The Lost Door

by Marc Buhmann

  Claire had begun to have trouble sleeping the last few weeks. Dreams of her adulterating husband plagued her, some good but mostly bad. She relived his betrayal, the night she confronted him, the accident, his abandonment… Not wanting to continually see his face she’d started to drink.

  When she and her ex-husband had learned she was pregnant they thought it best to move away from the congestion and crime of a big city. Claire had lived in River Bend for several years as a child and had fond memories of it and the nice couple who treated her like their own. It was home once, why not again? They spent the weekend visiting and exploring, and by the end that was all they needed and agreed this is where they should settle down.

  Emily turned left down 6th Street. Small shops passed by, many of which had stayed within families for generations. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Claire sensed Emily’s glance and ignored it. She stared out the window as the town fell behind giving way to golden fields of wheat and browning corn stalks.

  Claire had acquaintances but no one she was close to. Moving around a lot as a child had taught her becoming attached to anyone was just cause for heartache. Then Devon had come into her life, and she thought she’d finally be able to settle down, to have those attachments everyone else around her took for granted.

  How silly she’d been, trusting him.

  One thing her parents instilled in her was self-reliance, and she’d managed to secure a job within a few months of Devon leaving. At least he’d left her the house.

  She reclined her seat and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun caress her face. Just a few minutes, she told herself. Just a few minutes to rest my eyes. Claire was asleep seconds later.

  * * *

  Willem rode shotgun while his partner yammered on about… what? Willem couldn’t say. He’d tuned out five blocks back when Justin started talking about his last night’s hookup. They were headed back to the firehouse after transporting an elderly woman who’d suffered a heart attack to the hospital.

  Either Justin hadn’t realized he’d stopped listening or didn’t care, but he was content telling his story to no one. It wasn’t that Willem wasn’t interested in the stories of sex and drugs—he was—but something felt off. There was something in the air, and he was on edge.

  Justin was nearly three decades younger than Willem’s sixty-four, part of the reason Willem found his stories interesting. Willem had never married and never had children. He got to live a young man’s life vicariously through Justin. While he was sure Justin would have preferred someone closer to his age for a partner, Willem felt younger because of it.

  While most men in their thirties were trying to settle down, Justin was the opposite. He showed no signs or interest in slowing down his nightlife style. He loved women—apparently all types from the stories told—and the idea of settling down with just one scared the hell out of him. And why not? He was a handsome man, fit, why not milk it as long as possible? Willem, on the other hand, had always wanted a woman to fall in love with, someone to have children with, grow old with. It seemed that was not in the cards. They say there is someone out there for everyone, but if true then where was his someone? The world was a damn big place, and Willem was not a world traveler, so if she was sitting in a Siberian tavern somewhere he was screwed.

  Justin slowed to a stop as the light went from yellow to red. He was still talking about last night when a white pickup truck drove past.

  “—she was using her… holy shit!” Justin bellowed. Willem watched the pickup swerve, narrowly missing a man crossing the road. A sedan in the right of way slammed on the brakes, the woman behind the wheel laying on the horn. The truck swerved again. It was almost through the intersection when a city bus plowed into it, the impact a thunderclap of twisting metal and breaking glass. The pickup spun twice and flipped to its side before coming to lean on the edge sidewalk. A stuck car horn blared.

  Willem grabbed the CB and called dispatch. Justin turned the van emergency lights on and drove the short distance to the accident. Willem hopped out before the ambulance came to a full stop. He glanced at the bus as he ran past. Through the spider web of glass he saw the bus driver talking to the passengers; no one on the bus appeared to be injured. He raced past the sedan, the horrified driver had a hand to her forehead as she stood.

  “You alright?” asked Willem as he passed. She nodded.

  The driver of the pickup came into view as Willem rounded the crumpled front of the truck. The airbag had done little to stop the unbuckled man from being tossed about the cab. He now lay in a tangled mess on the passenger side, unconscious or dead Willem could not say, arm pinned beneath the truck through the open window. Willem banged on the windshield.

  “Hey! Sir!” he yelled over the blaring horn. “Wakeup! Sir?” The driver, a man in his mid-twenties, didn’t stir.

  A pedestrian in a gray suit ran up. “Is he alright? Do you need help?”

  Willem gave the guy a cursory glance as Justin approached. “Please stand back, sir,” was all he managed before Justin crouched next to him, dropping a medical bag. To his partner, he said, “Unconscious. Looks like he’s pinned.”

  “We won’t be able to do anything if we don’t get this truck flipped,” replied Justin.

  Willem looked at the man in the suit who was now on his cell. “Hey! Come here!”

  “Gotta go!” Suit jammed his phone in his pocket and ran over.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jim.” His voice quivered with adrenaline.

  “We have to flip the truck Jim. Can you help?”

  “Flip? How?” He looked tense and on edge.

  “We push it.”

  Willem stepped to the middle, Justin the hood, Suit took the trunk. Willem looked to each man. “Okay. On the count of three.” He paused, readying himself against the car, “One.” He glanced at Justin who was watching him intently. “Two.” Justin gave him a nod. “Three!”

