The Light In the Dark

by Craig A. Smith

  “It’s probably about time for you to start getting ready to head home,” Flanigan says.

  “It doesn’t matter if I go home; I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks anyways,” Hugh says as they sit behind their respective desks.

  “Ryan, if this is going to be too much stress for you, get out before you get sick,” Flanigan says, “robbery is stressful, but even though this isn’t a big county, this particular position is going to be a completely different animal.”

  “Believe me,” Hugh says, “I’ll be fine. If I tell you something, do you promise not to share it with anyone else for a while?” Flanigan looks perplexed.

  “I can’t promise that Ryan,” Flanigan says, “if it’s something illegal or…”

  Hugh interrupts him before he can finish his sentence, “No Jim, I promise you that it is nothing like that, it’s more of a personal issue, I just don’t want everyone looking at me like they are sorry for me… that’s all.” Flanigan gets out of his chair and walks over to Hugh’s desk. He sits on the corner of the desk in anticipation.

  “Okay,” Flanigan says, “I am all ears.”

  “I have a sick child Jim,” Hugh confesses, “my son Jeffrey has terminal cancer.” Flanigan is shocked; a look of devastation comes over him.

  “We found out a few weeks ago,” Hugh says, “he broke his arm on the playground and we took him to the hospital. We found out that cancer had spread throughout his little body before we even knew it was there.” Hugh begins crying and stuttering, “Thh… Thh… This is all I’ve got Jim. All I’ve got. When I’m not working, all I think about is my son.” Flanigan tries to stay composed, but he cannot hold back the tears.

  “My God Ryan,” Flanigan says, “how old is he?”

  “Five,” Hugh says, “he’s only five years old.” Flanigan takes a moment to process.

  “You at least need to see someone, maybe a psychologist or something about this Ryan,” Flanigan says.

  “No,” Hugh says, “If I tell them they will tell me that I need to take leave from work and then my wife will start pressuring me to do the same. I just started here and I think that I would lose my mind if I had twenty four hours a day to focus on it. Sometimes I get so damned angry, you know. Why couldn’t it be me instead of him? God can be so cruel.”

  “So you think that God could do something like that?” Flanigan asks.

  “If he didn’t do it,” Hugh says, “he sure as hell let it happen didn’t he?” Flanigan puts a crime scene photo in front of Hugh.

  “So I guess this is the work of God as well,” Flanigan says. Hugh looks at the photo and shakes his head.

  “He didn’t do anything to stop it did he?” Hugh asks. “I know that you believe in God, but I am a little more than pissed right now and if I did believe in him I would be really pissed about the fact that he lets such shitty things happen to innocent people.”

  “It’s okay to get angry,” Flanigan says, “but realize that horrible things happen every day. Everything good is what God has done. Anything else, believe me, he is not behind it.”

  “Yeah,” Hugh says, “but regardless of who’s pulling the strings it doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Hugh gathers himself and looks up at Flanigan.

  “You aren’t going to say anything to anybody, are you?” Hugh asks.

  “No,” Jim says, “but you have to take care of yourself kid. You need to sleep; you need to be strong for your wife and child.”

  “I promise I’ll try Jim,” Hugh says.

  The phone rings, Flanigan picks it up. “Pine County Sheriff’s Department, this is Sheriff Flanigan speaking. Okay ma’am I’ll be there in a minute,” Flanigan says as he hangs up the phone.

  “Shit,” Flanigan mutters.

  “Don’t tell me that they already found another set of bodies,” Hugh says.

  “No,” Flanigan chuckles, “are you familiar with Brask?

  “The psychiatric hospital,” Hugh says, “sure, it’s near my house.”

  “Well, we just got a call that some kids escaped and assaulted the staff,” Flanigan says, “I guess I am going to have to make my way down there.”

  “How about you stay here,” Hugh says, “It’s on the way to my house and the hospital; I have to check on Jeffrey anyways. I’d be more than happy to go.”

  “Are you sure?” Flanigan asks.

  “Yeah,” Hugh says, “you have your hands pretty full with this stuff anyways and I’ve done investigations like these several times before.”

  “Thanks Ryan,” Flanigan says.

