by Donna Cain
“AH! OH GOD!” He yelled and rolled onto his side. The image of Mr. Jackson’s bloody body was seared onto the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t make the picture leave his mind. That and the pain in his stomach was more than he could bear as he pulled his knees up to his chest and lay there fighting for breath in between the heaves.
Eli and Bug whirled in the direction of the Cat and saw Hunter jump down and then fall over. He was clutching his stomach and yelling. Eli had an awful feeling that Hunter’s stomach wasn’t the worst of it.
“Stay here,” Eli told Bug sternly and took off running toward Hunter. He had dropped the box at Bug’s feet, but she hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were on Hunter who was lying on his side and moaning.
The convulsions were easing a bit by the time Eli got to his side. “Hunter! What is it? Are you hurt?”
Hunter pushed himself up to his knees and said breathlessly, “Eli, Man. It’s bad. It’s really bad. Mr. Jackson’s in there, Man. Eli, he’s dead.”
It took a few seconds for Eli’s brain to comprehend. He had been feeling anxious ever since they had started back into the woods, and he didn’t really know why. He remembered hearing once that your subconscious picks up on all kinds of things, but your mind protects you from certain knowledge until you’re able to deal with it. Eli had known that something was wrong ever since Brody flew past him on his frantic way home a couple of hours ago. Going there with Hunter, he had felt more secure, but, deep down, he knew something was wrong. Now he knew what that something was.
“Are you sure, Hunter?” Eli said in a trembling voice. “Maybe the paramedics could save him. Are you sure he’s really d-dead?”
“Eli, he’s dead. There’s a ton of blood, Man. We have to call the sheriff.” He turned his head and spat on the ground.
Eli took his phone from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1.
Deputy Michael Clay was the first to arrive on the scene, followed quickly by an ambulance. None of the emergency lights were flashing on either vehicle. Eli had made it clear to Mrs. Putnam, the dispatcher, that there was no hope of resuscitation. Rachel had passed the information on to the ambulance driver and the deputy who had both gone quickly but quietly. A death in a small town has a tendency to elicit hysteria among its people. It was best to handle it as quietly as possible until the next of kin could hear it from an officer, not the town gossip.
Deputy Clay parked his cruiser near the kids, who had moved back over to where Bug was sitting on the fallen tree log. Hunter had wanted to put more distance between himself and the Cat. Funny thing was, his stomach felt worse than ever. He was sitting on the fallen tree beside Eli with his head hung over, the pain on his face visible. Eli had sat next to Bug and told her what was happening. All in all, he thought she took the news about Mr. Jackson well. She told him that judging from the description Hunter had given, it was probably a brain hemorrhage. Either that, or blunt force trauma to the head, but she couldn’t be certain without viewing the body. Then she said, “Knowledge is Power.”
They had relayed the information to Deputy Clay in somewhat disjointed sentences. Between the shock of the circumstances and each of their physical ailments, it was difficult to get a full sentence from any of them. Hunter kept retching, Eli was holding his head in his hands and Bug looked white as a sheet with sweat running down her face. Eventually, the deputy thought he had pieced together their entire story. He left them to talk to the paramedics who were hovering near the bulldozer waiting for instructions, not knowing if it was being treated as a crime scene. They had initially examined the body to confirm death, but needed permission to contaminate the scene by removing the body. Deputy Clay asked them to wait for the sheriff. He would give them the go ahead to take Mr. Jackson to the hospital for autopsy.
The sheriff radioed Deputy Clay that he was on his way. Michael Clay had started to feel sick to his stomach. He wondered if whatever had made those kids sick was catching.
CHAPTER 11
Sheriff Buchanon
Sheriff Donald Buchanon was a good man, a really good man. He was a good husband to Margy, a good father to Jeff and Jennifer and a good friend to a lot of people. He was also a very capable sheriff. A town the size of Hallston couldn’t support a very big Police Department, so they had stuck with the Sheriff’s Department that had been in place for years upon years. There were quite a few deputies and volunteers when extra hands were needed, but, all in all, Sheriff Buchanon was the law. He was the last word and the last person you saw leave the scene of any crime in Hallston.
