Delectus

Chapter 3: Jenny and Friends

  Never before in his twenty-three years had Bill Dixon felt so completely helpless. Even though the sheriff’s department had mobilized to find little Ned Brady, Dixon’s impotence swiftly became desperation. The search had gone on all day, but not so much as a footprint had been found.

  He stood with one arm around Jenny Brady and watched night darken the nearby forest. Fat snow flakes fluttered down through light from the living room.

  “We’ll find him, Jenny. Try not to worry.”

  She turned to look up at him. “Oh, he’ll be just fine. I was only on the phone for a few minutes. I’ll have to watch that little scamp closer. But he’s going to be pretty hungry by now. He’s a growing boy you know…just barely five-years old.” She touched Bill’s hand on her shoulder. “You must be half starved yourself, Billy. I’ll make some sandwiches and coffee.” Smoky-blue eyes smiled up at him. She brushed a whisp of light, almost blonde hair into place, then went towards the kitchen.

  Dixon watched her walk away. Was she just insulating herself from the danger her son faced? Was it just defensive denial? Jenny had always been a little distant, her world view a bit shifted from the norm. In this grim situation, though, he sensed something else at work.

  “I need to get back to the station, Jenny,” he said. “Ft. Lewis might send a helicopter with infrared scanners. The sheriff’s at a conference in Los Angeles and I need to coordinate things.”

  She stopped and glanced back at him. “There’s no need for that, Billy.”

  “No need, Jenny?” he asked, now even more puzzled by her lack of concern. “You know how dark it gets in those woods. Infrared might be the only way we’ll spot Ned.” He left unsaid that even with the special equipment the chances of finding the little boy at night were low.

  Jenny walked back to him. “Okay, whatever you think is best,” she sighed indifferently. She tugged his heavy parka tighter around him. “You go on back then. I think I’ll take a little nap.”

  Bill zipped the parka and pulled on his gloves. Distressed that there was nothing more he could do, he told her, “I’ll be back first thing in the morning, Jenny.”

  He slogged to his 4-wheel-drive and swept snow off the windshield then folded his lanky frame in behind the wheel. The snow was falling with less vigor, would end completely soon, but that only deepened his worry. The forecast called for clearing skies by midnight, followed by temperatures expected to plunge below zero. He tried to resist the thought, but its truth prevailed nonetheless---Ned Brady couldn’t possibly survive. Should he stay with her? He wanted to, and not just to offer comfort.

  They’d grown up together, and over the years his feelings had gradually matured into what could only be called love. Sadly, he’d never sensed anything more from Jenny than a deep affection. Instead, it had been Tom Brady who’d captured her heart.

  With a final glance back at the house, he eased along the road’s faint track. His headlights touched the gloom of the forest.

  Aching sadness twisted in his heart. Little Ned must be so terrified by the darkness, and how much tragedy could Jenny bear? Tom Brady, dead after his log truck skidded into a rocky canyon, and now their little boy lost in the deadly cold night. He choked back a lump in his throat. You’re too old to cry he scolded himself.

  Dixon entered the forest. Blackness pressed in. He trembled with a chill even though the heater gushed hot air. While an avid outdoorsman familiar with the wild Cascade Mountains, Dixon was still touched by a strange uneasiness. He leaned closer to the windshield and tried to see beyond the headlight’s reach.

  The road climbed towards a low ridge. Just beyond would be the narrow bridge over Ape Creek. Even with four-wheel drive, he still felt the tires slip a little. Then the snowy track leveled. For a few seconds his headlights probed blackness then, starting down towards the bridge, lit it and the surrounding forest.

  Near the side of the road, a darker blur moved.

  What the hell? He strained to identify it but the formless blur disappeared. All the search parties should be back in town by now, so who could that have been? That’s all I need, somebody else lost in the woods. Wasn’t a bear; they’d all be hibernating.

  He stopped and stepped into the night. “Hello,” he shouted. His flashlight explored the darkness but found nothing more than a foreboding silence and the sentinel trees. “Anybody out there?” Snow and darkness swallowed his shout. He walked towards the bridge, flashlight probing, eyes straining.

  The darkness and surrounding trees pressed in. In spite of his heavy parka, a chill slithered down his spine. Too old to be afraid of the dark, he told himself, but he turned anyway and trudged back to the light and warmth of his car.

  Back in town the snow was deep but slushy. Tension eased. What was going on? He’d hunted the Cascades ever since he could hold a rifle, spent countless nights alone in the forest. Why had he been so spooked this particular night?

  His preoccupation faded when he spotted Tony Bell’s pickup parked in front of the sheriff’s building. The word “STUD” was emblazoned across the truck’s tailgate. Bell’s presence certainly wasn’t going to improve his mood.

  Inside, warmth and light flooded over him. Larry Mitchell looked up from the communications console and grinned at him. “You about froze, Bill?” the deputy asked.

  Dixon sat behind his desk and pulled off his wet boots. “It is a bit nippy out there,” he said. “Not that you’d notice, sitting there getting paid for doing nothing.”

  Mitchell screwed his face into a mock expression of distress. “I’ll have you know I’m a critical part of the department.”

