Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  An instant later, Rebecca was airborne.

  The thin wire that had been strung across the road caught her handlebars so sharply that Rebecca was immediately thrown from the seat of her bike—hurdling toward the asphalt. She hit the pavement hard on her right side, rolling several times before coming to a stop. She lay flat on her back, dazed and trying to comprehend what had happened. She could feel burning up and down her right leg, hip, and shoulder. The sky above her was dark, though there were a few bright stars, but they seemed to be moving, dancing, and pulsating. She could feel her neck turned at an uncomfortable angle—tilted forward due to the way her bike helmet was resting on the pavement. A moment after that, there was a motion somewhere above her head and to the right. Something dark passed across the stars—a hand came across her face and clamped down hard.

  The odor was sickly and biting. She had smelled it before, somewhere in her nursing school years. She remembered then what the smell was—chloroform. The hand pressing on her face and mouth was strong. She struggled hard, pushing at the strong arms and trying to pry the fingers of the strong hand from her mouth. She could feel darkness closing in; she was drifting away. Then she wasn’t sure—was she actually resisting now, or was she just intending to push back? How could she push? Where were her arms and muscles to push back with? Where was her body?

  Everything was much further away now. Everything was a distant dream—a misty and receding dream, further and further away. There was no struggle now. Rebecca floated away somewhere. Like a bird gliding effortlessly on a summer’s breeze, she had found her wings and was flying easily and freely away.

  Seventy-Nine

  The Note

  When Sheriff O’Neil walked into the office, he encountered one of the strangest sights he’d ever seen. Across the room, staring blankly at the same door he had just entered, was his deputy—handcuffed to his own desk chair.

  The sheriff paused by the door. “What the hell is happening here, Sparky?” he finally asked.

  Sparky gave no response at first and only shook his head slightly.

  The sheriff walked over and stood next to his deputy, glancing down at his handcuffed wrist. “I said, what’s going on here, Deputy Sparks?!”

  Sparky slowly turned his head and looked at the sheriff. “I…don’t…know,” he replied, before looking down helplessly at the handcuffs.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and locked yourself to that chair!” said the sheriff. “Maybe we’d better get you a refresher course in handcuff techniques. I’ll teach you myself if—” but then he stopped in mid-thought. “Oh Christ, don’t tell me!”

  The sheriff spun around, ran across the room, and rushed down the hallway toward Matthew’s cell. He was relieved to see the door closed and even more relieved to see the locks still secure as he fumbled for his keys to unlock them. He undid the locks and whipped open the door. He looked at the neatly made cot. He looked under the cot. He looked at the chairs tucked neatly under the table.

  “God damn it!” screamed the sheriff. As he was turning to leave the room, he noticed a single piece of paper resting neatly on the table. He walked over and picked it up. It read:

  Dear John, (sorry, but that is your name)

  I have enjoyed my stay here, and I thank you for your wonderful hospitality and the role you played in providing me the ideal spot to reflect on many important things. I hate to leave without thanking you in person, but I hope you understand. As for where I’ve gone, how I got out of here and all of that—well, first of all, I will have simply walked right out the front door. There was nothing that could stop me, so please don’t blame yourself, and certainly don’t blame Sparky. Your very best security could not have prevented this. The truth is that there are simply much more important matters I must attend to, and so that’s exactly where I’ve gone—to attend to more important matters.

  You may be surprised to know that I fully expect and even want you to look for me. That’s your duty, and in this case, as in so many, your dedication to your duty will dictate your fate. Use all your resources to find me, and I’m sure you’ll eventually be able to. Also, please be sure to bring David (Agent Westmore) along with you when searching. I’m sure he has a great interest in seeing that I’m caught and will be of great assistance to the cause of true justice.

  As for my future, I hope and fully expect someday to raise my family here in Cottonwood. It is a wonderful community, and in coming back here, I realize what a treasure it truly is. It is my intent to make it even better, and I’ve already begun working toward that end. Please, John, know that all I want is to make Cottonwood a better place for people to live.

