by J. D. Dexter
The sirens crash through our passion like someone falling down a stairwell. Hunter pulls away, his eyes just going dark. We both turn to see three Wichita Police Department vehicles run through the nearest red light, and turn into the parking lot of Exploration Place. The last car fishtailing just a little bit as he finishes the turn.
“Foiled again.” Hunter sighs as we both ease back.
The first two cars squeal to a stop at the entrance, all four front doors flinging open and four fully outfitted and armed officers running into the building. The last car slams on its brakes moments before crashing into the parked cars of his colleagues, two officers exiting that car as quickly as their colleagues.
Before the last two officers can make it to the doors, the first four are back out in the sunshine, their hands shielding their eyes as they scan the parking lot. One of them spots us and gives a yell before barreling towards us. They rock to a stop, their hands on their guns.
“Finley Tindol and Hunter Jamison?” the officer who alerted the others says as he reaches us.
Hunter and I exchange glances. “Yes, Officer. Is everything okay?” We stay seated. I don’t want to startle these poor officers anymore than they already look.
“Yes. You’ve been reported missing and we had a call from someone here at Exploration Place with a tip that you’d been spotted,” the officer explains.
“Reported missing? Why? We’ve been gone for maybe six hours.” I’m really confused.
“Ma’am you’ve been missing for ten weeks.” The officer says gently, he looks like he’s trying not to spook me now.
“No, that’s impossible.” I turn to Hunter for reassurance as another car squeals around the corner into the parking lot. Josh’s Camaro handles the turn a little better than the last police officer’s car. It’s still rocking to a stop as he jumps out of the low-slung vehicle.
He doesn’t even shut off the engine before he’s out of the car, his long legs eating up the short distance to me. He leans down and jerks me into his arms, his arms so tight I’m struggling to breathe.
I can hear the police officers start to make noises about Josh interrupting us, but I drown them out. My entire being is focused on Josh and his terror.
Putting the officers out of my mind for a second, I can feel the shaking in Josh’s body. His arms are trembling around my chest, making it harder for me to use what little air is making it through to my lungs. I hear Hunter get to his feet behind me, wrapping his arms around both Josh and me.
I turn my head just enough to catch Hunter’s eyes. He looks just as confused as I do, but he knows that Josh is seriously upset by something.
Knowing that I had made a mental note to stop doing it, I wrap my legs around Josh’s waist, making it easier for me to breathe and for him to hold me like this. I think Hunter would be okay with it. He didn’t really have a problem with it in the first place. I decided, on my own, not to wrap my legs around the guys when they hugged me anymore, at least casually. There was nothing casual about the way Josh was holding on to me.
I’m trying to comfort Josh; since I have no idea what’s wrong—that cop is obviously mistaken—it sounds more like a low shushing sound. I pet his head as I feel his tears start to drip onto my tank top and zip hoodie, feeling some slide down into my cleavage.
Someone clears his throat, obviously trying to get our attention. I turn my head to see the first officer on his walkie talkie. The throat clearer is a female officer, her brown hair pulled back into a ruthless ponytail, she’s sweating lightly in all her gear standing here in the sun. Her brown eyes are full of sympathy, but it’s clear she needs to ask us some questions.
“I’m sorry to do this, but we need to get your statements.” She winces a little at the growl Josh makes against my neck. The sound something like that of a cornered animal.
I give her a smile, and hold up one finger, letting her know I just need a minute. She nods and turns back to her colleagues.
“Josh, we have to talk to the cops, but you are going to stay here with me until we get this figured out.” I tell him, pulling back, my arms still wrapped around his neck, so I can see his face.
I haven’t seen him this miserable in my entire life. His face is thinner as if he’s lost weight, his eyes sunken into dark circles, and his eyes and mouth pinched at the corners. What’s happened to my vivid and vivacious best friend?
“I told you I can’t lose you.” I finally hear what Josh has been repeating over and over as he pulls his torso back, still holding me in his arms. His body still trembling slightly.