He was a hands-on kind of man. Not so much a control freak, but someone who wanted the job done right and who was willing to put in the time and effort to see that it was. That part was probably a result from his time in the service. He had spent twelve years in the Army and had seen a lot in his two tours overseas. He had been well respected and highly decorated. His life in the Army made sense to him – well ordered, organized, a definite chain of command and a mission to keep people safe and secure. That’s what drew him into the Sheriff’s position after his time in the service was up. He liked the structure of the department, the mission to serve and protect, and the definite chain of command that ended with him.
He did miss the Army sometimes, though. He had made some really fine friendships over the years – not friends so much as brothers. He kept in touch with most of them, and they had reunions now and then, but he missed seeing them. Luckily, one of those brothers was right there in town. Bill Port had been a friend of his since middle school. He had also served with Don on his last tour. It was good to have Bill around.
As Sheriff Buchanon headed over to Bill’s place to grab a drive-thru dinner, he looked forward to seeing his friend. Don’s wife Margy and Bill’s wife Val were good friends also, but they hadn’t seen each other in a while. Kid’s schedules seemed to leave them little free time this time of the year.
He pulled up to the drive-thru menu and waited for Val’s tinny voice to come through the intercom.
“Hey, Don,” she greeted. “What’s it going to be tonight?”
“Hi, Val,” he replied. “Lemme have a couple of corn dogs, a large waffle fry and a medium lemonade.”
“Got it. See you at the window.” The crackle of the speaker stopped.
The sheriff pulled around and waited his turn behind two other cars. By the time he rolled up to the service window, Bill Port was sticking his head out of it. He had a big grin on his face.
“Hey, Double D! It’s been awhile! Have you been avoiding the Hut? Margy making you eat all that healthy crap?” Bill laughed at his friend’s expense.
Bill was the only person left around town that called him that. It originated in middle school when the teachers would call out the entire name of each pupil on the first day of school. Donald Daniel Buchanon was a mouthful and William John Port had dubbed him “Double D” immediately.
“No, just haven’t had time lately. I’ve been on the other side of town for the last few weeks working on those robberies,” he said as he took his lemonade from Bill’s outstretched hand.
That case had worried him. There were no clues at any of the scenes, no leads, no witnesses and the same MO for each case. The homeowners would be out of the house and come home to find the place ransacked – all computers, electronics, cameras and TV’s gone. They never touched the jewelry or tried to get into a safe if there was one. They left a hell of a mess at each house, though. Then, finally a break came when a young couple that had been robbed remembered that their nanny cam was attached to their computer and they could access the footage online. There they were, two guys dressed in black going to work, when one of them looked directly at the camera before unplugging everything to take the computer. It didn’t take long to find the perpetrator and his friend. The harder part was convincing them to rat out their accomplices. They eventually did, of course – no honor among thieves. It turned out they were a small part of a bigger gang from a neighboring town. They would rob houses in Hallston an
d sell the goods in Shale or Glovercroft. Sheriff Buchanon had handed over the evidence and perpetrators to the police department in Shale for prosecution in that town.
“Yeah, I heard about that. Nice job wrapping that up. Who was it, anyway?” Bill asked.
“A gang of guys from Shale. They had some connections in Glovercroft too, but most of the stolen merch was found in pawn shops in Shale. I’ve handed it all over to Captain Davis over there.”
Val poked her head out beside her husbands and said, “Don, tell Margy to call me. We haven’t been to dinner in weeks! I want to try that new Mexicali place that opened on Main a couple of weeks ago.”
“Will do, Val. She’s over at the middle school right now chaperoning the Fall Dance. She and Jennifer won’t get home till late, I suppose. I’m headed over to the game to watch Jeff play.” He accepted the steaming box of fried food from Val.
