Captivated

“Ms. Martha Cresswell, it’s the Sweetwater County Sheriff’s Department. Open up!” Rumbled through the front window panes. Accompanied by several thuds on the front door, I knew that this wasn’t going to be the start of a good day.

“Deputy Finley, what can I do for you this morning?” I spoke crassly.

“Benson, where is your mother? I need to speak with Martha.” His words formed out of the corner of his mouth, the way a country boys’ words stew.

“She’s busy, what’s this about?” I uttered, impatience seeping into my tone.

“May we come in? This conversation shouldn’t be had in the door frame.” Finley directed, pushing the tops of his boots through the doorway.

I opened the door and the familiar creak spoke loudly; the lingering words hung heavy between us. I led the deputy into the lounge room and planted myself deep into the corner of the couch.

“Benson, this isn’t an easy conversation to start so I am gonna come right out and say it. We found your father, Bart, last night.”

My mind drew back to the last time I’d seen my useless father and I felt the unduly familiar flush of redness spread to my cheeks. Blood coursed to my limbs and my head scattered.

“We found him dead, Benson. We are very sorry for your loss- “

I cut Finley off- “How did he die Deputy; he wasn’t an honorable man as I’m sure you’re aware?”

The deputies’ eyes drifted around the room as if to scan before quickly meet my own eyes.

“He was shot with a .38; execution style I’m afraid. It seems to be linked to a robbery of some sort but we’re still looking into the finite details. Now Benson, where can I find your mother?”

“She’s at work. She just got a new job, down at the Council’s office.” I muttered, my mind racing to my father and what he possibly could have had on his person that was worth taking.

Deputy Finley stood up, nodded briefly and made his way to the front door. Before reaching it, he paused and looked back to me, his eyes met mine with what looked like sympathy. He turned back and headed out.

The door clicked shut and all the air in my lungs expelled. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. Time stood still for the following moments, minutes- hours. My eyes finally focused when a noise struck my attention. From my poised hands resting on the armchair, my gaze shifted to the wall clock where I noticed the time I had lost. Two hours had passed since the Sherriff’s department had left, however my mind wondered to the thump I had heard. I found my legs leading my body towards the front door, to which I opened. In the door well, I found a black duffle sitting at my feet.

My head poked around the door frame to peer into our street. The harsh Wyoming sun warmed my forehead and my eyes squinted to adjust the jarring lighting. Not a soul walked our street. I found the breath in my throat caught once more, listening intently for a sound. Anything, to give me a sense of what was happening. I heard the rustling of paper catching wind in its plane. My eyes followed the rustle to discover a folded piece of paper loosely tucked into a pocket of the duffle.

Upon opening the note, I read “Open me” and the feeling of nostalgia washed over me. It took me back to reading ‘Alice in Wonderland’ as a child. I suddenly realized that childhood whimsical fun was no longer present in my budding adult life.

I picked up the duffle, which held more weight than I initially expected. I carried the bag and set it down on the coffee table, where I then plonked down onto the couch. As I reached out to unzip the bag, I paused in hesitation and my eyes drifted to the business card sitting on the opposite side of the table. Belonging to one “Deputy Finley Michaelson of Sweetwater County Sherriff’s Department, Wyoming”, which I had neglected to see before. My mind immediately drew to whether he knew about the random bag. Whether I should call and ask? When did Finley put the card there? My eyes again focused on the zipper. I opened the large toothed zip slowly, slow enough to feel my heart pulse through my chest. What could old Bart have that was worth a damn dime? This particular thought churned in my brain, turning over and over. He couldn’t hold down a stable job and he had something valuable enough on himself, worth dying for? My stomach sank and the blood coursing through me vigorously- felt almost at a standstill. I saw the stacks of hundred-dollar bills blaring through the black bag in crisp formation. My hands fell away from the coarse material of the bag, in disbelief.

I grabbed the card from the table and reached for the landline, knocking the half-full cigarette tray onto the carpet. Another courtesy left by Bart. My thoughts trailed back to my mother. Surely, Mom would know something about this duffle? Swiftly I emptied the contents of the bag onto the couch. What fell before me, was like something out of a movie. I had never seen so much money before in my lifetime. A single piece of torn paper, as if torn from a small notebook fell out. Scrawled across were the words, ‘Bart Cresswell’. Sure enough, like an old-time movie- a single poker chip fell into the cash. On closer examination of the chip, I found it wasn’t of ordinary value. It was a token for the Casino in the next county over.

