LYING COP

by Sandy Night

  But something about the apartments concerned him the most. Alaska had been determined to find a dead man. And she found him behind door number twenty-three, a squirrelly type punk with no clothes on. The expression on his face when he saw Alaska twisted into shock and his jaw dropped. The story of a scam was true.

  But then what happened? Alaska slapped Whip and he fell. The apartment smelled like stale garbage. Then that was it. The memory cut off like the end of a movie.

  Was someone else there? Had he been shot? Colt’s hands searched his body and found a rip in his shirt. His arms bore sore abrasions with minimal bleeding. No bullet holes. Then he inspected the back of his head and located a painful bump.

  He threw his hands up in defeat. What with all the paranoia he had suffered with after getting ambushed with that stupid bottle while on duty two weeks earlier, the constant peering over his shoulder, and then finally conquering it, he had failed to keep in tune with his gut instinct. He remembered the static crawling up his neck after he stepped inside the apartment.

  But what happened to Alaska? Was she in there with him?

  “Alaska,” he called out for her. “Alaska!” He frantically scurried around on his hands and knees on the moist floor, bumping into wall after wall, until he slid face first down a slim sharp slope. He bolstered himself against the sides with his elbows to keep from going any further.

  Was he about to drop into a deadly snake pit filled with thousands of slimy, fanged reptiles? Or was it the passageway to the hairy monster’s lair? Maybe it was a tunnel that went straight down to the bowels of the earth, to the lake of fire where red devils with pitchforks danced around naked, laughing.

  He did not want to find out. Crawling backwards to the tiny cell with earthen walls, his stomach lodged in his throat. But maybe Alaska fell down there? “Alaska!” He hollered and then listened diligently for a response. She didn’t answer.

  As a police officer, he had first hand experience at what a person could do to another human being, sometimes tragic and other times humorous and downright zany. What had been done to him was indeed malicious. Literally being on rock bottom proved to be the most excruciating experience Colt had ever endured.

  Time to go up.

  But what if there’s no way out. No exit. No door. No hole. No light.

  Paralyzing terror settled in his limbs. No, not going there, fear ranked utterly useless. He stood and shook himself like a wet dog. He then began scratching and clawing at dirt and stone, creating numerous footholds and handholds. He cautiously stepped up; slipping would not be an option. Leaning the side of his face and shoulder against the cool earth, he kept his burning eyes closed, tears streamed down his cheek.

  Jagged ledges of rock emerged and he began climbing as if he stepped on a ladder. But then it slanted towards him and when he was about to lose his balance his arm swung out and hit another wall of rock behind him. He grabbed on to that side and held on for dear life. His shirt damp from perspiration stuck to his body, and he listened to the rapid heaving of his own breathing.

  He realized he perched at the bottom of a circular chimney. His spirits rose, this had to be how he got down there. Whoever did this to him simply shoved him through a hole in the ground. Maybe they didn’t mean to kill him, but to delay him while they worked on covering up their scam.

  He shimmied up. It narrowed to around two and a half feet. He kept glancing above him, searching for a hint of light. But not even a twinkle became visible. Maybe brush covered the hole or thick clouds covered a night sky.

  A memory of his youth materialized. He and his two brothers took a day trip to the northwest region of Arkansas where they explored a mammoth cave with a tour guide. He had been so intrigued by the hazy hills that he checked out a book in the school library about Ozark history. He never forgot the fascinating story about Spanish Conquistador soldiers who had invaded the area in the 1500’s. They mined gold and sliver, digging deep tunnels into the mountains.

  Was that where he was—in an ancient hole in the ground that possibly connected to a network of tunnels?

  It didn’t matter as long as he found a way out. When he had climbed about forty feet, the top of his head hit. Curve?

  He scouted around with his hands and to his horror found himself at a dead-end. Impossible. He had to have gotten down there somehow? Or did he climb down instead of up? His heart turned into a bongo drum, pounding against the inside of his chest, as if it was trying to get out.

