Without saying another word, the suspect relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and brought his free arm around to where the trooper was standing. Trooper Dan grabbed the man’s hand, cuffed it, and swung it around to cuff the other.
After being secured, Matt stood him up and escorted him to Dan’s squad car. He buckled the suspect in the back seat: a seat separated by a steel and Lexan barrier between the prisoner and the transporting officer. Nicely tucked away in the cage you belong in, he thought as he slammed the trooper’s door.
“Dan, you okay?” Matt asked the trooper who was busy brushing off dirt from his uniform.
“Yeah, little road rash from going down, but I’m fine,” Dan replied. “Thanks for the help; I couldn’t get to my radio!”
“No problem, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Matt said with all sincerity.
“It happened so fast. He seemed compliant,” Dan explained, “that’s why I didn’t ask for backup. I get him turned around, hands toward me, and BAM…he grabs my wrist, throws me down, and we went from there.” Dan shook his head.
While Dan was recounting the incident, Matt realized there were three other officers from surrounding agencies standing around listening to them.
“I don’t know what happened after that,” Dan continued, “I just couldn’t move my hand to get to my radio.”
“Well, when I showed up, looked like he pinned your hand down with his foot.”
“No way?” Dan’s eyes momentarily darted back and forth, “I don’t remember that.”
“It’s okay, brother,” Matt assured him with a smile and a hand on his shoulder, “you’re in one piece, and that’s what matters.”
Matt didn’t remember the other three officers arriving on scene, who were now loosely huddled together. Matt overheard one of them talking about how fast they drove to get there. Another officer grinning, boasting about kicking another bad guy’s ass. Matt and Dan shook their heads.
“Hey,” Matt leaned over to Dan as he motioned his thumb in the direction of the boasting officers, “I don’t quite remember it like that.”
Dan smiled and kept shaking his head. Both watched the other officers brag and jest about their new exploits—all of whom were within the first few years of their career.
“Well, I better get this mope up to the jail,” Dan said.
“You got it,” Matt replied and patted him on the back again. “Good job.”
Trooper Dan was on his way with his arrestee as the boasting continued between the other officers. Matt quietly listened to them as he stood outside their imaginary ring. He knew it was all part of the decompression phase after dealing with an arrest like this: suspect tells the cop, “I’m not going to jail again!” and then the fight’s on. The adrenalin kicks in. Then the point comes where everyone realizes the fight is over. Like when a car smashes into a wall and the contents inside keep moving forward at the same speed, so it is with the cop. The situation, the violence, the rapidly evolving danger, it all comes to an abrupt halt. The bad guy is in cuffs and all is okay in the world once again. Unfortunately, the internal process and emotions are still traveling at full speed for the cop.
Matt knew the bragging and boasting afterward meant a release for these officers, and was absolutely imperative to their mental health. He didn’t interrupt them by correcting as to what happened; he simply let them ramble on about exploits they didn’t perform.
Once the chatter about the incident began to die down, talk turned to days off and Matt decided it was time to leave. He asked each officer if they were okay, patted them on the back, shook hands, and thanked each for coming.
After he left the scene to go back into service, his thoughts converged on the conversations of those officers—they probably don’t even realize the pressure relief they’re giving each other.
Then the prevailing thought, always in the forefront of his mind, struck him: conversations with Trish were always opposite of a release. He shook his head slowly while peering ahead to the furtherest reaches of his headlights.
I run. I workout like no one else, yet…I’m miserable. I need to decompress somehow. I just…don’t know…how.
8
INTOXICATED SENSES
The smell of tree sap and fresh-cut grass caused him to pause and take a second, deeper breath. Patches of cottonwood trees mingled with evergreens and lodgepole pines covered the slopes. Willows took over the lower-laying vales. The landscape was green and lush, and the plateau below bustled with people of all ages and genders: working in the fields where the fresh grass lay. Others dug in exposed soil that dotted the landscape, perhaps planting crops, but Matt couldn’t tell—the intensity of the sun pained his eyes. He squinted, as if looking through narrow slits in a tattered fence—everything was distorted with rainbow and crystal diffractions of light bouncing in every direction off of his eyelashes.