“We saw Jeff earlier with his buddies. Had to get Hansen Reynolds in line again. He was teasing Bug Hamilton and ended up with Bug falling and bloodying up her nose. That kid is a pain! I hope he gets some of that meanness out of his system by busting some linemen on the field tonight.” Bill said.
“Hansen Reynolds. I’ve been hearing that name a lot lately,” replied the sheriff. “I may have to sit that boy down for a discussion next time I see him.”
A new car pulled up behind the sheriff’s cruiser and the men said their quick goodbyes. Sheriff Buchanon pulled out of the Hot Dog Hut with his two corn dogs and fries in their little cardboard carton in the passenger seat. “Nothing better than food on a stick,” he thought.
The parking lot at the high school was packed, so he made his own place close to the gate. One of the perks of the job was making your own parking place. He greeted the ladies at the ticket booth and paid for his entry. They tried not to accept his money, but he insisted and went on in. His stomach was happy with his meal-on-a-stick, but he was still thirsty, so he made his way over to the concession stand for a drink and a candy bar. “Margy will never know,” he snickered to himself.
He looked onto the field as he made his way toward the concession, but the Jaguars had the ball so Jeff wasn’t playing. Friends and neighbors greeted him as he walked. The air was warm for a late October night, and it felt good to have the night off. He hadn’t realized how wrapped up in that case he had been until it was over. Stress can do that, just sneak up and live inside you until it feels like a normal part of who you are. It isn’t until you feel the relief of it leaving that you realize how bad it had made you feel.
Sheriff Buchanon was quite content munching on a chocolate bar and watching the game. The score was 21-7 and the Mustangs had the ball. Jeff was lined up and ready for the snap. When it came a few seconds later, the crunch of pads was clearly audible. The father in him cringed, but the man in him yelled for his son. Jeff had made a good tackle, and he was proud of his boy.
As the teams lined up for the next play, Sheriff Buchanon’s walkie-talkie crackled to life.
“This is the sheriff, what is it Rachel, you’re making me miss a good game.” He teased the dispatcher not anticipating anything serious, maybe a drunk kid in the parking lot or an unruly customer at the Gas N Go.
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Rachel began, “but we had a call in from a couple of kids around where they’re building the new subdivision on Route 68. They found something, Donald.”
Sheriff Don Buchanon perked up immediately. The only time Rachel used his given name was when it was something bad – really bad.
“What’d they find, Rach?” He asked reluctantly.
“It’s Mr. Jackson, Don. Claymont Jackson. Looks like he died on the site. The kids said he’s still in his dozer.” He could tell Rachel was upset.
“On my way. Over’ n out.”
He turned with a purposeful stride and made for the exit. His stomach was in knots. “Shit. Claymont Jackson. His kid is out there on that field playing right now. I know Agnes is here somewhere. Shit!” Sheriff Buchanon thought.
He made it to his car and called dispatch to talk while he drove. Rachel said that she had Deputy Clay and an ambulance on the way but with no lights. They didn’t want to alert anyone yet, and the kids had made it clear that there was no hope of resuscitation. The kids, she said, were Elivan Andrews and Hunter Massey. Bug Hamilton was there as well.
The knot in his stomach pulled tighter as he passed by the construction foreman’s trailer and headed toward the lights in the huge clearing. They were just car lights, not flashing. Good call on Rachel’s part. News like that would travel quickly and he didn’t want Agnes and Darren to hear any mixed up version of events.
He parked the cruiser and got out. He saw the kids sitting on a tree at the edge of the woods and walked over to them. They looked like they were in shock. “Are you kids all okay? Anyone hurt?” He looked each of them over.
He was thinking that somehow the big bulldozer had gotten out of control and wrecked. It was dark, so he really couldn’t see if the Cat was damaged, but he could see that it was very close to a clump of maple trees.
The kids all mumbled pretty much the same thing. They were fine, just fine. Shaken up a little, that’s all.
Deputy Clay walked over to him. He looked like he had aged a good ten years from the time the sheriff had seen him that morning. The worst part of their job is when you know one of the victims. Deputy Clay always seemed to take it a little harder, though. His family had deep roots in the community. His great-great grandfather had been one of the first Town Council members.
