed several spaces down from the last interview, a note written in tiny font.
Alicia Meyers. Serene?
Chloe wrote down the woman’s name on her pad. She wrote down the word Serene with a question mark after it just as it was in the detective’s notes. Then she tapped the pencil against her lip twice, before writing: Serene Meyers.
She clicked out of NCIS, and tapped over to NamUs, the abbreviation of National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, and was about to type in Alicia Meyers, when Chloe changed her mind and decided to do a Google search first instead. She wanted to see what she could scrounge up from the local papers first.
No luck. She clicked a Facebook page of an Alicia Meyers. She was treasurer of a city council in Salem, Oregon. The woman was in her fifties, obviously not the Alicia that Chloe had been looking for.
Chloe tapped at her jaw with the pencil while reading over the police report. Thomas had been arrested in March earlier this year.
She clicked back to the search engine and typed. Alicia Meyers and baby missing March 2016.
She hit pay dirt in a news story from the Albuquerque Times.
March 20th, 2016, a Luke and Colleen Meyers had reported their daughter, Alicia Meyers and one-month-old granddaughter, Serene Meyers, missing. They filed a report, but state the police would not take it seriously since there was no evidence to suggest foul play.
Colleen Meyers stated that Alicia had moved back home shortly after the birth of her daughter and had filled out several job applications, but then Alicia had disappeared unexpectedly. Her mother also stated that a few clothes and her backpack were also gone, along with a package of diapers, leading police to believe she had left of her free will. Despite this, Colleen and Luke both felt that Alicia and Serene were in danger at the time of their disappearance.
Neither parent had had contact with Alicia since then.
The parents thanked Albuquerque Times for publishing the stories and asked the public to keep an eye out for their daughter.
Chloe clicked on the picture of Alicia and the baby. Alicia was in her early twenties. She had sea-green eyes, wavy sun-kissed hair, and a dazzling smile. She held a sleeping infant in her arms. The baby was dressed in a simple white dress with a darling bluebell pattern.
Chloe swallowed hard. There was so much life in Alicia’s eyes and obvious happiness and pride in her new daughter. What could have happened to her? And why?
She zoomed in on the picture. A nagging in her gut told her she’d seen this face before, but where? Perhaps in California? She was still working on the streets as a cop back then. Perhaps she’d pulled the woman over or seen her on a street corner.
So many questions in the last few days and not a single answer. Chloe pushed away the vision of Tanya and Wes arguing over the medication bottle in the living room, and the clown in the hospital who told the police that her tackle was a performance stunt.
Chloe chewed on her lip, staring at the picture of Alicia for a bit longer. She hit print, picked up her notepad and walked over to the printer.
The printer spat the photo out onto its tray. Chloe bent to retrieve it when her boss shuffled into the office with several files stacked in his arms. When had he gotten here?
The files blocked Captain Ben’s view of her as he scuffled toward his desk in the opposite corner of the office.
Chloe asked, “Late night, Captain?”
Startled, he shifted the files and turned his gray head toward the sound of her voice. “Oh, Officer Jackson! I didn’t expect to see you here. Didn’t I tell you to stay home today?”
His voice was scolding, but his deep brown eyes sparkled with curiosity. His skin was dark chocolate and ladled with bold wrinkle lines, telling of an adventurous life full of love and sadness.
She shrugged.
Moving slowly, he set the files down on a table. The joints in his hips creaked as he straightened up. He chuckled as he placed his thick fingers on his lower back. “I’m getting old.”
Chloe smiled. “All heroes do.”
His mouth twitched at the side, and again his eyes shone with amusement. “There are better men than me that deserve that title.”
“Not the way Henry tells the story. He says you’re an American Hero.”
He shook his head. “I just did my job.”
“You’re being modest, Captain Ben. Henry said you got those boys through a category five hurricane. The same path that USS Cyclops took. Through that—what do they call it—The Devil’s Triangle?”
Captain Ben nodded at Chloe. “It was quite the storm. Quite indeed. It’s been thirty years since the Navy booted me out, and haven’t been able to shrug the Captain bit since.”
Chloe raised her eyebrow. “Booted? I hea
rd you left.”
Ben put his palms up. “Caught me. I made a promise to my wife Betsy, and I kept that promise.”