“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.” I frame his face between my hands, lay a gentle kiss against his lips.
Unhooking my legs, I settle against his body for one more hug before I turn to see the officers all standing and watching us now. Looks of speculation, curiosity, and interest cover five faces.
One face, a policeman near the back of the group, looks at me with pure hatred. I’m startled enough by it that I step away from Josh’s body for a second. His face clears almost immediately, making me wonder if I saw what I thought I had.
Hunter, taking advantage of my moving away, hugs Josh as well, their big bodies crashing together before holding each other momentarily. I see Hunter lean in and say something to Josh, but don’t catch the words. The female officer clears her throat again, pulling my attention back to her.
“If you could step over here, we’ll try to get this done as quickly as possible. I’m Officer Melissa Bowen.”
“Do you need both of us?” I motion to Hunter behind me.
She shakes her head. “No, Officer Jefferson will get his statement.”
“Okay.” I walk with her a couple of steps away, keeping Josh in my eyeline. “Either earlier today, Hunter and I drove up to the KC FBI Field Office under direct order from Special Agent Francis Scarsman. After a little fracas, we eventually met with Supervisory Special Agent Scott Rickman. It seems that Special Agent Scarsman didn’t have the authority to endanger Hunter’s job at the hospital if we didn’t help out with a mysterious patient. We stayed to help, frankly because I was intrigued by the case.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a muscular dysfunction expert.” She nods her head at me, gesturing at me with her chin to continue.
“We followed Scarsman to the basement. We walked through a weird blue net thingy, Hunter got hurt, I helped him, and ended up passing out. A couple of other things happened, but they seem unbelievable, so I’m not sure they really actually happened,” I trail off, not sure what to say about Ankarrah. I really don’t want to spend time in a psych ward.
“What happened that you believe it’s unbelievable?” she asks, her tone serious.
“Well, I remember waking up and meeting a girl who turned into a full-grown woman within a ten minute period. A wall that changed colors all on its own. A beast that was at least ten feet tall had his arms cut off and was then gutted by three people who each grew over ten inches right in front of my eyes. Then I was transported to the Keeper of the Plains.” I finish with a wary smile on my face, absolutely sure she’s not going to believe me.
Her face is a mask of shifting emotions and thoughts: shock, amusement, disbelief, and I-think-this-lady-might-be-truly-crazy. I chuckle at her expression, which quickly changes as soon as she hears my laughter.
“Yeah, exactly why I think it’s unbelievable.” I nod at her knowingly.
“That’s an interesting story, ma’am.” She tries for diplomatic—she fails.
“I agree. Which is why I think it didn’t really happen.”
She clears her throat, “You stated that you thought you left earlier today. Is that correct?” She looks at me closely.
I think about how long we were gone, minus the drive time to KC, at the FBI and in Ankarrah. I do some quick estimating, nodding my head. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Do you happen to know what today is?” she asks politely.
Weird question consid
ering I just told her what today would be. “May 23rd, 2018.” I add a decisive nod, sure I’m correct.
She pulls out her phone, taps the screen, and holds it out for me to look at.
“Cute kid.” I lie through my teeth. That baby looks like a wet gremlin.
“Thank you, but could you please look at the time and date on the phone?”
I look again. “I think your phone is a little off. There’s no way it’s August 1st.” I shake my head, wanting to shout at Hunter that this lady is crazy-pants.
“No, Ms. Tindol, it really is August first. Here, ask Siri.” She hands me the phone.
A sinking feeling invades my stomach as I hold down the button that will bring up the automated assistant. I feel like I’m going to pass out again, mixed with a little vomit for good measure.
“Siri, what is today’s date,” I say, my voice wavering just the slightest bit.
“It’s Wednesday, August first, two thousand eighteen.” All of the blood rushes from my head into my feet, leaving me feeling like a rapidly deflating balloon.
