The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  He awoke this morning feeling exhausted and drained. He hadn't slept well. Most of the night was spent battling images of a self-cloaking, sharpclawed, six-shooter-sporting little person named Rattlesnake. He would awaken, go in the bathroom, splash water on his face, then return to bed, only to engage in another battle with his diminutive adversary.

  Morning had come too soon, and giving up on peaceful sleep, Joe got up and headed to the Mobil station, grabbed a coffee, and walked to the park. He was hoping to clear his mind and settle his nerves before meeting Rosa and Caleb at Hillside Hall at ten o'clock.

  "Good morning," a voice behind him said.

  Joe recognized it right away and turned to see Maggie approaching. She was wearing her beige uniform and black jacket. Her cruiser was parked along the street.

  "Mind if I join you?"

  "Mornin', Mags. Have a seat," Joe said.

  Maggie sat next to him on the bench, keeping a foot of space between them. "Glorious morning, isn't it?" she said.

  "Beautiful." There was a moment of comfortable silence between them as they both watched the sky above the horizon lighten its shade of pink. "We used to ride our bikes here all the time as kids," Joe said. "Do you remember when Tommy Stambaugh fell out of that oak and broke his arm? Said he could climb to the top of it."

  Maggie smiled. "I remember. It was smaller then, and healthier, but it was still a long fall. I thought for sure he was going to die."

  Joe laughed. "The place sure has changed. The whole town's changed so much in some ways, and then in other ways it hasn't changed at all."

  "Such is life in a small town. Change happens, but with resistance. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not." Maggie looked at Joe. "You've never come back since you left?"

  "I've come back. To visit Rosa and Caleb. But I stayed away from coming in town, just...I don't know." But he did know, and he knew that Maggie knew too: to avoid seeing her.

  There was another moment of silence, this time uncomfortable.

  Joe said, "Why hasn't anyone kept up with this place? We used to love to come here as kids."

  "No money. The borough can barely afford to pay me and Gary and Andy. The budget's tight and stuff like this"-she waved her hand around the rundown playground-"is expendable. Besides, kids don't play outside much anymore; they have TV and computers and video games now."

  Joe held the coffee cup to his chin and let the steam warm his nose. "Why didn't you call me back yesterday?"

  "I did," Maggie said. "I tried calling you a couple times in the afternoon, like around two o'clock or so. I didn't want to leave a message."

  "You didn't call the room?"

  "Were you there?"

  "Most of the day. I visited Rosa and Caleb in the morning, then went back and crashed. I was probably asleep and didn't hear the phone. Dead to the world."

  "Poor choice of words."

  "Yeah. I guess. Sorry."

  Maggie shifted on the bench so she was facing Joe. "How's Caleb doing?"

  Joe shrugged. "He's stable. He's coming home to Hillside Hall in a couple hours. I'm supposed to meet Rosa and the ambulance there. Ten o'clock."

  "That's great. So he's improving?"

  "Improving, yes. He's breathing on his own, and the infection in his arm is almost gone, but he's still in a coma."

  Maggie placed her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was gentle and welcomed. "I'm sure he'll come out of it. He's a tough kid."

  Joe could feel a lump surfacing in his throat, the same lump that surfaced every time he talked about Caleb. He needed to change the subject to something more light-hearted, something other than Caleb. "So what are you doing this morning? What does a small town cop do when there's no one to lock up?"

  Maggie laughed. "There's never anyone to lock up. I haven't arrested anyone in over a year. This place is like Mayberry. I probably don't even need to carry my weapon."

  "There're no troublemakers in Dark Hills? No redneck rowdies? I remember Friday nights at McCormick's used to get pretty wild."

  "Oh, they still do, but most of the time all it takes is for one of us to show up, give a warning, and things settle down pretty quick."

  "Does anyone ever give you a hard time because you're a woman?"

  Rolling her eyes, Maggie said, "Sometimes. But it's usually outsiders. Last month we had a guy down at McCormick's trying to pick a fight with Tom Newsome, a machine operator at the mill. I showed up and told him to settle down or I'd have to do it for him. He turned on me and tried to shove me."