  The three men pushed into the pickup, straining their shoulders, putting everything they had into it flipping it. Two men who had been on the sidelines gawking ran over, throwing their weight into the truck too.

  The truck tilted. Jim’s penny-loafered foot slipped on the pavement, but he regained his balance quickly. “Keep pushing!” Justin grunted through gritted teeth. The car began to tilt as more pedestrians collected like insects to a light. “We’re almost there!”

  The unconscious man’s unnaturally twisted arm dangled from the window opening. It was covered in blood from a large cut across the bicep. Drops of crimson hit the pavement as distant sirens echoed through the air.

  Gravity took over and pulled the car down with a solid thunk, broken glass falling away. Willem reached through the window and felt for a pulse as Justin opened his bag. For a few short seconds Willem feared the man dead, but then he felt a weak but stable heartbeat. “Got a pulse,” he told his partner who was putting a stethoscope in his ears.

  Justin pressed the stethoscope bell to the man’s chest. Seconds ticked by. “Respiration is good,” he said as he draped the stethoscope over his neck. Justin dug in his bag and pulled out gauze and handed it to Willem then raced back to the ambulance.

  Willem dressed the laceration in the man’s bicep, the red spreading outward. He made it as tight as he could and taped it down.

  “Anything else we can do?” asked Suit.

  Willem glanced at him and gave him a short smile. “No. Thanks for your help, sir. Now please stand back.” The man did as told and was back on his phone. Sirens were fast approaching; the other emergency responders would be there in a minute.

  The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity. A police car arrived as Willem and Justin were pulling the man from the car. The officer began asking questions and taking notes. Two fire trucks arrived, another police car, a second ambulance. The woman in the sedan was giving a statement to another officer while they loaded the unconscious man into the back of thei
r ambulance. The bus riders were filing off of it, some bruised but no one seriously injured.

  Willem and Justin loaded the man into the back of the ambulance. Willem stayed in the back while Justin took the driver’s seat. Seconds later they raced off to Mercy Hospital, sirens blaring.

  * * *

  After leaving David Rottingham by his car, Stavic drove to the two-story brown brick station. He parked in the back and walked in through its entrance. He grabbed a coffee in the kitchen before going to his desk, on which sat a manila folder. He sat, took a sip of the too strong coffee, and flipped it open. Perfect, and just what he needed to counteract the sleepless night he’d had. Three pages from the coroner were inside, the preliminary results for a John Doe.

  The stripped and eviscerated body had been found near the Fox River by two boys on ATV’s. They’d run prints and taken a mold of his teeth for dental records, but so far nothing had come up. The man, who looked to be in his late thirties, was a mystery.

  Stavic scanned the coroner’s report. Stavic couldn’t imagine the excruciating pain this poor soul felt as he’d been gutted alive. When working in Chicago as a cop he’d never experienced something like this.

  Kinney rapped his knuckle on Stavic’s desk. “Good. Wanted to make sure you got that.”

  Stavic held it up. “Nothing that helps us though.”

  “No,” agreed the slightly heavyset, balding, and generally very serious man.

  Stavic didn’t think he’d ever seen him tell a joke, let alone crack a smile. His shirts were fastidiously pressed, he was always clean shaven, and he held himself straight and tall. He’d become sheriff of River Bend three decades earlier when his predecessor retired. Stavic was indifferent to the man. “I’m thinking I might take a ride back to the scene, see if there’s anything we missed.”

  “Don’t bother. The area was scoured there’s nothing there.”

  “Never say never.” Stavic lifted the folder up, shook it. “Has his car been found? Any idea how he got there?”

  Kinney’s lip curled.

  Dear God. Is he smiling?

  “That’s why you’re going on a little boating expedition.”

  That gave him pause. “Me?”

  “I’m thinking that the body may have been dumped elsewhere and washed downriver. I’ve asked Harold to take you on a little river tour.”

  Stavic’s heart skipped a beat. He hated large bodies of water and tried to stay as far from them as possible. Sitting in a small boat on a river terrified him.

  “But sir—”

  Kinney held up a hand. “I know but, you know, orders. I give them.” As he walked past he patted Stavic on the shoulder. “Harold’s expecting you. Go to his shop and coordinate a time to do this, sooner rather than later. You know why?”

  “Orders,” Stavic said glumly.

  Kinney looked back, made a gun with his finger and fired it at Stavic with a click of his tongue. “Bingo.”

  * * *

  “You disposed of the body?” DeMarcus asked.

  “As instructed,” said his associate with a broken nose.

  DeMarcus nodded in appreciation. Good. This man—whom he’d known only a few short weeks—was becoming an exceptional asset. So easy to manipulate and control.

  “How’s your nose?”

  “Tender, but I’ll be fine.”

  They’d both been through a beating a few weeks ago. DeMarcus was especially lucky Paul had come to when he did or he might have been killed. He owed him for that.

  He wasn’t sure what had brought Melson Waters snooping around, but it was troubling. The last time he’d seen the man was months ago running for the Wispy Mountains. As far as he knew there was only one way in and it was through this place, so either Melson had sneaked past somehow—unlikely—or there was another door. Regardless, and even more troubling, was how he got past the security entrusted to protect the entrance to this place. His best men were supposed to be guarding it.