  “No problem,” Hugh says, “thank you.” Deputy Hugh grabs his briefcase and leaves the room. Flanigan takes a seat at Hugh’s desk and begins meticulously going over the old Butcher case files, the same ones that he has literally combed through several thousand times before.

  Chapter 9

  Miss Charles stands in the parking lot of Brask, enjoying a cigarette. A cruiser pulls into the lot. “Finally,” she thinks. Deputy Hugh emerges from the cruiser as Miss Charles hotboxes her cigarette. He approaches Miss Charles and begins to engage her in conversation.

  “Miss Charles,” Ryan says.

  “Yes sir, that’s me,” she says as she puts out her cigarette out on the ground.

  “My name is Ryan Hugh, you called us about some kids who attacked a staff member and escaped,” Hugh says.

  “Yes sir, we did,” Miss Charles says.

  “Okay I’m going to need some information,” Hugh says, “just to let you know we are going to handle this the same as any other kind of fugitive capture; we find out who we are dealing with, where they might go and then we contact local authorities and issue warrants and statewide bulletins. Obviously we are going to look for those that have been transferred from juvenile corrections first. Do you have any of those kids missing?”

  “All of them were suicidal ideation transfers through juvenile corrections; I have all of the pertinent information in their charts,” Miss Charles says as she motions towards the entrance of the complex.

  “Great,” Hugh says, “Let’s go inside and get started and see if we can get these boys back before morning.”

  They walk into the building. Miss Charles and Deputy Hugh enter the nurse’s station and take their respective seats. Hugh pulls a notepad out of his briefcase and prepares himself to begin note taking.

  “Before we get anywhere regarding the assault charges, I need to file a formal complaint against the assailant; Mr. Kasabian can file,” Hugh says. “Have you talked to Mr. Kasabian yet?”

  “No sir,” Miss Charles says, “from what I know, he’s at the hospital right now. I’m waiting on a call from his family when his condition is better known.”

  “Must’ve been pretty bad… do you have any video of what happened?” Hugh asks.

  “Yes, but just of the kids leaving,” Miss Charles says.

  “No video of the assault?” Hugh asks.

  “No sir,” she says.

  “Did anyone witness the assault?” he asks.

  “No sir,” she says, “nobody except for the other children,” she says.

  “Well, it looks like I am going to have to pay Mr. Kasabian a visit then so we can file charges on whoever was responsible,” he says.

  “That sounds fine,” she says.

  “Well Miss Charles, how about you give me a rundown of who is missing?” Hugh says. Miss Charles pulls out each boys chart and places them in a stack in front of her. She pulls the first chart and begins reading as Hugh tries to keep up.

  “Let’s see here”, she says, “The first juvenile I have here is Drake Bollinger, from Paducah, Kentucky. Mother is deceased from a drug overdose. His father hasn’t been in his life at all based on his conversations in group. We don’t have any information regarding the father’s location; he’s never visited him here. His aunt is pursuing guardianship after his mother passed in Paducah. He was brought here from Juvenile Corrections for suicidal ideation. His rap sheet includes: auto theft at thirteen,
first degree arson at fourteen and his most recent charge was assault with a deadly weapon last year.” She shows Hugh Drake’s picture from his chart. He looks up from writing on his small notepad and motions for her to continue. She grabs the next file and continues.

  “And the second juvenile is Kris Edwards, from here in Pinewood, Kentucky,” she says, “father is a prominent psychiatrist and professor at UK and his mother is a financial advisor. He resides in Pinewood with both of them. He was sent to Juvenile Corrections for bringing a gun to school. He was transferred to us for suicidal ideation. His rap sheet includes: possession of a firearm on school property and terroristic threatening. He is very educated and well read for his age, but very immature and emotionally volatile.” She grabs the next folder.

  “The third from the group is the one that is the most violent,” she says, “Hiram Gutierrez, from

  Richmond, Kentucky. He was brought here from Juvenile Corrections for suicidal ideation. Father and brothers live in Richmond. He killed his mother with a kitchen knife. He has never shown a hint of remorse. Rap sheet includes: murder in the first degree. He has average intelligence, but is rather quiet and withdrawn. Between us, I think he is the most dangerous out of the group.” She grabs the final folder.