  "What'd you do?"

  "Well, let's just say I'm pretty handy with my baton. He left town limping like a dog with his tail between his legs and hasn't been seen since."

  Joe smiled and shook his head. "Even you've changed. I'm sorry, but I just can't see you doing that. Not the Maggie I knew."

  "Change isn't all bad, you know," Maggie said. "Everybody changes. We grow up, adapt to the road life has laid for us. Do you think I've changed for the worse?"

  "No, no. It's just... you're different, that's all. More confident, more in control."

  "Agreed. Being a police officer does that to you. Being the chief of police does it even more."

  "Look at that," Joe said, pointing at the sky behind the swing set. Tendrils of pink streaked across the sky, originating from the horizon and climbing upward and out like a fan.

  "It's beautiful," Maggie said, a quiet, reverent tone to her voice.

  After several seconds of silence, Joe turned toward Maggie. "How's your dad?"

  Maggie gave him a questioning look.

  "Rosa's been keeping me updated on town news." He knew his knowledge of her mom's passing and dad's stroke made him look like a jerk. He'd never called to offer condolences, never even sent a card.

  Fortunately, Maggie didn't lay on the guilt. "He's been better. He's in St. Magdalene's over in Quinceburg. He's been really going downhill for the past six months or so."

  "I'm sorry." And he was. Sorry for not calling, sorry for not visiting, sorry for not being there when she needed someone. Sorry for not caring.

  "Yeah." That was all Maggie said.

  Another moment of uncomfortable silence passed. Half of Joe wished Maggie would get up and leave, let him wallow in his guilt alone, and half of him wanted her here, by his side.

  He took another sip of coffee and said awkwardly, "What happened with Cummings? Were you able to reach any of the family?"

  Maggie had pulled over and approached Joe with the single intent of feeling him out, seeing how he was coping with the events of the other night. She knew sooner or later the question of what she did with Bob's body would come up, and she wanted to be prepared. She'd learned some time ago to plan ahead and anticipate what direction a conversation may take. And she had come prepared. But this conversation had taken a wrong turn. It had turned personal and dredged up feelings she'd not dealt with for years. She had once given her heart-and future-to Joe, had fallen headlong into the abyss of adolescent love. She had waited for him, clinging to the remnants of her fading dream as if her very life depended on it. And he had failed her.

  But once again she found herself falling for him.

  She pushed aside the sentimentality of the moment, told herself to stick to the plan, and said in as confident a voice as she could muster, "No, I'm going to wait on that. I sent a hunting team into the woods to recover the body and flush the... animal out. But they didn't find either. So-"

  "Wait a minute," Joe shifted his weight on the bench. "You went hunting that thing and didn't tell me?"

  "I didn't go in there. I assembled a team. Gary, Andy, and some local hunters-"

  "And didn't tell me."

  Maggie felt herself tense. Deep-seated frustration over Joe's neglect clashed with the guilt of her premeditated lies. She was prepared for this, though. She swallowed and composed herself. "You didn't need to know."

  "You promised."

  "I made a judgment call. I'm sorry. I was looking out for your own goo
d. After what you went through, I thought the last thing you needed was to go down there again."

  Joe turned his head away from her, toward the rising sun. "Maybe you should have let me make that call."

  "Next time I will."

  Seconds of awkwardness. Finally, "They swept the whole woods and didn't find anything?"

  "Nothing. No body. No predator of any sort."

  "And they checked the Yates house, the cellar."

  "Of course they did. There was nothing there."

  Joe lifted his cup to his mouth, then lowered it without taking a sip and asked, "So what are you doing about Cummings?"

  "I'm writing him up as a missing person until we find something that will prove otherwise." She knew that wouldn't go over well, but it was the story she'd decided on, and that was that. She braced herself for his rebuttal.

  Joe stood and drilled her with wide eyes. "Missing person? What do you mean? He's dead. I saw him."

