Out of the Shadows

by Timothy Boyd

  “Anything else?”

  He looked up at his partner’s slim form towering over him in his office chair. “So far, no fingerprints in the master bedroom. They’re gonna call to update me, but I don’t think they’ll find anything.”

  Christine nodded, considering him as he reclined in his chair.

  Jonathan noticed the stare and became defensive. “What?”

  “I’m letting her go home.”

  “Brody, I don’t think that’s a good—.”

  “I’m letting her go home, Colt. I’m going to have an officer escort her back to her car so she can go home and relax.”

  He remained silent for a bit before replying, “Fine.”

  As Christine made the arrangements for a police escort, Jonathan approached Rita, feeling like he should apologize but not wanting to. “Can we get your cell number so we can reach you if we need to?”

  “I don’t have a cell, but Officer Brody wrote down my home number,” she replied.

  He nodded. He felt that there was more that he wanted to say to her, more to ask her, more for her to tell. The thought occurred to him that perhaps his brain was overcompensating due to his perception of his partner’s lack of focus. So he watched silently as Rita grabbed her things and walked out the door into the storm.

  For the next thirty minutes, the two partners sat down together and talked through everything that had happened that day, hoping that one would pick out a detail that the other hadn’t. They were waiting impatiently for the search results to come back from the artist’s rendering of the man Rita had seen running away from the house, but until that happened, they really had no leads.

  But finally, the drawing was delivered. “Here you go,” came the voice of one of the female patrol officers, handing Christine a printout of information on the sketch. “If it’s accurate, then the man Ms. Mayes saw running away from the house is Frank Sheffield, the brother of the first victim, Peter Sheffield.”

  “No shit,” Jonathan said, scanning the page of info over Christine’s shoulder.

  “But – let me tell you what – it has not been easy digging up info on this guy.”

  “Shiesty criminal?” he wondered.

  The officer shook her head.

  “Then why?”

  “Because he’s been dead for twenty years…”

  * * *

  “This doesn’t add up,” Christine said, throwing her arms into the air.

  Jonathan had taken a break from reading files and was staring out the window, watching the afternoon wane, giving way to a dreary dusk as the snow continued to pile up. It was no longer safe for people to be driving on the roads, and if anyone chose to be so bold, they were to be ticketed by the patrolling officer.

  “We’re chasing a dead guy! And let’s, for a moment, just ignore the fact that it would be difficult to apprehend a dead guy, but because he’s been dead for twenty years, we can’t find any information on him!” Christine continued.

  “That’s where you’re hangin’ yourself, though,” Jonathan offered, still staring out the window as the freezing aura from the glass reached his close face, his nostrils leaving behind tiny plumes of fog.

  “What?”

  “We’re not chasin’ a dead guy. We’re chasin’ a guy who wants us to think he’s dead. There’s a difference.”

  “Or… we really are chasing a dead guy,” she added.

  Jonathan turned to look at her for clarification.

  “You think there’s a person out there with the power to freeze people, so who’s to say there’s not a dead person out there with the power to freeze people?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Do we know how Sheffield died yet?” Christine called out to the rest of the staff.

  “Working on it,” she heard a voice answer.

  “Work faster, please!”

  Jonathan followed his partner’s urgency by spouting more facts from the printout, fighting to come up with something around which they could wrap their minds. “So, this dead guy leaves behind a daughter, Jessica, who’s put into an orphanage ‘cause her mum’s also dead. She runs away at age eighteen, never heard from again, and now she’s presumed dead.”

  “This is a fantastic family,” Christine offered sarcastically.

  “Got it!” yelled one of the staff members, running over to Christine, handing her a slip of paper. “Sheffield’s C.O.D.”

  Christine looked at the information, and her jaw slowly dropped.

  Jonathan waited for her announcement, but when it never came, he said, “Care to share?”

  She looked up at him with incredulous eyes. “Twenty years ago, Frank Sheffield was found in his daughter Jessica’s bedroom… frozen.”