  No, he stood down there and gravity pointed the way like a compass. He searched above, tracing a circular outline between hard soil and rough rock to smooth rock. It was airtight. They had rolled a boulder over his outlet.

  Bracing himself with his legs, he used both hands to push, letting out a roar that echoed back to him. The boulder didn’t budge a hair. They didn’t delay him. They attempted to murder him! He experienced a miracle, surviving the fall.

  He considered his options. He could holler, hoping a passerby would hear him. Where the heck did they stuff him anyway? Still in Branson, couldn’t be, had to be back in the mountains. Or maybe he’s behind the apartment complex? Maybe they were still there and if they realized he survived they would shoot him. Would his voice even be heard?

  One re-course remained. Colt wasted no time shimmying down the chute.

  He found the downward tunnel, the place that led to real living and breathing nightmares, and the place that made his bone’s shiver. He lunged and then slid, destination? Hell, or maybe a well?

  He held his breath. His body would never be recovered. Would they put his picture on flyers? Would his dead relatives be standing on the edge of the other side, waiting to greet him?

  *****

  Alaska’s eyelids fluttered, revealing a dream gone badly, so she closed them. Her forehead throbbed like the heart of a monster and her back cramped with no mercy. Her feet were cold. A chemical, musty odor seeped into her nostrils. She wiggled her toes. The realm of reality overcame her. She opened her eyes again.

  To the side of her, Whip sat cross-legged, leaning his back against a dark wall. Tilting his head and squinting, he picked at his ear with a stick. She attempted to jump up and grab him, but the floor would not release its stronghold. Her arms twisted behind her and her wrists were painfully stuck together. Her hands tingled with a thousand tiny pin pricks. She kicked and flopped like a mermaid out of water.

  Crap! Damn-it!

  The tables had turned. She was the one captured. Her heart sank into a puddle of profound disappointment. They were way too late in finding Whip. She should have listened to Colt. He was right. They should have told the authorities and gotten help.

  Poor guy, he had been nothing but nice to her. And look at the mess she got them in.

  She rolled over expecting to see him tied up like her, but he wasn’t there. Maybe he’d gotten away and was searching for her. Or maybe he was out there right now, just waiting for the perfect moment to rescue her.

  Alaska flicked her attention back to Whip Cunningham. Besides the confrontation they had at his apartment, she hadn’t seen him for years. He had changed. His hair had been dyed to a yellowish-blond and trimmed to a spike, and his skin boasted many hours under the sun, or on a tanning bed. A growth of facial stubble made him appear mature. He wasn’t the scraggly mop she had always known him to be.

  She gazed around as best she could. They were in a ghastly, tiny cabin. The windows were gone leaving holes with brush growing through, and there was no door on the hinges. Light beamed between gaps in the logs, and a tree branch had crashed through part of the roof. Strewn about were 2-liter bottles, rusted cans, and a torn up quilt. Her tennis shoes were in a pile of grubby garbage. They were missing their laces. Is that what they used to tie her up in? She twisted and looked at her ankles. They sure did. A mouse squeaked.

  The place had the ambiance of death. Were there ghosts lingering about, watching these two strange mortals? Or maybe Whip wasn’t a stranger at all? Whose property were
they on? Many families never tore down the residences of their ancestors on land that had been passed down from generation to generation. Or maybe, they were way far out in a secluded relic.

  “If you’re looking for that cop, he’s gone,” Whip said with a haughty smile.

  Alaska flared her nostrils. “You’re busted, you creepy freaky son-of-a-bitch!”

  He cackled, “Nooo, you thought I was gonna be. But that didn’t happen, now did it?”

  She squirmed. “That cop, he’ll be back, and then you’ll be sitting in that damn prison instead of my brother!” She glared up at him, pivoted her body around on her back, and kicked his knee.

  He jumped up. “You bitch!”

  She tried again but missed, feeling the restraint holding her ankles together loosen.

  “That cop’s not coming back.” He gingerly stepped around her. “Man, he’s in the hole.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, what hole?”

  “The black hole, it goes all the way to China.”

  “You mean a well?”