  "That's not the way it works, though. The coroner has to pronounce someone dead. If there's no body, he can't very well do that, so...I don't really know he's dead. I don't want to notify the family of something like that if I'm not sure it's true."

  Joe tried to speak, but Maggie held up a finger to stop him. He turned his back on her. "Look," Maggie said, "I know it doesn't make sense, but we-I-have to follow procedure. If I pronounce him dead, notify the family, they have a funeral, and so on and so on, then he turns up alive somewhere in some ditch or some hospital's ICU, that wouldn't go over so well. Would it?"

  Turning back around, Joe said, "That sounds good, but why don't you tell me what's really going on. You've been chewing on that lip of yours like you haven't eaten in days." He drained the rest of his coffee and walked toward the metal trash can by the merry-go-round.

  The conversation had wandered down a bad road. She had to end it. Quickly, Maggie slipped her cell phone from her belt and paged Andy. C'mon, Andy. Make it quick.

  Joe returned and sat again. He looked at Maggie with tired eyes. "What's going on, Mags? I want the truth."

  Maggie sighed and forced a smile. "Nothing's going on. I'm a cop, and not just any cop; I'm the chief of police. I have to follow procedure."

  "Maggie, you're forgetting something. I was there, remember. And he was dead. That thing probably went back and finished off what was left of him. I think his family should know."

  "How do you know he was dead? It was dark, Joe. You were scared, panicked. Do you-"

  "Are you saying I imagined the whole thing?"

  "I don't know what to say-"

  "Well, I do. I didn't imagine it, Maggie. And I didn't imagine that thing pouncing on my back. Cummings was dead."

  "Did you check for a pulse, breathing, anything? Or are you just assuming he was dead because of the condition of his body? I've seen people survive some pretty bad stuff, trust me."

  Joe flinched.

  A battle was raging inside Maggie. She could only imagine the nightmare Joe had lived with since the incident. It was ripping her apart inside to put him through this. But she had to. It was her job. Her dad's words came back to her: Please, Magpie, no tell. Please. How could she let her dad down? How could she disrespect him by ignoring his wish, quite possibly his final wish? No, she had to stick to her story. It was the only way.

  "He didn't have a face!" Joe said, struggling to keep his voice low. "I know dead when I see it, and he was dead." Joe sat back and took a deep breath.

  Maggie sighed and slumped. She was pushing too hard. She had to defuse the situation. "Joe, I'm sorry. I didn't want this to come between us. But I just can't do it. I know you were there. I'm not second-guessing your testimony, but people have survived some pretty horrendous things. Without any confirmation of his death, I just can't go around saying he's dead. I have notified the family that he's missing, though. I hoped you would understand my predicament. I have a mauled boy, a survivor, thankfully, a dead dog, and a missing-"

  "Dead-"

  `-missing man. I'm at my limits here. I can only do what I'm legally allowed to do. I have protocol to follow."

  Joe's shoulders slumped too. Finally, she'd broken through to him. She knew if she stood her ground long enough he'd look for a compromise. "I do understand, Mags," he said. "I just know what I saw or felt or whatever, and it was horrible and gruesome. There's no way anyone could survive that. But I wouldn't want you to do anything that could get you in trouble."

  Maggie smiled and reached for his hand. "Thanks."

  "But what are we going to do about this thing, lion, or whatever it is running around out there?"

  "I'm not sure. All the zoos and circuses got back to us, and no one's missing any lions or anything else for that matter. It seems our beast is still a mystery."

  "Well, we have to do something. We can't just wait around for it to strike again. Can't you call the Game Commission or National Guard or something? Get some help down here?"

  Maggie's stomach knotted. More lies. But consistency was everything now. Where are you, Andy? "I did. The game commissioner said until we know what we're dealing with, he can't afford to send any men. There's a lot of bureaucracy and red tape involved with something like this. It can become a real hot potato. It's frustrating, I know, but there isn't much more we can do."