How could we possibly have been gone that long? No wonder Josh was freaking out. I’m freaking out. I’ve got to find my parents and let them know that I’m okay. That is job number one. After almost losing me while they were in the Caribbean, and now to be told that I’ve been missing for a couple of months in Kansas City, they have got to be freaking out. I don’t know that either of my parents could handle that big of blow so soon after the first.
“Ms. Tindol? Can you hear me?” The cop’s voice intrudes on my inner freak out, drawing my attention back to her.
“Yes, I can hear you. Do you know if my parents are okay?” I ask her, not really sure why she would know, but knowing I need to find out.
“Sorry, no, I don’t.” She shakes her head.
I nod absently. “Do you need anything else from me?” I need to go find my parents to let them know I’m not dead or hurt.
“No, you’re free to go as soon as your friend is done giving his statement.” We both turn to look over at the guys.
Hunter’s face has the same shaken look I imagine I have on my face. They look like they’re done with the interview. Meeting Hunter’s gaze, I let him see the fear welling inside me. All I can think about is getting to my parents as quickly as possible. Let them know that I’m okay, that they haven’t lost me. I need to go and find them. A surge of panic slams through my body, so fast it makes me feel nauseous. I bend over, waiting for the sensation to pass.
“Finley?!?” Josh’s terrified yell reaches me from across the parking lot. I can hear rapid footsteps coming towards me.
I lift my hand to let him know I’m okay. As soon as the feeling passes, I turn towards the boys. I just need someone to hug me. Hunter pulls me into his body, his arms wrapping around me. I curl my arms into my chest, and just lean into Hunter’s comforting embrace for a couple of moments.
“Hunter, I need to get to my parents,” I think at him, not brave enough to voice the words aloud.
He gives me a squeeze and kisses my head.
“We’ll leave now. I gave you my information if you need anything else from me.” I tell the police officer who interviewed me, lifting my voice so she can hear me.
“I need to go find my parents. They’re probably freaking out, if not comatose by now,” I tell Josh as he closes the space between him and Hunter and me. My words are muffled by Hunter’s chest. I’m getting a sick, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I need to find my parents, and fast.
“They’re staying at your house, Fin. They wanted to be there when you finally came home,” Josh says from behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder.
“Let’s go.” Hunter gives me a final squeeze before setting me back from him. “Can you give us a lift?” He looks at Josh.
As we all turn to look at Josh’s Camaro, a sharp burst of laughter escapes my throat. The boys join in on the hysteria. I’m bending over I’m laughing so hard, and I know it’s from being too stressed. The severity of the laughter doesn’t fit the situation, but I can’t do anything more than gasp for breath as more shouts of hilarity leave my body. Josh is the first to recover.
“Come on, we can shove Finley in the back; although she might be more comfortable stuffed in the trunk.” Josh walks over to his car, Hunter and I following close behind.
Josh opens the driver’s door, pulling the seat back forward. I begin to climb in, thankful I’m wearing a pair of yoga pants instead of a dress. I squeeze into the back seat, designed more for toddlers or small packages. I manage to lay on my side with my knees up to my chest. Josh and Hunter bend and twist their tall bodies into the car, which is surprisingly roomy—at least in the front of the car—for tall men, and Josh drives us away.
I’m just glad the cops didn’t give Josh a ticket for having an unbuckled passenger in the car. We head through downtown Wichita, making our way to I-135, so we can begin the short drive to Bel Aire, where I live. I’ve driven this route over a million times, but never as a sardine packed into the back of a sports car.
Keeping my mind focused on seeing my parents, I try to imagine how this is all going to play out. From tears of joy and relief to harsh remonstrations for worrying them. A nagging, terrifying feeling plagues me on the short drive that feels like it takes hours. Something horrendous is happening, or has happened, to my parents. I can feel it in my body.
I have no idea why I’m so certain my parents are in danger, but my whole being is bracing for the worst possible news. I try to tell myself that they’re okay, that everything is fine and I’m just suffering from my first mental breakdown. I try to picture their faces, smiles and laughter lighting their features. All I can see is a blank void where my terror lives and breathes.