  DeMarcus closed his eyes. He must be getting stronger. In the weeks after his confrontation with Lilly and that good for nothing husband of hers, he was no longer able to sense her. But now… now he could. Barely. It was still a good sign though, one that eased his mind. If he’d lost her then he was stuck, and the last place he wanted to be was here. He had a world to get back to, one to rule, and he needed her.

  It was supposed to have been so simple, if only her parents had followed through with their agreement… But that was neither here nor there at this point. They’d been punished for hiding her away and broken to reveal her whereabouts.

  It was a genius move on their part, sending her to the belere. He never would have guessed they would damn their only daughter to the shadow realm.

  Unless they have a way to bring her back.

  That logic was the only reason he came on his own instead of sending someone. No parent would sacrifice their child, so there had to be some way for her to return. When he’d confronted her parents they’d given it up easily enough. Of course they did, considering the amount of pain they were in.

  “Paul,” DeMarcus called. The large man stood and approached. He’d been sitting with his back to the opposite wooden wall. “I’m beginning to sense her again, and I need you to go find her.”

  “You can’t pinpoint her like last time?” said the man in the red trucker hat.

  “Not yet… still too weak. In time, perhaps, but the sooner we find her the sooner we can leave.”

  “And you’re still convinced she’s the way?”

  “Oh yes. Of that I’m certain. It’s been a few weeks so hopefully they’re guard is down. Start at their home. Do whatever it takes, but bring her to me.”

  “And her husband?”

  “I don’t care what happens to him at this point.”

  Paul nodded and walked from the room.

  two

  Willem sat at the kitchen table, a piece of uneaten toast on a plate in front of him, and a steaming mug of black coffee between his hands. He was staring out the window watching the birds at the feeder dig out the seeds they wanted while scattering those they didn’t on the ground. Later today he’d have to go and sweep up the mess.

  He had tossed and turned all night, memories of his childhood dancing just out of reach. He remembered little snippets here and there, but much was lost to him. He remembered the big events but the smaller more intimate details remained behind an opaque veil.

  Sam.

  It had been so long since he’d thought about his baby brother, and now that he tried he had trouble remembering what he looked like. Sam had died at the age of eight when he’d fallen from Willow Creek Bridge. While he couldn’t remember his brother’s face the memory of his broken body, blood washing away down the creek, was vivid.

  I should have protected him. I should have done something.

  Yet there was nothing to be done. He could have stayed with his brother or left him to run for help. At that time River Bend wasn’t bordering the creek, and it would have required at least five minutes at a heavy sprint to get to the nearest shop, then who knows how long to get back.

  You could have done more.

  Ever since then he’d kept telling himself he could have, but what? He was ten. There were no cell phones back then, no way of instant access like there was today. Had it happened today he was sure his brother would have survived, but in 1960 things were different.

  Thinking of Sam brought up the memory of Elliott, his older brother, who was five years his senior. They’d had a falling out and had stopped talking. Whatever the fight was—he couldn’t remember over what—it had been bad. They’d tried to reconcile once but that hadn’t gone well, and that was the last time they spoke. He wondered how Elliott and his family were. Maybe he should call, but would he want to talk to him? They said blood was thicker than water but in his opinion memories were thicker still.

  Willem glanced at the phone, debate raging. What’s the worst that could happen? At least he would have tried.
>
  Willem glanced at the clock. 7:20. The best way to avoid things you didn’t want to do was do something else. He trashed his toast and went off to get ready for work.

  * * *

  Stavic stepped into the bait shop. Harold glanced up before going back to a fish he was cleaning on the counter. “Morning, Deputy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Harold was an old timer. He’d lived in River Bend all his life, and even at seventy had no plans for retirement. If I did that people would be forced to go to Coops in Andersonville, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen, he was often overheard saying. Harold and Cooper were longtime rivals as well as cousins. They used to be close, but at some point in the last five decades something happened and no one knew what. Most figured even they didn’t remember.

  “Sheriff told me you were expecting me.”

  “Ah yes! River tour. Didn’t tell me why though.”

  “We’re in need of an expert.”

  “Expert, eh? What is it our esteemed sheriff thinks I’m an expert of?”

  “We need someone who knows the waters.”

  “I just like to fish. Ain’t no expert.”

  “Stop being modest.”

  “Pfft!” Harold said with a wave of a hand.

  “You know that death we’re investigating?”

  “Sure. Not often we have a murder in town.”

  “Is that the word on the street, that he was murdered?”

  “That it is.”

  Stavic pulled out a map of the area, unfolded it and lay it on the counter. His finger touched the town then traveled along the blue curvy line that signified Willow Creek where it merged with another blue line and tapped it. “This is where his body was found. No easy access—only an ATV trail a quarter mile away—so we’re trying to figure out how he got there.”

  “Could have walked.”

  “Possible. It’s also possible his body was dumped there. The only way I see how that could be was by boat. Now, I know the creek just outside of town is pretty shallow. A boat would just run aground.”