The sky was bluer and clearer than he had ever seen. The smell wafting up from the fields was intense, and the clouds were small puffs of brilliant white that speckled the cerulean sky as they slowly meandered past snow-capped peaks in the distance. The slopes, the sky, the woods surrounding the plateau, and the people all seemed strangely familiar—including a subtle presence of someone standing to his left: an ominous yet auspicious presence.
Matt spun around and found himself face to face with the leathery visage of a man slightly taller than himself. His intense green eyes caught and held Matt’s attention for what seemed like an eternity. Although the man’s face suggested that he’d seen many years, his eyes were youthful, full of energy and vigor. Eyes that Matt had never seen before, and yet, for some reason, the eyes, this man, and the hill they stood on all seemed to be familiar.
“Thank you once again for your service and protection,” the man said. He stood with an air of confidence and yet a humbleness at the same time. A breeze swept up his black, shoulder-length hair and swirled it around his neck.
At that moment, Matt noticed a sweet fragrance in the gentle wind, and then long dark-blonde hair began twisting and curling around his own face. He turned to his right, and a woman with flowing hair glided by; she tenderly caressed his cheek with the tips of her fingers; her smile intoxicated his senses, and she said, “Thank you.”
The woman resembled Alie in many ways, but Matt wasn’t sure if it was her. She passed quickly and appeared to glide effortlessly down the slope to the plateau where the people were working.
Suddenly, his right arm strained from fatigued muscles. He slowly looked down his arm and looked upon a sword he grasped like the one he carried into battle the day he went running. He dismissed the whole thing then as a hallucination, but now this! A dream? Another vision? He wasn’t sure; it certainly felt real. The smells, sights, his aroused senses from a woman who seemed to float by him instead of walk, all seemed real enough. And there was this man, staring at him with what seemed like soul piercing eyes: reading his motivations, his desires, the secret places of his heart. He didn’t feel threatened by him, but a familiar sense of closeness and trust; a bond.
Matt forgot about the strain in his arm, the sword, and the old man, as he looked back toward the plateau. The woman was now among the people working in the field with them. She stopped, turned, and lifted her hand to wave at him.
Warmth filled him, flowing from his stomach and spreading through to his extremities, passion began to awaken and he felt the prickling of goosebumps along his spine and arms. He longed for a connection—emotionally, mentally, physically—with such a sublime soul. All his life that was all he had ever wanted, whether waking or in his fantasies: to have a best friend who he could share anything with, to let his hair down with, to shed the masks he wore daily without fear of being judged, and without the fear of not being able to meet someone else’s expectations. A longing for such a relationship was overwhelming at times. He realized he hadn’t felt such intense emotions for a long time. Dead, cold, and a life grown stale is all that he ever allowed, expected, and endured.
/> What’s happening to me? Always in control, never allowing such feelings to run wild. It’s been a matter of survival, but this…feels good. I love feeling alive… alive?… Passion?… Purpose? Isn’t that why I am a cop? Isn’t that what I’ve…
Matt’s attention was diverted by a pale wooden staff that raised next to him. The old man lifted it to chest height. The muscles in the man’s forearm, although not large in diameter, stood out: cords of muscle and sinew in his forearm were as prominent as the individual cords twisted together that formed his staff into a straight rod.
The old man pointed the staff in the direction behind him. Matt turned, and the hill gradually descended into a vale opposite of the plateau. He recognized the slope as the same one he had run down a month ago and engaged the creatures in battle. He could see a few warriors moving around dead creatures. A dozen of them lay in the grass, in a horizontal line—slain in the same skirmish line that they had ascended the hill in an apparent attack. Near the skirmish line, a pile of empty breeches smoldered on a fire as black smoke drifted into the bright sky; breeches that warriors collected from the slain—their body slowly disappearing as a warrior approached each.