  Jonathan remained expressionless, allowing his mind to process all of the wild bits of information he’d received so far today. “Ok… so…” he began, nodding slowly. “It looks like we need to find out what happened to Jessica Sheffield.”

  “She’s been missing since she was eighteen. And now presumed dead.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “We’re already lookin’ for one dead person. Why not make it two?”

  Another officer in the room shouted, “We found something over here!”

  Christine handed Jonathan the stack of papers and said, “I’m on it.” She ran over to the desk to look at the computer screen around which a few people were crowded. “Seriously?” she asked rhetorically, looking at the officer sitting at the desk. “Good work!” she patted him on the back.

  “What?” Jonathan asked.

  Christine ran to the coat rack and flung her dark winter jacket around her shoulders.

  “Brody, what?!”

  She turned to him, a grin on her face. “Frank Sheffield owns property here in Rockport just off of Union!”

  “You’re kiddin’ me!” Jonathan said, dropping the papers on a desk, running to grab his coat as well.

  She waved her hand at him. “It’s ok. I got this; you stay here and keep researching.”

  Jonathan stopped, gauging whether his partner was serious. “No, I’m comin’,” he said, feeling the anger from the day rising within him.

  “Colt, I got this. These guys need you here!”

  “Come off it! We’re—.”

  Christine, growing frustrated with Jonathan’s continued inability to trust her, waved him away and headed for the door without him.

  “Brody!” Jonathan commanded, more forceful than anyone on the force had heard him get with his partner.

  She spun on her heels. “What?!”

  The two eyed each other, mentally preparing for a standoff of words. He walked over to a nearby file room and opened the door, holding his hand out for her to lead the way.

  Rolling her eyes, she entered, and he followed behind her, shutting the door. She stood, arms crossed, waiting to hear what he had to say.

  “You’re lettin’ today get in your way,” is what he said.

  “Excuse me?” she threatened, her eyes narrowing.

  “I know that today is a shitty day for you, but we have work to do and—.”

  “A shitty day?! You’re just chalking today up to ‘a shitty day’ for me?”

  Jonathan grew frustrated with Christine’s inability to control her emotions. “Come on, Brody. It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like? Because you make it sound like I’m overreacting!”

  “I’m sayin’ that I’m here for you, and I know it sucks, but you gotta—.”

  “It sucks?!” Christine laughed, and it unsettled Jonathan. “You’re damn right it sucks, Colt! You have no idea what it’s like to deal with the shit I’ve had to deal with!”

  “Don’t turn this around and make me look like the frikkin’ bad guy!”

  “That’s right, Colt.” She jabbed her own thumb into her chest. “I’m the bad guy! I’ve always been the bad guy! Because only bad guys kill their own fathers, right?!”

  Her self-deprecating words left him silent, feeling an inte
nse sympathy swelling in his chest.

  “Right?!” she demanded an answer once more.

  Taking a softer tone, Jonathan said, “He was hurtin’ you. It was self-defense.”

  “I know what it was!” Her voice cracked, tears brimming at the bottom of her eyes. She struggled fiercely to repress her pain, keeping her jaw firm and her breathing deep.

  She couldn’t hide much from her partner, however, and his own eyes sought refuge from the emotion that begged for release, but no matter how much pain she was in, it was his job – as her friend and her partner – to tell her the truth. “Brody, this isn’t a debate about what happened to you. This is about work, and right now you’re lettin’ the emotions of the day affect your judgment.”

  “Excuse me?” she said through clenched teeth.

  Jonathan hesitated to say it out loud, but then he took a deep breath and spoke. “You’re droppin’ the ball.”

  The tears in her eyes swelled now, turning from pain to anger, her fiery gaze piercing his soul. “And tell me just how I’m dropping the ball.”

  “You saw Rita today, and you immediately viewed her as a victim, and you’ve been blinded by your need to save her.”