  Fondest of regards (and wishing you eventual success in finding me!),

  Matthew

  P.S.—I’m not usually one to give dietary advice, but I’ve smelled the distinct odor of Tasty Burgers wafting through this building all the way down to my cell from your office at least once, and sometimes twice a day, every day that I’ve been here. That stuff will kill you, John, but as is the case for everyone, it’s your choice to live a longer life or not—I hope you choose wisely.

  Sheriff O’Neil balled the letter up into a tight wad and held it in his clenched fist as he stormed out of the room and down the hallway to the main office. Sparky hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood before. The only difference in the room, from a few minutes before when the sheriff had rushed out, was that now the sheriff’s face was crimson, and he held a wad of paper in his hand. Like a frozen monument to bewildered law enforcement—Sparky remained unmoved.

  The sheriff stood toe-to-toe with Sparky, moving his face close to the deputy’s and glaring at him. “You really fucked up this time, Deputy,” hissed the sheriff.

  There was a look of confusion and even terror in Sparky’s eyes. “Tell me…what has happened?” he asked.

  “Don’t give me that crap, Deputy Sparks. You know full fucking well what has happened! You’ve neglected your duties and let a prisoner escape. How did he dupe you? I know you’re an idiot, but I would’ve thought even you wouldn’t be this stupid. What did he say to you?”

  Sparky stared at the sheriff. “Matthew Duncan…has escaped?!”

  The sheriff continued to glare. “I don’t have time for this now. We’ll deal with your dereliction of duty later—right now we need to look for our prisoner.”

  The sheriff stuffed the wadded up note into Sparky’s free hand, and while taking a key from his pocket and undoing the handcuffs, he snapped, “Read that! It will tell you pretty much everything—if you can believe the words of a nut job.”

  As he was putting the handcuff key away, the sheriff glanced over at the computer screen on Sparky’s desk, reading the large bolded text still displayed there:

  ARE YOU A PRISONER OF PORNOGRAPHY?

  He stared at the text and then looked at Sparky. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on around here this evening, Deputy, but whatever it was, you can bet you’ll have a lot of explaining to do later. Right now though, after you read that note from your buddy, Mr. Duncan, I want you to go and retrieve the pillowcase from his cell and bring it to my office.”

  As the sheriff walked into his private office, a still bewildered Sparky began unwadding the crumpled note, his hands shaking and one wrist sore and reddened from his struggle with the handcuffs.

  Sheriff O’Neil went right to work. He called the Colorado State Patrol in Montrose and notified them of the escape, giving them a complete description of Matthew Duncan. On the other end of the line was Officer Tom Burnham.

  “I’d heard about your arrest,” said Officer Burnham. “This agent from Washington State—I think his name was Westmore—came through here on Sunday, heading down your way to locate Matt Duncan—and what a shock that was! I remember him as a little boy. I still can’t believe one of our own could screw his life up so bad. Anyway, Westmore was sure ticked-off when you beat him to the punch and bagged his escapee before he got down there. How’s he responding to
this latest escape?”

  “He doesn’t know about it yet,” replied the sheriff.

  “Doesn’t know? How’d you keep a thing like that—”

  “It just now happened, Tom,” interrupted the sheriff. “I’ll inform him when I get the chance—and I don’t care about him being pissed. As far as I’m concerned, Duncan was my prisoner, and I want him back.”

  The officer laughed. “I understand. We’ll sure keep our eyes out for him at the roadblocks. If he’s dumb enough to take to the main highway—we’ll spot him. What else do you need?”

  The sheriff let out a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, Tom, this whole god-damn Dead Zone thing seems to be creating all kinds of problems. I’ve got a fucking crime wave on my hands here—and I’m not just talking about this escape. I’ve got a missing person, a car theft, and home break-ins. I need to get a handle on all this. I could use more help than just looking out for Duncan at the roadblocks. He probably won’t take to the main roads—he’s pretty damn crafty. Do you think you could bring down the hounds?”

  “Sure, Maxie and Chloe would love to help out.”