A warrior, taller than the rest in stature, looked up the hill toward Matt and raised his sword. He let out a yell, and the other dozen warriors turned toward him and did the same. Matt lifted his own blade in response. They let out another shout.
As their shouts echoed off the surrounding hills, Matt became acutely aware of the fatigued muscles in his right arm and he slowly lowered it to his side. His hips began to ache and his legs felt as though he had run a marathon.
“Well done, Sire,” said the old man.
Matt blinked. The blink seemed to last a lifetime, he could not reopen his eyes. He wanted to grab at his eyelids to force them open, but his arms were too fatigued. From a battle? He didn’t remember a battle. He tried to move his arms, but to no avail. They were too tired, worn out, useless—his muscles cramped, and he thought the pain would cause him to pass out.
The brightness from the sun passed through his eyelids. He attempted to say something to the old man, but his lips only quivered without uttering a sound. He couldn’t ask, yell, or scream for help. Somehow, he finally forced his eyes to open and found it was completely dark.
He lay there trying to discern where he was. His arms tired and sore; his legs and hips exhausted. He turned to his right in an attempt to catch another glimpse of the kind soul who had passed him: the one he longed for. But, he found himself in bed, staring at the digits on his alarm clock.
9
A SILHOUETTE
From the time he got up until the current task of checking his emails at the office in the late afternoon, Matt continued to reflect on the dream that woke him. He felt such camaraderie with those that he fought with on the hill that he sensed the warrior of old within him returning—from days gone by; those days when he relished the thought of working a shift on his own and taking on the worst criminals society could throw at him.
A far cry from where he found himself now: behind a desk, approving reports, and attending to endless meetings with upper-level bureaucrats who had forgotten what it was like to work the road—dealing with belligerent drunks, death, suicides, and the highly-charged domestic violence cases in the middle of the night.
The same bureaucrats who, ensconced in their comfortable climate controlled offices, take their time to dissect a deputy’s decision on a call. Taking days, if not weeks to decide what a deputy should or should not have done, despite the fact that the responding deputy only has seconds after arriving on scene to make a hard choice. The same bureaucrats that feel compelled to make knee-jerk decisions to implement policies that hinder—more than help—the front-line deputies.
Matt found such politics stressful, pointless, a waste of time, and stupid. It seemed like dealing with the office’s management was more akin to a leech sucking the precious life out of himself and others in the department.
His thoughts shifted from office politics to how green and lush it was in his dream—Matt smiled. The thought of a warm summer’s day was a pleasant one in comparison to the frigid winter beginning to settle in on the Rockies.
“Happy to see me?” Alie asked.
“Hey you,” Matt looked up and beamed to see her walk into his office. He sat back in his chair, forgetting his preoccupations.
Alie sat down in a vacant chair beside his desk. She tucked a pinch of hair behind her ear and adjusted herself to face Matt. “I just had to get out of dispatch for a few minutes; come by and say hi.”
“Well then, hi.” Matt studied her face. He noticed the sweet fragrance the moment she entered the office. Her perfume was exactly the same as the fragrance he smelled in his dream the night before. Alie’s hair was identical to that of the woman who had glided past him: long, dark-blonde tresses that she allowed to partially cover her cheeks. Her habit of pinching her hair and tucking it behind her ears was a smooth and effortless action, just like many other things he noticed about her. In many ways she resembled that graceful sprite.
“How’d the weekend go?” asked Matt.
“My sis and I got out, and shopped till we dropped.” Alie grinned.
“Nice. A good weekend, eh?”
“Yeah, she stayed over the weekend with me. We always have a good time together.”
Jake peered around the corner of the doorway like someone not fully dressed looking out of a bathroom door. “Hey guys!” he announced.