  “Now this one just arrived here today, so I haven’t had the opportunity to meet him,” she says, “Tyrone Wilson, from Louisville, Kentucky. He is another one that was transferred from Juvenile Corrections for suicidal ideation. Rap sheet includes: assault in the first degree, possession of marijuana, possession of cocaine with intent to distribute, twelve counts of grand theft and two counts of first degree robbery. Very violent, and we were told by his social worker that since he is a product of the system, he knows how to exploit it.” Hugh finishes writing and begins packing everything into his briefcase.

  “Well Miss Charles, it seems that the dream team of junior criminals just left here this evening,” Hugh says, “I didn’t know that you all took kids like that.”

  “We used to not take so many when the economy was better and more people had insurance,” Miss Charles says, “These juvenile offenders get dumped on us all of the time. The state institutions lose liability when they transfer them to us. Usually we don’t take so many, but our census runs low in the summer; I guess that we just needed some beds filled. Like I said, Wilson just got here this afternoon. Gutierrez has been here for about two months, Edwards and Bollinger have been here for about four months. I’ll make you copies of their addresses,” she says.

  “That would be great,” Hugh says, “I also need names of relatives, dates of birth and socials. I’ll do some work and try to find the addresses of additional family members and hopefully we’ll get this thing sorted out as soon as possible.”

  The phone rings. Miss Charles picks up. “Adolescent Unit, this is Miss Charles, how can I help you? Ed, how’s Jeff… he is… great… okay, can he see visitors? Okay I’m going to send the police up. Yeah, I’ll be right behind them,” she says.

  “Good news, I hope,” Deputy Hugh says.

  “It surely is, Mr. Kasabian is finally awake and talking,” Miss Charles says, “you can follow me up there if you want to.”

  “Let’s go,” Hugh says as he closes his briefcase. Twenty minutes later, Ed, who has been sitting in the hospital waiting room, sees Miss Charles and Deputy Hugh coming out of the elevator. Deputy Hugh walks up to him and shakes his hand.

  “Ed Franklin,” Hugh says.

  “Yes,” Ed answers.

  “You are a lot younger than I thought you would be,” Hugh says.

  “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ed says, “you don’t look ready for retirement yourself.” Hugh smiles and Miss Charles takes a seat next to Ed.

  “How is Jeff doing Ed?” she asks.

  “He’s been awake and talking for about an hour now. Miraculously he got away from all of that with just a concussion and a broken nose,” Ed says, “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “That would be nice,” Miss Charles says as they begin to make their way to Jeff’s room. Ed stops them at the door.

  “Don’t say anything to Jeff about me quitting,” Ed says.

  “So you aren’t quitting?” Miss Charles asks.

  “No,” Ed says, “I’ve decided not to quit at the moment. I was just angry earlier.”

  “Thank God,” Miss Charles says as she hugs Ed, “I am so happy that you are staying.” Hugh opens the door to the room and they all quietly enter. Jeff is lying in bed and he looks at everyone with embarrassment. Deputy Hugh walks over to his bed side and shakes his head.

  “Good evening Jeff, I am Deputy Ryan Hugh with the Pine County Sheriff’s Department,” he says, “Are you ready to get this done so we can get out and charge these kids?”

  “Yes sir,” Jeff says as Hugh pulls out the necessary paperwork and sits down on the edge of his bed.

  “Tell me what you can recall from the incident,” Hugh says, “and remember that no detail is too insignificant.”

  Jeff looks at Ed and Miss Charles, takes a sip of water and begins, “I was in the gym with Drake, Hiram, Kris and Tyrone,” he says. Deputy Hugh pulls out four mug shots of the boys.

  “Tell me Jeff, are these the four boys you are talking about?” Hugh asks. Jeff looks at the pictures and nods.

  “Yes sir,” those are the kids.

  “Okay, proceed,” Hugh says.

  “Well,” Jeff says, “I was standing on the other side of the gym and the boys were playing basketball. I heard a ruckus going on and I turned around and saw Tyrone beating Hiram with a chair. I ran up to stop him and he nailed me in the face with it. After that, I remember waking up and seeing Miss Charles and being put in an ambulance.”