  At that point, Sparky came into the sheriff’s office and held out the pillowcase he’d retrieved. Not smiling or saying thanks, the sheriff took the pillowcase, put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and said plainly to Sparky, “Now go and post the escape notice on all the crime databases.” Then, back into the phone as he held the pillowcase, he said, “Thanks, because I can assure you we’ve got a good scent trail for them. I don’t think the hounds will have any problem at all.”

  The two men discussed the details of how Officer Burnham and his hounds would get into Cottonwood. As Sheriff O’Neil now had an electric car at his disposal, thanks to CDEM, the two men agreed to meet at the roadblock north of town early the following morning. Officer Burnham, along with Maxie and Chloe, would transfer over to the sheriff’s car for the rest of the ride into the Dead Zone.

  After ending his phone call with the officer, Sheriff O’Neil carefully placed the pillowcase into a plastic zip-lock bag and left it on his desk. He then walked out into the main office where Sparky was seated at his computer. “Did you get the information posted?” he asked.

  “Just finished,” replied Sparky.

  The sheriff headed toward the front door. “Good, let’s get going then. It’s gonna be a late night.”

  The two men left the office, got into the electric car, and drove to the first logical place the sheriff could think of where Matthew Duncan might head. He knew it was a long shot, though, as it would be a foolish move by anyone to head to such an obvious location.

  As they drove to Rebecca’s house, Sparky massaged his sore wrist where it had been rubbed nearly raw from his foolish antics of pulling the desk chair around by the handcuffs. The car window was down, and he looked out into the dark sky above Cottonwood and the glistening silent stars. Sparky felt more than embarrassed by the events of the evening. It was not just because he’d lost a prisoner under his watch, which was professionally embarrassing, but because of something else—a personal embarrassment. He felt the wadded note from Matthew he’d tucked into his pocket and thought of the strange message appearing on the computer screen. He wondered—which prisoner would successfully escape?

  Eighty

  Missing

  The Reese family relaxed on their backyard patio, enjoying the evening as a passing thunderstorm had left the air cool, clean, and sweet. In addition to their lively voices, the only other sound filling their darkened backyard was the chirping of crickets. Dr. Reese and Amanda were interested in discussing Chelsea’s college plans, but Chelsea’s mind kept wandering to other things. The circumstances surrounding her encounter with Matthew earlier in the evening at Rhonda’s Bridal & Floral made it by far the oddest thing she’d ever seen, matched only by her experience earlier in the week with Old Blind Carl’s cane—which was by far the oddest thing she’d ever felt. And though both were strange, each experience was somehow more real to her than all the other supposedly real and ordinary everyday experiences in her young life.

  The experiences with Matthew and the cane somehow connected her to something outside of herself, larger than herself—something she knew was vitally important. Both were reminders, doorways, openings—a portal to something children know and then forget—as they are carefully and slowly molded to see the world through eyes and hearts fashioned for them by parents who have forgotten the possibility of miracles.

  So as her parents were chattering on about college entrance requirements and athletic scholarships, Chelsea was feeling the bumps and scratches of Old Blind Carl’s cane and seeing a man, who her mother could not see, step through a plate-glass window as if it wasn’t there.

  “Chelse? UTEP or Baylor?” asked Amanda.

  Chelsea turned and looked at her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. UTEP or Baylor for what?”

  “You are so distracted tonight. I was asking which campus you thought you might want to visit first this fall.” Amanda turned to her husband. “She’s been acting this way ever since we were out shopping. There was this dopey-looking manikin in the window at Rhonda’s, and she insisted it looked like Matthew Duncan. It didn’t look a thing like the man!”

  “His eyes, Mom!” said Chelsea. “His eyes just kind of reminded me of Matthew’s.”

  Dr. Reese laughed. “His eyes, eh?”

  “They were smudges of paint!” said Amanda.

  “Hmm…” said Dr. Reese, “maybe you’ve got this Matthew Duncan on your mind? You did, after all, see him naked a few days ago, and it was the first man you’ve ever seen that way—at least I hope it was the first man!”