“Hey, Michael, what have you found so far?” The sheriff asked as he took out his notebook.
“Not much, really, Sheriff,” Michael started in his thick southern drawl. “The kids said that Eli had been chasing Brody out here this afternoon, and the dog had acted kinda squirrely. He got Hunter, and the boys decided to investigate a little. They came up to the dozer but couldn’t see inside. They thought it was Claymont’s rig, so Hunter hopped up to look through the window. That’s when he saw the blood. It’s all over his face, poor guy. Paramedic says it’s some kinda brain hemorrhage, most likely. He probably didn’t even feel it come on. Says it probably took him pretty quick.”
“What about Bug?” He asked. “Was she with Hunter and Eli?”
“Not at first. She had seen the guys goin’ into the woods and followed ‘em just as a prank. Try and scare ‘em or somethin’. She came up just as Hunter found Mr. Jackson. They’re all pretty shook up. Feelin’sick to their stomachs and what not. Tell you the truth, I ain’t feelin’ so hot myself. I’m sweatin’ like crazy, and my head’s killin’ me,” Deputy Clay responded.
“I know what you mean, Michael,” said Sheriff Buchanon as his corn dogs rumbled around in his belly. “Let me go take a look. Finish up with the kids and then give them a ride home. Have Rachel call their parents. Just tell them what their kid witnessed, and that they may be feeling a little upset. What’s that box the Andrews kid has?”
Sheriff Buchanon had been looking at the kids as he spoke to Deputy Clay and had noticed Eli holding onto what looked like a shiny silver box.
“Oh, Hunter says they had that with ‘em when they came out. Probably somethin’ to do with all those experiments they do. I’ll go get their statements and have Rach call their folks.” Deputy Clay wiped the sweat from his forehead and headed toward the kids.
Sheriff Buchanon spoke quickly with the paramedics and got basically the same story as he had from Deputy Clay. Most likely a hemorrhage of the brain, couldn’t tell more until the autopsy. No foul play from what they could see. Sheriff sent them to wait in the ambulance while he looked over the scene.
The corndogs were really churning as he made his way over to the bulldozer and climbed up the side to the driver’s door. When he looked inside, the pain in his head was almost unbearable. He had started to see little flashes of blue light…
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER 12
Sheriff Buchanon
The floresc
ent lights in the hospital corridor were hurting Sheriff Buchanon’s eyes. The searing headache he had experienced at the construction site had vanished as quickly as it had come on, just after Deputy Clay left to take the kids home. It had left a remnant, however, and the lights were trying to coax it back.
He passed by the information desk and nodded to Adele, who worked the evening shift. Unfortunately, he was quite familiar with the way to the morgue. This time it was personal, though. Claymont Jackson was a good man. He was a kind person who always had a smile ready. He was well respected and liked within the whole community of Hallston. He was a hard worker and a good family man. His wife loved him, so did his son.
That had been tough. The sheriff had filled out all of his paperwork back at the scene and waited for the paramedics to remove Mr. Jackson from the bulldozer. After the ambulance left with Claymont, Sheriff Buchanon had gone straight to the high school. The game was almost over, so he waited by the ticket booth for Agnes to come through. He knew Darren would be awhile, meeting with the recruiters there and changing into his street clothes, but Agnes had come out quickly with Shasta Port by her side.
They both froze as they saw him. Although she was hoping to find her husband with the recruiters or in the parking lot, Agnes had known something was up when Claymont never showed up in the bleachers and didn’t answer his phone.
“Evening, Ladies,” he started. “I wonder if I could have a word with you Agnes.” Leading up to it was the hardest part for the sheriff.
“Oh Dear God, it’s Claymont! I know it is! I’ve been calling his cell phone, and I knew he would never miss this game! Something’s happened!” She was immediately in tears as Shasta held her arm in case she collapsed. “What’s happened, Sheriff? Where is he?”