Henry had also mentioned that Ben had lost his wife a few years back. He warned Chloe not to bring it up as Ben fell into long periods of depression when thinking about it too much.
“Well, now that my history is out of the way,” Captain Ben searched Chloe’s eyes. “How are you feeling, Jackson?”
“Better. The Doctor said I was fine to come back to work tomorrow.”
Captain Ben began to fold his arms, winced at the movement, then pressed his hands together instead. “About that…”
“What?”
“Your therapist, a Doctor Morgan, called and recommended you take time off.”
“What?” Chloe’s jaw dropped. “How dare he?”
Captain Ben put up his hands. “Now, now… I contacted the Doctor at the hospital here. He’s an old buddy of mine. We served together back in the 80’s. Good man. He mentioned anxiety.”
Chloe opened her mouth to explain, and Ben swept his hand aside with an authoritative air. “Hold your horses and let me finish. Now, I talked to your doctor, and he said you had an anxiety attack at home, then a weird little to-do with a Carnival Circus clown at the hospital.”
Chloe put her palm to her forehead. “I can explain...”
“Let me finish for Pete’s sake.”
Chloe hushed and followed him as he walked back over to the reception area. He fumbled to open the lid of the coffee pot, but his thick fingers refused to bend.
“Here, let me help with that.” Chloe reached over and flipped the lid up.
“Thank you.” He pulled out the used coffee grounds and dumped it in the trash beneath the accent table. He went to pluck a fresh filter and again, his fingers refused to grasp the flimsy paper.
Chloe bit her lip, wanting to help, not sure if she should offer.
He waggled his fingers at her and said, “My arthritis has been bad this week. It’s hard to believe that I once commanded a ship. Now, I can’t even pick one of these up. I hate to ask, but could you put that filter in for me?”
“Sure,” Chloe stepped forward and plopped the filter in. “It’s no problem at all, Captain.”
When Ben took a step back, she scooped the coffee into the filter while he refilled the coffee pot with water from the water cooler and poured it into the machine. Chloe flipped the switch on the coffee pot.
He patted her on the back and said, “That’s what I call teamwork.”
Chloe laughed with him, feeling more at ease.
He leaned back against the table. “Now, the doctor at the hospital thought it was fine for you to come to work so long as you stay on the medication he gave you. Are you taking it?”
Chloe nodded.
Ben said, “Alrighty, then. You know, I used to have a little anxiety myself back when I was serving. No particular reason, it came and went as sure as the seasons.”
Chloe put her hands in her coat pocket. “Even during the storms?”
He smiled warmly. “Especially during the storms. The key is not letting it get the better of you. You rise above it.”
“Rise above it?” Chloe frowned.
Captain Ben put his hand on her shoulder, and when he spoke his voice was crisp and comforting as a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven. “‘You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.’”
Chloe glanced back up at Ben, letting the words sink in. “That’s beautiful.”
Captain Ben nodded. “Kahlil Gibran wrote that. I used to read his poetry when my anxiety was at its worst. It’s easy when you’re just coasting along without a worry and nothing to lose. It isn’t until we have everything to lose that we are challenged. And though that storm may rage outside, we still have a choice,” he pointed to his heart, “in here. We can choose to either rise above or sink into the sea.”
Rise or sink? In the past, Chloe was sure she had sunk. She’d sunk into the yawning abyss that ate her memories, but this time she wanted to rise. She wanted to endure the storm of memory and rise above it.
Captain Ben stood silently beside her, letting her collect her thoughts.
After a minute, Chloe said, “Thank you, Captain.”
“Aw, think nothing of it.” His face filled with compassion. “I imagine the stress of moving, a new job, your kids in a new school and your husband starting his own business is enough to make anyone go mad. So, consider this a friendly warning.”
Chloe said, “You’ll let me work then?”
He waved his hand at her. “Of course, I’ll let you work. Anxiety doesn’t worry me too much,” he raised an eyebrow at her, “but I tell you what does.”
“What?” Chloe felt guilt, knowing she would have killed that clown if they’d had let her. But her boss didn’t need to know that, and the medication did make her feel stable, quieter.
“Clowns.”
Chloe turned to him. “Excuse me, Captain?”