  “Dad!” exclaimed Chelsea as she slugged her father on the arm, followed by laughter from Amanda and Dr. Reese and a feigned pout on Chelsea’s face.

  It was then that their laughter was broken as the phone rang, and Dr. Reese went into the house to answer it. After only a minute or so, Dr. Reese returned to the patio. “That was Darla from work—Rebecca’s not shown up for her scheduled shift.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair as he continued, “They called her house and only got her answering machine. They also tried her cell phone and her mother’s house and haven’t been able to get hold of anyone.”

  “How long ago was she supposed to be there?” asked Amanda.

  “Almost forty-five minutes ago,” said Dr. Reese. “They want me to go by her house and check on her.”

  “Maybe she forgot she was working tonight, and she and Diane are out for a walk or down at Ernie’s,” Amanda suggested.

  “I suppose that’s a possibility—though it’s just not like Rebecca. She’s never missed her shift before, as far as I can remember—though things have been pretty unsettled. I’d better go over to her house. To save time, I think I’ll drive. You two care to join me?”

  “Can I drive the electric car?” asked Chelsea.

  With Chelsea behind the wheel, the three piled into the electric car, on loan to Dr. Reese from the state, and drove the short distance to Rebecca’s house. They were all surprised to see another electric car, an identical model but different color, already parked in front of the house.

  “Whose do you think that is?” asked Amanda from the backseat, as Chelsea parked behind the other car.

  Dr. Reese looked over the seat at Amanda and shrugged his shoulders. As the three were stepping from the car, they saw two flashlight beams moving back and forth, lighting up the grass in Rebecca’s front yard. As the lights came closer to them, they could see it was Sheriff O’Neil and Sparky.

  “Well hello, Sheriff,” said the doctor. “We wondered who else in town had an electric car.”

  “Hello, Doctor Reese…ladies,” said the sheriff, looking first at Dr. Reese and then at Amanda and Chelsea. He turned off his flashlight, and Sparky did the same. “What brings the three of you over here tonight?” The group stood on the sidewalk leading up to the house.

  “Well,” began the doctor, “
we’ve actually come over looking for Rebecca. It seems she hasn’t shown up for work tonight. We think she may have forgotten she was scheduled.”

  “Really, is that so?” said the sheriff. “How long ago was she supposed to be there?”

  The doctor looked at his watch. “Oh, coming up on close to an hour now.”

  “Hmmm,” said the sheriff as he glanced at Sparky and then looked up toward the house. “I can tell you that there sure doesn’t appear to be anyone home here. We’ve knocked on the door and checked around back. Have you called her mother?”

  The doctor nodded his head. “And her cell phone. We thought maybe she’d taken a walk with Diane, or maybe they went to Ernie’s for a bite to eat. It’s not like Rebecca to be late or forget her shift, but we’ve had some schedule disruptions because of the Dead Zone. Maybe she got confused, because she normally doesn’t work nights.”

  The sheriff rubbed his chin, glancing once more at the house and then back at the doctor. “Well, I suppose we could go on inside. It seems—”

  Just then, a voice came from down the street. “What’s going on here?” asked Diane D’Arcy as she joined the group.

  “Diane,” said Amanda, stepping up to her, “we were coming to find Rebecca when we met the sheriff and Sparky.”

  “She was scheduled to work tonight and hasn’t shown up yet,” interjected the doctor. “We thought maybe she was with you, but obviously she’s—”

  “Oh, my!” exclaimed Diane. “Have you been inside?” She rushed up toward the front door, followed by the rest of the group. She tried the door first, found it was locked, and then reached into her purse, frantically searching for her keys. Everyone in the group watched her closely.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Amanda, placing her hand gently on Diane’s back.

  Diane looked at Amanda, and for just a moment, the sharp words they’d exchanged at Irma’s came bubbling to the surface—but just as quickly, the genuine touch of a concerned friend, at least temporarily, washed those words away. “I hope nothing,” replied Diane as she finally found her keys, put one into the lock, and turned.