  She lunged forward, pushing him against the metal file cabinets behind him. “You are so full of shit!”

  “You keep sayin’, ‘I got this, I got this, I got this!’ But you don’t have this!”

  She turned her back to him, running a shaking hand through her hair, biting her bottom lip to create physical pain to numb the emotional.

  “We’re partners, Brody! We do this together! I watch your back; you watch mine. It’s how we do this! It’s how we’ve always done this!”

  “So, that’s it? You’re pissed because I won’t let you watch my back?!”

  “No, dammit! I’m pissed ‘cause you aren’t watchin’ mine!”

  Christine unintentionally gasped, taken aback by the revelation of his intentions. She had assumed that he’d been trying to play the hero all along, as if she needed to be watched and protected. But in fact, it had been the opposite. He was right, but she wasn’t the type to admit it. She intended to turn and leave the file room, ignoring the whole conversation altogether, but Jonathan’s cell phone rang.

  He angrily removed it from his pocket, answering it more forcefully than he meant. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Officer,” replied a deep voice, most definitely disguised by an electronic device.

  “Who is this?”

  “That’s not important,” came the reply.

  “I’m hangin’ up now, asshole.” He angrily tapped the phone’s screen, taking a deep breath, eager to return his attention to the discussion with his partner.

  Lines of confusion crossed Christine’s face. “What was that?” she asked, trying to let the anger flow off of her shoulders.

  He shrugged. “Some prank caller.”

  The phone rang again.

  He answered more angrily this time. “Listen, chief. I’m an officer of the law, and it is illegal to harass me. Who is this?”

  The deep, disguised voice pulsed with fury now. “If you hang up on me again, I will kill your wife!”

  The breath was knocked from Jonathan, and he felt as though his heart stopped. Christine could tell from his expression that something horrible was happening, and her brow furrowed in concern.

  “Ah,” the voice continued in a playful tone. “I see I have your attention now.”

  “D-d-don’t…” Jonathan stammered, a fear-fueled anger taking over his body. “Don’t you touch her.”

  Christine covered her mouth and gasped, now understanding the purpose of the call.

  The voice replied, “She looks so relaxed, sitting in her rocking chair next to the fire, reading a book.”

  Jonathan’s hands shook as he quivered with fear for Leslie. “What do you want?”

  “Ignore the Sheffields, or your wife will die, encased in a frozen tomb like all the rest.”

  “You go to hell!”

  An eerie laughter filled the earpiece, and then the person simply said, “Fine. Just remember that I gave you a choice.” And then the call disconnected.

  Skin pale and bloodless, Jonathan trembled violently, gasping for breath to steady himself. His mind raced with a million different things, none of them good, but he did the only thing that made sense to him in that instant.

  He fled the file room and charged out the front door into the blizzard from hell.

  The Dead of Winter

  V

  Leslie Colter gazed into the mesmerizing orange and blue flames flickering rhythmically within the stone fireplace, comfortably staring at nothing particular, allowing her mind to wander while the fire softly warmed her body. She rocked the chair smoothly, her paperback book held loosely in her hands. The growing storm and waning daylight outside worried her, and she thought briefly about calling Jon to find out when he’d be home for the night, but she knew he would call when he was done as he always did.

  Her thoughts drifted, and she smiled warmly as the visage of her husband floated to the forefront, his gentle brown eyes filled with hope and happiness. She wondered what wonderful thing he was planning for their upcoming anniversary, because his surprises were always heartfelt and magnificent. Ever since the moment that he lowered himself onto one knee and held a ring up to her, he continued to give her all of the things in life that she never expected, and it was one of the many reasons she was in love with him.

  Although the fire had been sufficient at warming the living room, she placed her book on a nearby end table and rose from the chair, crossing the wooden flooring into the kitchen. She remembered her verbal exchange with Jon that morning, and as she opened the fridge to grab the half-gallon milk jug, she hoped that Christine was handling the day well. After pouring the beverage into a white mug and adding a packet of cocoa powder, she placed her drink into the microwave to warm it up.