  “There’s no water in there.” Whip squatted by her head. “My great-great-uncle found it. He rolled a boulder over it so nobody would fall in. We moved it and that cop went right in, swoosh down he went, like he was being flushed down a toilet.”

  She was about to say bullshit, but what if he spoke the truth. She had to know where that hole was. She was going to get loose, she could get him out. “And were you there, when he went in?”

  “Oh yeah, we just slid him in, head first.”

  “Was he conscious?”

  “Nope, his eyes were rolled back. I threw dirt in them.”

  Alaska bit her lower lip. If they were competent enough to send Blade to the pen for a homicide that didn’t actually happen, then they were probably capable of doing a real killing.

  Tears rolled down her temples. She couldn’t lose Colt, not like this.

  What the hell was the matter with her? He tried talking to her, but she totally rejected him, like he was jerk. But he wasn’t. He had saved her ass from the clutches of Haggard at the café, and then saved her and Blade’s lives at the clearing near the cave. Esther was going to shoot them. And he saved her brother again by making him turn himself in. That could have been him going down the hole.

  Colt explained he was on vacation, and he did say he understood her anger. Did he apologize? Yes he did. The first words out of his mouth after she found out he was a cop were, I’m sorry.

  He did care for her. A man wouldn’t kiss a woman with so much tenderness the way he did her without feelings, or make passionate love the way he did. But now, because of her pride and stupidity, he may have been killed.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Whip peered down at her. “You don’t look too well, all red in the face.” He swiped at a tear with his finger.

  She cringed from his touch and turned her face away.

  “Why are you so upset?” He began twirling her hair. “He was just a cop, right?”

  She couldn’t stop the whimper from coming out.

  “No, you mean you were balling him. Shame, shame, shame…sleeping with the enemy. But don’t worry you’ll soon be joining him.” He tightened the roll of strands, pulling hard. “Shame too, all them worms getting tangled up in this pretty mane of yours. Squiggling and squirming in your ears, your nose.” He giggled, “Fat juicy—”

  She swung her head back around and chomped down on his finger like a vicious dog.

  “Aaaahhhhh!”

  Whip’s siren pitched screams pierced Alaska’s eardrums. She didn’t let go. Using all the strength her jaw could muster, she shook. And biting through her hair, her teeth cut deep into his flesh.

  Still hollering, he stood, lifting her head up off the floor.

  Bone crunched and the metallic flavor of blood oozed inside her mouth. It was disgusting but she didn’t care, she was determined to bite his damn finger off.

  He grabbed a handful of hair with his other hand and pulled.

  Heavy footsteps stomped inside the cabin shaking the floorboards. “Shut Up! Shut Up!” It was Tom Ketch. “Shut the fuck up you idiot!”

  “She’s got my finger man,” Whip screeched.

  Tom kicked the backside of Alaska’s shoulder. She flipped over onto her belly, smashing her face onto the grimy floor. She spit out dirt and blood that wasn’t hers, and then turned back around to lie on her arms again.

  She glared up at the man who like the devil had lured her brother into a snare where he had been set-up for a phony murder. Tom stood tall, huffing and puffing with his hands on his hips. His pointy, rattlesnake skin cowboy boots stood mere inches away from her face. “Stay away from her you pea-brain. I’ve had enough of you screwing things up.”

  Whimpering, Whip retreated to a corner.

  Alaska wanted to wring Tom’s neck, but couldn’t. At best, she could lash out with harsh words, but she had to learn where that hole in the ground was. So she kept her mouth shut and stared at a colossal cobweb on the ceiling.

  Chapter 12

  When Colt’s vision caught an arch of illumination, he wondered if death befell upon him and heaven’s beckoning lay before him. Either way, he stood, stumbled, and ran for it. And not knowing which world occupied the other side, he barreled through.

  His eyes burned from sharp sunlight glistening through towering trees, and not wanting to close them, he shielded them with his hand as they became awash with tears. A warm breeze brought the scent of pine, and crows cawed in the distance. His mouth and throat declared complete dehydration.