I shook the emptied sack forcefully, begging it for a clue. With no prevail, I took to the pile of cash staring at me. Individually counting the stacked money, I counted the hundred-dollar bills to the value of twenty-thousand dollars. The overdue bill notices and late repayment letters hanging from the refrigerator glared at me from across the room. All the whilst a morbid thought crossed my mind, thinking that in death; Bart was successful in pardoning our financial burden. Reality set in and overtook that thought, replacing it with- was this blood money?

Before I could stop myself, I was piling the cash back into the bag and putting it behind the broken paneling of my closet. At least I would have time to gather my thoughts- albeit, who was missing this money? Pacing quickly out of my room, I took my keys from the table bowl and beelined for the front door. The Casino was only fifteen miles from the county line, making my curiosity grow larger with each passing moment.

My pickup was halfway to the county line before my focus was broken by the shine of a refracted light shooting into my gaze. Briefly moving my line of eyesight over, I noticed the sun bouncing from the reflective strips on the poker token chip I had found. Though never setting foot into a Casino, I wondered what the purpose of a token poker chip was?

Thoughts littered my mind, but the refracted light drew the attention of my peripherals. Before I knew it, the blaring horn of a car broke my focus and my hands took to sharply change my course. My current path being half way across his lane, bounding toward a head-on collision. I pulled my pickup to the side of the road and watched the dusty trail behind me.

The overwhelming sound of blood rushing to my ears filled my surroundings and the onset of panic welled in my throat and eyes. A loud bang startled me, altering my line of vision to notice that a man was pounding on my window. I wound down the window two inches and met his eyes with confusion.

“Can I help you?” I questioned feverishly, my heart still racing.

In a kind tone the man responded, “Your tail light is out, it’s all smashed up. Did you know?”

A state of uncertainty fell upon me, when did that happen? I turned off the engine and opened my door, to see a semi-truck parked up twenty feet away.

I looked around nervously, anxiously awaiting the damage- only to find nothing there? I swung around to question him and was met with menacing eyes. The corner of his mouth turned upwards and he spoke, “See, your tail light is out.”

The smash rung in my ears as I saw a crowbar collide into the driver’s side rear end. My feet pinned to the ground, despite feeling every urge to run. His hands gripped firmly onto my arms, dragging me toward the semi. Immediately I dug my heels into the ground, forcing all of my weight to stop him from his plan of attack. However, my efforts were useless. He hoisted my body over his shoulder and briskly walked back to his truck. I pounded my fists onto his back and dug my fingernails into his skin. He threw my entire body weight into the trailer. My head struck a tie down ring so hard I felt the blood trickle down the nape of my neck. Dark spots overtook my vision, whilst the blinding pain faded to nothing.

I woke to a screech; I felt the surrounding movement halting to a stop. The lighting was glim but my eyes adjusted. Irony mocked me, I thought. Of all the crime shows and documentaries I had watched, nothing had prepared me for this fate. The strange familiarity of the aroma twisted in my mind. Was it the smell of cattle and a working farm maybe?

A clanging sound bellowed toward me, as if something was hitting along the side of the trailer. My throat ached and my stomach churned, my ears peaking for any sort of indication of where we had stopped. I heard his voice, it cut through the air into the trailer. It was southern and the draw had a distinguishable sense to it. He was singing, I couldn’t make out the words he was saying but I knew the tune. Johnny Cash’s “Delia’s Gone” rumbled in his voice through the trailer. Its eerie resonance was piercing, it swam circles in my head. It was Dad’s favorite song.

The tune neared and I could hear his steps nearing with each dragged foot. I tugged at my limbs, finding them bound with rope. Each pump of blood through my chest felt heavier as I neared my fate. I knew his voice, like I recognized it from somewhere…

My heavy eyes broke my deepened connection to the text that had captivated me. I notice the outside sun peeking through trees, pouring over the grassed hills. Morning is here and once again, I found myself lost in the story of the “Little Black Book Killer”. The suspense of finding the person behind Bart’s death and Benson’s abduction had engrossed me into a night of thrills and no slumber. With my book marked and set down, my eyes drooped closed and I was submerged in the feeling of sleep. Perhaps, the identity of the murderer would come to me in a dream?