  Joe pulled his hand away, obviously annoyed. "This is ridiculous! We have a predator roaming the woods, killing people, yes, killing, and no one seems to care." He tapped his thigh with his finger. "Well, I care, and I'll hunt the thing down on my own if I have to."

  "I care too," Maggie said. She knew the moment the words left her mouth that they didn't sound totally convincing. "I'm going to do all I can to make sure whatever it is, is taken care of. Please, Joe, don't do anything stupid."

  Just then the cell phone on her belt chimed. Finally. She unhooked it, flipped it open, and held it up to her ear. "Chief Gill."

  "Maggie." It was Andy. Thank you. "You paged me?"

  "Mm-hm. OK, be right there."

  "What? Maggie, why did-"

  She flipped the phone shut and reached for Joe's hand, squeezing it gently. "Gotta run. We'll talk later."

  Joe watched Maggie walk away, get in her cruiser, and drive off. She gave a weak smile and a little wave as she pulled away.

  It had been over thirty hours since Cummings's death. Yes, death. He didn't care what Maggie wanted to call it-Cummings was dead. As a doornail. Period. He wasn't off playing peek-a-boo with Smokey the Bear or being nursed back to health by Goldilocks. He was expired.

  Thought of the incident still sent a shiver through Joe's bones. Whatever was in those woods was in no way indigenous to the area. It ate the indigenous. Joe knew how fortunate he was just to escape with his life, let alone unharmed. As much as he hated to admit it, God was looking out for him. No question about that.

  And then there was Maggie and her politically correct mumbo jumbo. Sure, she was the chief of police, but didn't that come with the responsibility to uncover the truth, not conceal it? What was she hiding, anyway? He knew she was lying, but about what, he wasn't sure. What part of her story was fact and what was fiction? He'd have to do some digging to find out.

  What's going on around here, Mags? There were so many things about Dark Hills that were so familiar to him, but something suddenly seemed very unfamiliar, strange even, like there was a part of this small community that he had never known. And never would.

  CHAPTER 15

  OE ARRIVED MINUTES after Caleb was wheeled into his new room at Hillside Hall, a skilled nursing facility just outside the Dark Hills borough line. The facility was new, owned by one of those healthcare megacorporations that were throwing up assisted living homes and skilled nursing facilities like an ADHD toddler with Legos. They had broken ground a little over a year ago and had been open for business only about three months. The building sat on a sprawling campus surrounded by fields brown with dried cornstalks.

  Joe parked his car and entered the building through the automa
tic sliding glass doors. The lobby was a wide open room with a twenty-foot cathedral crystalline ceiling, finely upholstered sofas and chairs arranged around a colorful Persian rug, and lots of potted trees and plants. The place smelled of new carpet and furniture polish. The receptionist, seated behind a large sliding glass window, looked comfortable and friendly.

  "Can I help you?" she asked Joe when he stepped in front of the window.

  Joe returned her smile. "Hi. Yes. I'm looking for the honeymoon suite."

  The receptionist, a twenty-something, brown-haired woman with small oval glasses and a name plate that read Christy, gave him a blank look.

  "Never mind," Joe said. "I'm looking for Caleb Saunders's room."

  Christy hit the keyboard lightly and stared at the monitor. "Room B13. That's B Wing, down the hall, to your right. Room 13."

  "Thank you," Joe said and turned to follow the directions he'd just been given. He looked around again at the lobby. It was impressive, indeed. At least Caleb was in a nice place.

  He headed down the hall and turned right down the corridor marked B Wing. Caleb's room was halfway down the hall, on the left. It was small but nicely furnished with a hospital bed, two maroon padded chairs, and a small round oak table. A bathroom was located just inside the door.

  Rosa was there, as was a nurse, hooking up Caleb's feeding tube and IV line. The boy was comfortably situated in a hospital-style bed, blanket pulled up to his waist. He looked like he was merely asleep and would awaken at the slightest noise, glad to see his uncle had come to visit him. But Joe knew that wouldn't be the case. The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir could sing the "Hallelujah Chorus" in his ear and he wouldn't wake up.