“Finley. Baby, what’s wrong?” Hunter asks, his head turned to meet my eyes in the shadowed back of the car. “Why are you crying?”
I hadn’t known I was. “Something has happened to my parents. Something awful; I just know it,” I manage to get out around the lump in my throat, more tears backing up.
“Nothing’s wrong with them, Fin. They’re going to be so happy you’re okay, they’re going to be ecstatic,” Josh tries to reassure me.
Hunter doesn’t try to tell me anything different.
“Something’s wrong, Hunter,” I whisper to him mentally. Right now, I’m so grateful that I can talk to him like this.
“Can you go any faster, Josh? Please.” Hunter asks him quietly, the urgency in his voice unmistakable.
The car’s engine revs higher, pushing us through the mostly empty lanes on the highway like a bullet from a gun. We race through the entrance ramp to K-96, rocketing around some slow drivers that cause curses to fall from Josh’s lips. A sudden jerk of the car to the left, a shouted expletive, and we’re back to racing down the highway.
We take the exit for my neighborhood, pushing through red lights after barely tapping the brakes, we rock to a stop in front of my house. The boys get out of the car, both trying to help me unfold from the back seat.
I finally manage to get upright, out in the sunshine. The clouds are puffy and white, floating on the wind high in sky, birds chirping happy tunes, kids’ shrieks from down the street. Everything looks disquietingly normal. The darkness pushing into my heart is still trying to steal my breath.
No one comes racing out the door. Mom would have raced through the door once she saw me out here. Something terrible has happened. I feel like there’s an evil presence hovering over my house. As anxious as I was to get here, I can’t bring myself to walk up the path to my front door. Hunter waits on my right, Josh on my left. They’re waiting for me to make the decision. I screw up the courage to take that first step, the second step just as difficult as the first.
After what feels like an hour, I’m standing at my own front door, my insides liquid at what waits beyond. Feeling like I’ve run a marathon I haven’t trained for, I hear Josh’s keys rattle as he gets my house key in the lock. I can feel
a heaviness in the air on my porch; it’s pressing against my lungs, making it hard to breathe. My thoughts feel like they’re stuck in molasses, my heartbeat pounding through my head, the only thing I can hear.
Josh finally gets the door open, and steps inside, leading our little group.
“NO!! Josh’s mental scream breaks my horror-induced lethargy.
I push by him, rushing into the front room, and come to a dead stop, like slamming into a cement wall. My eyes can’t compute what they’re seeing, my brain on vacation from the horror that is before me. I feel someone come up behind me, warm hands on my shoulders.
Someone is screaming, the sound full of grief and anguish. High-pitched, it sounds as if its life is being ripped from its soul. Distantly, I realize I’m the one screaming, my throat raw. My brain is struggling to figure out what my eyes are seeing. I clamp my mouth shut to hold back more screams.
Mangled limbs are strewn across my blood-soaked living room. Chunks of flesh decorate the floor, as if a toddler flipped his toy basket over in a fit of anger. Two larger pieces slowly turn into torsos, my brain finally catching up, searing the picture of dismembered bodies on my brain.
My stomach revolts, pushing up my throat and out my mouth. Bending at the waist, my stomach empties itself in a puddle at my feet. My skin flashes with a flop sweat. My heart pounding in my ears is the only sound I can hear.
The stench registers next: the blood smelling like dirty pennies, the putrid stink of perforated intestines, the brackish tang of recent vomit. My senses are overwhelmed, my heart ripped out of my chest. My soul shredded.
I take a step closer to the remains, my feet making squelching sounds as I trudge across the saturated floor. A hand over my mouth, trying to keep back more retching, I look at the savaged forms of what used to be human beings. On both torsos there are gaping wounds: one figure has two bloody voids on the upper chest; both forms have ravaged groin areas.