“Doc told me you performed a little show at the hospital with one. Said it wasn’t very funny either.”
Chloe bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t lie, but she couldn’t tell the truth either.
He said, “Those clowns are bad business. Been selling meth to dealers in Canada ever since the clown association moved up here a few years back. That Carnival Circus might as well be hell on earth far as I’m concerned. Besides, clowns scare me. Freaky as fuck.” He suddenly looked as if he’d been scolded, “Excuse my language. My wife taught me never to swear in front of a lady.”
Chloe grinned. “I’m not fond of clowns either, Captain.”
The coffee pot let out a last huff, and beeped. Captain Ben picked up a paper cup and filled it, then offered it to Chloe.
“Thank you.”
Captain Ben said, “My pleasure,” as he filled himself a cup. They both sipped the warm brew at the same time.
Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Not bad.”
He said, “Not bad at all.” He took another sip, then thought for a minute before saying, “This clown you did a stunt with. You know him well?”
Chloe shook her head. “No?”
He looked at her. “They’ve been up to something the last few months. We’ve been seeing them around more, seem to revolve around the block near Spindler Credit Union, and not just depositing their paychecks either. Almost like they’re scoping out the place. The City Police have put extra eyes on the bank, but they are running low on manpower as it is and domestic violence has been up and keeping us busy. All that to say, if you hear any extra riff-raff from your parolees let me know. I got a bad feeling something big is in the works.”
“Sure thing, Captain.” Chloe sipped her coffee. The paper rustled in her hands. He noticed and said, “Who’s that?”
“Oh, her name’s Alicia Meyers, sir. A missing person’s case I’m looking into.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s have a look.” He held his hand out, and Chloe handed over the photograph.
Captain Ben studied it. “Pretty young woman, still full of life.” He pointed at the baby. “What a tiny one. Did the baby go missing with her?”
“Uh huh, early March of this year. Disappeared from her parent’s home in Albuquerque, New Mexico.”
“Hmm…” he said, “Sounds familiar. What interest is it of yours?”
“She’s a girlfriend of a parolee of mine, Thomas Slade. The baby is his as well.”
He nodded. “Yep, I know the one. Rode with the Night Devils, didn’t he?”
Chloe said, “Uh huh. He says Alicia and the baby went missing two nights before the gang planted five pounds of coke on his bike and made an anonymous tip to the police.”
Captain Ben raised his eyebrow. “Planted?”
“Uh, he claims that is what happened.”
“I don’t recall reading that in the repo
rts.”
“No, the detectives didn’t mention it. I think they may have been bribed.”
“That’s a big accusation.”
“Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
“True.” Captain Ben thought for a minute. “He wasn’t in for long was he?”
“Out on good behavior six months in.”
“Hmm..” Ben nodded his head and handed the photograph back. “These criminals will tell all sorts of stories to get your attention and sympathy. Be careful they don’t use you, Chloe. Ol’ Henry Perkins spoke highly of you, and I can tell you care about your parolees, but don’t let them get the better of you. Chances are Thomas is lying.”
“I see your point, Captain, but this woman,” Chloe tapped on the photograph, “did go missing, and about the time of Thomas’ arrest.”
Ben nodded his head and looked at the picture. “A damn shame. What are you thinking?”
Chloe said, “I’d like permission to look into her case. I think it would help my parolee settle back into society if he knew she was okay.”
He patted her on the back. “I knew that hiring you was the right thing to do, Chloe. You have my permission to do what you need to look into the case—providing you do it on your own time, of course.”
“Of course. Thank you, Captain.”
She went to leave, and he said, “Jackson, stay on your meds. I’d like to keep you around.”
Chloe met his eyes and appreciated the kindness she found there. She brought her hand to her temple and clicked her feet together. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
He laughed. “Get out of here, smart ass.”
Chloe folded up the photograph, smiling, threw her empty paper cup in the recycling and walked over to the entrance. As she opened the door to leave, she turned back to Ben. “What about you, Captain?”
He was refilling his cup. “Me?”
“It’s almost midnight.”
He turned back around with the coffee. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “Lost my Betsy five years ago to cancer. Nights like these, when the moon is out, and stars fill the sky, I miss her. I was trained in celestial navigation, you know.”
“Did the Navy teach you that?”