  Recognizing the senses of mortal man and nothing new that would indicate he penetrated the spirit world, he let out a big sigh of relief.

  After wandering a short ways in a blur, he plopped down on his knees in a patch of high grass and wildflowers. As his pupils adjusted to the bright outside, he became mesmerized by slim white petals encircling a dome like disk the color of rich egg yolk. He’d seen thousands and thousands of them by roadsides, in yards, and empty lots, everywhere, every year. But never so close. He reached out to touch one and observed his hand covered with blackish brown soil. He turned it around and scanned his arm. Astounded, he jumped up. Dirt caked his whole body.

  Stepping out of the weeds, he glared at the mouth of the cave, the gate to hell. He’ll never in a million years go back in there. Oh, he might show it to somebody in the future if he could ever locate it again. And they can go in there and he’ll stand by the entrance.

  He glanced around at the surrounding forest. The evil doorway sat in a low hill, and before him laid an incline of parted pine. It would be best to keep on going downward. He broke out in a fast stroll feeling like a Sasquatch out on a mission to make known his existence. Find a phone, learn of his location, and call his dad to come pick him up. Then he could go from there to search for Alaska, and hunt down the people who put him down that hole.

  Hoping to run into a wildlife officer instead of hikers who could possibly freak out over his appearance, he patted his wallet to make sure it still remained in his back pocket. And then the distant noise had begun. His stride stopped cold.

  The high pitched screaming could have been an injured animal, or merely some kids playing rough. And then it increased in intensity. Alaska?

  Colt turned toward the sound and faced the cave but to the left. Were they killing her? He darted like a spooked deer and galloped up the hill.

  Even though the wailing had ceased, he kept on going through thick and thin woods careful not to change his course. But a cramp made him stop. Clutching his side, he breathed through his mouth. He heard tinkling and rushing, quite a bit of it too. A waterfall had to be to the right of him.

  What would he give for a drink? Probably hundreds of dollars and maybe thousands to stand under cascading water. But he wouldn’t give any of his time, not now.

  He strived to recall the tunnel’s turns and straight a ways, trying to head in the direction of the deep hole they dropped him down. The
hollering had to have come from that area. He continued on past the sounds of paradise.

  A trail crossed his way and he jogged on it for a ways before stopping at the rumble of a small engine vehicle coming up behind him.

  Help at last, or?

  He leaped into the weeds and hunkered down.

  A 4-wheeler zipped by him and on it was that old woman who had had the shotgun, Esther Ketch. Behind her, a red cooler the size of a six-pack jiggled.

  Colt got back on track and almost didn’t hear the hum of another vehicle. Back in the weeds he went. A sliver SUV came bouncing along. He couldn’t see who sat behind the wheel.

  *****

  Tom’s frenzied pacing inside the wretched cabin grated on Alaska’s nerves.

  Finally, he stepped out when a 4-wheeler pulled up and cut its engine. But Whip snapped to attention, and gawked at her.

  “Where’s Doug?” Tom demanded outside.

  “He’s coming,” a woman said.

  Alaska flinched. It was his mother.

  “That dumbass turned himself in,” Esther’s voice rose.

  “What?” Tom asked.

  “You heard me,” she shouted.

  “Roper turned himself in?”

  “Yes, Roper turned himself in, what are you deaf?”

  Alaska noticed Whip had taken his eyes off her. She raised her hips up and scooted her ankles to where her butt pressed the floor. The knot met her fingers. She could untie it even though her hands were numb, but she needed at least a full minute, maybe two. But she sensed a figure stepping up to the doorway so she flattened herself. And then she angled her head to the side to shoot visual daggers up at the person.

  It was Esther, wearing wrinkled scrubs and grungy looking slip-ons. Her hair stuck out every which way, one swollen eye opened to a mere slit, her face bore splotches of red, and her arm hung in a blood stained sling. She took baby steps as if shackles clanged around her ankles.

  If Alaska wasn’t in such dire straits, she would have laughed. “Have a nice fall?” she asked.

  “You really didn’t think you’d get away with it?” Esther spat. “Did you?”