Matt and Alie simultaneously replied, “Hey.”
Matt’s right eyebrow shot up and his lips pursed; the big guy now stood firmly planted in his office.
“What?” Jake quizzed his sergeant.
“Nothing, bro,” Matt replied. He shook his head and changed his visage to that of a grin, hiding that he was disappointed that Jake interrupted them. “How goes it?”
“Not bad…” Jake replied with a shrug.
“Hey, Jake. How’d that neighbor dispute turn out?” Alie asked him as she turned herself around in the chair to face him. “You know, the one I sent you on a few days ago.”
“Oh yeah. Let me tell you. I get up there…” Jake rocked back on his heels as he began to tell Alie about the call.
Matt tuned out the conversation: hearing him speak but not listening. He was preoccupied with the feelings of having some sort of chemistry with Alie. Some sort of a connection.
“So what do you think, Sarge?” Jake’s voice pierced his sergeant’s thoughts.
“About what?” Matt replied, having no idea what Jake just told Alie.
“My decision? How I handled the call?”
“Sounds fine, brother,” Matt replied, doing his best impression of being involved in the conversation. “I’m behind you on this. I was listening…you know…I hate being interrupted myself.” Matt couldn’t resist the slight.
“Well,” Alie giggled, and stood up. “I’d better get back. Break’s about over for this gal.”
Jake traded places with her. He reclined back in the office chair; extended his legs and placed his hands behind his head. “Yeah, I thought I did okay on that call too.”
Matt faced Jake, but his gaze and attention were on Alie as she hesitated at the doorway.
“Well, I have this dinner thing coming up with Anna…” Jake began as he leaned forward.
That was all Matt heard—Jake’s voice slowly faded to background noise. Alie turned slightly, smiled at him, and gave him a wave of her finger before disappearing into the hallway.
“…so…you don’t mind, do you?”
“Lot going on here,” Matt replied, shook his head slightly: he didn’t have a clue what Jake just asked him. “Which part?”
“Ah, sorry for rambling on,” Jake leaned against the desk. “That night off for the dinner.”
“Oh, yes. No problem, Jake,” Matt bluffing his way now. “You know how I operate: as long as the shift’s covered, go and have fun.”
“I ap
preciate it, Sarge.”
The afternoon sunk into the shadows of the evening and Matt found himself spending hours of his shift counseling deputies about personal problems, work-related issues, and sometimes both. Finally a lull in the traffic of those coming and going and he seized the opportunity: he headed to dispatch across the corridor for his own break.
Without thinking about the task, he put his key fob up to the security-screener and entered through the first of two solid steel doors. Walking a short distance through the hallway to the next door, Matt was on autopilot and performed the same routine to enter into the dispatch center. After the second door popped open, he rounded the corner and ran right into Alie, who was busy filing reports in a cabinet located against the wall. Files exploded out of her hands and onto the floor from their collision. She jolted straight up, and turned to face whatever crashed into her—strands of her hair wafted by his chin.
“Oh Matt, I am so sorry!” exclaimed Alie.
Matt, startled and mesmerized, had an instant flash-back to the woman in his dream: her hair soft and flowing, her fragrance—although not overpowering—floral and sweet, intoxicating. Alie bent slightly at the knees to pick up the files. Matt only watched; completely captivated by being so close to her.
“Man, I’m…I’m really sorry, Alie. I’m like in a daze or something.”
“Ha…oh, Matt, it’s okay,” Alie said as she stood back up. “I’m so glad you came by.”
“Can I help with that?” Matt pointed to the files in her hands that she retrieved from the floor.
“Nope. I got it,” Alie said smiling. “You’re a bit distracted lately. You okay?”
“Think so. Just need some time away, and…some sleep would help a lot.” Matt hung his head slightly. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of surrender. “Work, sleep…home.”
“Things at home a bit rough?”
Shadows of Reality (The Catharsis Awakening Book 1) Page 6