  Standing in the kitchen, watching the mug slowly spin, she anticipated the delightful warmth of the liquid rolling down her throat as she curled back up with her book in front of the fire. Despite the hellacious weather, she was determined to have a relaxing evening.

  She heard the latch on the front door release and the door creak open, sending the shrill wind howling through the house before quieting once more. She smiled more broadly, knowing that her husband was now home and safe.

  “Hey, honey!” she called out excitedly. “I’m makin’ some hot chocolate! Did ya want some?”

  She eagerly waited for his tender voice to give her a loving response, but there was none.

  “Honey?” she called out again, a bit more inquisitive now.

  As the microwave rang out, alerting her that her drink was warmed, she left the kitchen to see why her husband was not responding. She entered the dark foyer to find that the front door was once again closed, and it was now locked as well. Flipping the switch next to her, the simple chandelier above illuminated the main hall.

  A chill overtook her as goose bumps rose to the surface of her skin. She hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm up, even though she knew that the temperature is not what caused her spine to tingle.

  “Jon?” she asked aloud, a hint of worry in her tone. “If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny.” But she knew her husband well, and this was not the type of prank he would pull. She tiptoed, feeling uneasy about what may be lurking around every corner she passed, her own home no longer feeling safe and warm. She entered the parlor to find that the fire no longer burned, the embers black as if they had never been lit. The temperature dropped significantly, and she saw her own breath puff sporadically from her frightened lips.

  She heard a creak from the wooden floor of the dining room, and she halted, trembling from head to toe. Voice quivering, she spoke, “Who’s there?”

  She knew no one would answer.

  “My husband is a police officer,” she threatened, hoping to scare away the intruder. “I woul
d leave if I were you.”

  Again, no answer.

  She took small steps, edging closer to the corner around which the dining room was located. Her breathing was ragged, and her heart thumped fiercely in her chest. She quietly reached out next to the fireplace and grasped the long, pointed, iron stoker, clutching it tightly in her shaking hands.

  She wanted to flee, but with the weather outside, she knew she would not make it far. And she didn’t feel she had ample time to lace up snow boots, wrap a scarf around her neck, and put on a hat and gloves before dashing out into the treacherous blizzard. She either had to lock herself in a room somewhere or frighten away the intruder by acting vicious and crazed.

  Leslie closed her eyes and thought of her husband’s smiling face, wanting something joyful to be on her mind in case it ended up her final thought. Then she dashed around the corner, her feet failing to find traction on a slippery substance on the floor.

  As her legs flew out from under her, she wondered why there would be a patch of ice in the dining room, and then her world became engulfed in blackness.

  * * *

  Jonathan flung open the door of the police station, and he was blasted in the face with pellets of snow and sleet, the freezing wind immediately numbing his skin. Not remembering to grab his coat before charging outside, he held his arms up to his face, squinting to get his bearings through the storm’s fury. Pinpricks of ice assaulted him, and the howling wind deafened and discombobulated. He tromped through the nearly knee-high snow, feeling the frigid slush fall down into his boots. His skin grew so cold that his brain became confused, and it felt as though he were being singed with flame. But he didn’t care; he was unconcerned with the preservation of his own body.

  Leslie was in danger.

  He was sure that the arctic wind was the only thing preventing tears from streaming down his face as he made his way across the parking lot to the police SUVs. Fear was not unknown to him; his job frequently put him in compromising situations, but this was a completely different kind of terror than he had ever experienced. On his wedding day, he had vowed to protect his wife until the day he died, and now the vow was broken. His words meant nothing. As his heart raced with both wrath and dread, he damned himself for spending so much time protecting the citizens of Rockport when he clearly couldn’t fulfill the promise he had made to his wife while under the watchful eyes of God.