  “And that’s all you can remember?” Hugh asks.

  “Yes sir,” Jeff says.

  “No one else hit you?” Hugh asks.

  “No sir, at least not while I was conscious,” Jeff says while laughing a little bit.

  “Would you like to press charges?” Hugh asks.

  “Yes sir, I would,” Jeff says.

  “Okay,” Hugh says, “can you read through and sign this statement for me? It’s nothing more than the account you just gave to me.” He hands Jeff the statement and a pen.

  “Sure,” Jeff says as he signs the statement and hands it back to Hugh.

  “So what goes on from here?” Ed asks.

  “Well, I am going to run down and file charges first,” Hugh says, “then I am going to try and contact family members of the boys and then issue statewide bulletins. If no one pops up at home we just sit and wait until they pop up somewhere.” Hugh gets his paperwork together and closes his file.

  “How long does this type of thing usually take?” Miss Charles asks.

  “It’s different,” Hugh says, “but looking at these boys I would say that at least a couple of them will pop up within the next few days.” Ed walks over and shakes the deputy’s hand.

  “Thank you sir,” Ed says as Hugh nods his head.

  “You all have a nice evening,” Hugh says as he leaves the room. Ed sits down next to Jeff’s hospital bed.

  “Wow,” Jeff says, “so nobody has an idea on where they’ve gone?”

  “Naw, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Ed says, “just get some rest.” Miss Charles walks to the other side of Jeff’s bed and sits down. She looks up at the clock; it is 11:40 p.m.

  “It’s a little embarrassing you know,” Jeff says, “I played pro ball and I got knocked out by a friggin’ kid.” Jeff looks at Ed and Miss Charles in seriousness and then begins laughing. The statement wasn’t that funny, but Jeff has an odd laugh that catches them off guard, “Heh-huh (snort), heh-huh (snort), heh-huh (snort).”

  “Stop,” Ed says, smiling as he play punches Jeff in the arm. Jeff continues laughing and eventually Ed and Miss Charles get caught up in Jeff’s laughter and they all begin laughing hysterically.

  Chapte

  r 10

  Tyrone and Hi
ram are cruising through the dark streets of Pinewood, looking for something to get into. Tyrone looks down at the clock and sees that it is 11:45 p.m. They are heading to this notorious area that Old Man Mulberry spoke of. Hiram notices a lot of lights up the street, paranoid about driving into the action.

  “Turn around,” Hiram says, “there are way too many people around here.”

  “Chill out,” Tyrone responds, “I wanna see wuz up wit it, I told you that tonight was just getting started.”

  “If we get caught…” Hiram nervously says.

  “If we gat caught then what?” Tyrone confrontationally responds. He continues driving through what is known to locals as "The Strip", a popular cruising place in the area that is packed with teenagers and immature adults who are afraid to surrender their youth. High schoolers cruise by them drinking beer and raising hell, yelling out their windows. Tyrone catches the eye of a long-legged young vixen drinking a soda and flirtatiously playing with her hair. She is wearing a shirt with a marijuana leaf on it, she gives Tyrone a wink. Tyrone slows down the Camaro and pulls into an open parking spot. He stops the car and looks at a visibly agitated Hiram.

  “Hold up a sec man,” Tyrone says, “I’m gonna find out where the weed at.”

  “Make it fast,” Hiram grumbles as Tyrone jumps out of the car and jogs over to the girls.

  “What’s your name?” Tyrone asks the cute brunette donning the marijuana shirt.

  “My name is Stacy,” she says with a seductive tone, “and this is my friend Becca.”

  “What’s up,” Tyrone says, “I’m Tyrone, what the hell is this place anyways?”

  The girls giggle, Stacy takes a drink from her soda, “This is the Strip,” she says, “where the locals and the tourists come to play. Where are y’all from?”

  Trying to be stealth, Tyrone lies, “Well, I’m from Cali.”

  “Cali, like California?” she asks.

  “Yup,” Tyrone says.

  “What in the hell are y’all doing down here?” Stacy asks.

  “Just chillin’, tryin’ to find a buzz” Tyrone says, trying to change the subject.