  Dixon tugged off his damp socks. “Everybody check in?” he asked. “Everybody accounted for?”

  “Yep,” Mitchell answered.

  Dixon padded over to the coffee pot. “Thought I saw somebody wandering around out by Ape Creek.” He rummaged in his desk for a pair of dry socks and pulled them on.

  “Couldn’t have been anybody from the search,” Mitchell said. “They’re all checked in.”

  The mens’ room door swung open and Tony Bell strolled over. He was good looking enough, but in a kind of soft, pliant way that was more pretty than handsome. Probably combing his hair again, Dixon thought

  “Hello, Bell,” he said.

  “Well, well… You get lost or what?” The hint of a permanent smirk etched Bell’s face.

  Dixon ignored him and pulled on his boots. He turned to Mitchell. “Any word on that chopper from Ft. Lewis?”

  “Yeah. They called about an hour ago. Changed their minds. Said the weather was too bad for night flying.”

  Dixon shook his head in frustration. “Damnit! They should tell Jenny Brady that.”

  “Definitely bad news for the good guys,” Mitchell said.

  Bell leaned forward on his desk. “Aha! So that’s where you been?” His smirk eased into an open leer.

  Dixon said nothing.

  Bell rose and ambled over. “Jenny’s quite a gal ain’t she?”

  From the comm console Mitchell frowned. “You in one of your moods tonight, Bell?” he asked. It was widely known that Tony Bell had his eye on Jenny Brady, and that she’d rebuffed all his advances.

  Dixon felt Bell’s eyes on him. A cold tension swelled. He sat back in his chair. His gaze rose slowly and confronted Bell.

  “Come on, Bell,” Mitchell said into a growing silence tight with stress. “We got enough troubles tonight without any more.”

  “Shut up, Mitch. I’m talking to Dixon.” Bell braced his arms on Dixon’s desk and leaned over.

  “Back off,” Dixon said, each word distinct and clipped.

  Bell’s face twisted into a lewd sneer. “Tell me, old buddy, old pal. . .she any good?”

  Dixon swept out an arm, knocking Bell’s elbows off his desk. He stumbled forward, just barely braking himself before his face hit the desk top. “Not another word, Bell,” Dixon hi
ssed. “Not another damned word!” He rose and riveted Bell with a hard glare.

  “Come on you guys,” Mitchell said. “There’s a kid lost in the woods, remember?”

  Bell tried to meet Dixon’s eyes but couldn’t. “You’ll be sorry,” was all he said. He stomped out of the room. Dixon took a deep breath and sat back down. Bell’s pick up roared out of the parking lot.

  For the next hour he busied himself with paperwork and organizing grids for tomorrow’s search.

  At 10:00 he was into a third cup of coffee when his phone rang. This time of night it could only mean trouble. “Sheriff’s station, Deputy Dixon.” Jenny Brady’s frantic voice sounded in his ear and he held his breath.

  “Oh, Billy! Tony Bell’s here. He just came busting in like a crazy man --”

  “Jenny, are you all right?” Tingles of adrenaline coursed through him while heavy dread bore down.

  “Yes, I’m just fine. But she’s here too.”

  “Who, Jenny?”

  “I’m not sure what she’ll do.”

  “Jenny. . .Jenny.” He took a deep breath. “Who’s ‘she?’”

  Two miles outside of town, a huge weight mass of snow fell fifteen feet from a fir tree onto a weakened section of phone line. The line snapped.

  Dixon sped from the parking lot, emergency lights flashing, siren beeping its harsh blasts. The SUV fishtailed onto Jenny’s road. He punched the accelerator to the floor.

  Slow down, he cautioned himself. Won’t help Jenny if you wrap yourself around a tree. He took a couple of deep breaths and forced his taut muscles to relax but couldn’t do anything about the chills seething in his gut.

  A half mile from Jenny’s house Tony Bell’s pickup was slanted off the road, nose buried in a snow-filled ditch. Dixon didn’t even slow down.

  He hit the brakes hard and slid to a stop outside the house. Five long strides put him at Jenny’s door. He threw it open and burst inside.

  “Jenny!” he shouted.

  “In the kitchen, Billy.” There was no tension in her tone.

  Little Ned Brady sat bundled in a thick comforter, a woolen watch cap pulled down around his ears. A tiny hand clutching a fork methodically worked over a stack of pancakes. Jenny watched him from across the table with a broad smile.

  The next thing Dixon saw was Tony Bell huddled in a corner curled up like a fetus. He whimpered and sobbed uncontrollably.

  Dixon turned to Jenny. “Ned’s back,” he said.

  “Of course he is, silly,” Jenny giggled.

  Little Ned held up an empty glass. “More milk, mommy.”

  There was a strange odor in the room, some cross between deep-forest moss, wet fur, and.something else, a feral, pervasive aura that suggested mountains wrapped in virgin forests and deep-green rivers.

  Dixon went back outside to his SUV. He unsnapped a flashlight from its clip and shined it on the ground. He saw three impressions of huge naked feet. They were sunk into the tracks left by the SUV’s wheels.

  He swung the flashlight outward at the nearby dark forest, but nothing moved there now. Just the wind.