Shadows

Brian struggled to stay awake. Nursing cold coffee, the caffeine barely able to compete with the lullaby sound from the engine, the soft vibrations as it idled in the dead quiet of the early morning hours. He kept his eyes on the barn, occasionally he would flip the spot light on, and run the perimeter of the barn, and let it beam out across the open fields that surrounded it. He looked at the clock on the dashboard, the green lights blared 05:07 A.M. I’m giving him until 530, he thought to himself, and then it’s time to go.

Brian had worked with Morton quite often since he came to the station, and so he had a good grip on his personality, or so he thought. They worked the usual petty small-town stuff; domestic disturbances, disorderly conduct, and the like. But this was the first time he had worked a case of such gravity, and he had been finding out just how intense Morton could be.

Brian had gotten the call from Jen’s friends that night. It was Morton’s night off, but Brian called him, figuring he was better equipped to deal with the frantic girls. In all honesty, Brian didn’t believe the girl was actually missing. At least, not initially. He figured she had run away. Brian knew her parents well, and he was well aware of just how unstable her home life was. He recalled when he made the mistake of stating that opinion, it was his first taste of Morton’s real intensity. It was just about 24 hours into the investigation.

“You know, she’s probably not really missing,” Brian had said.

“What do you mean by that?” Morton replied.

“She probably ran away. Her parents are shit bags, I wouldn’t blame her honestly.” Brian had chuckled.

Before Brian could react, Morton was in his face, his hands gripping his collar, pinning him against the wall.

“Runaway or not, we’re going to look for her, and we’re going to find her. You don’t want to find her skeleton chained up in a goddamn attic five years from now, and have to live with knowing that you didn’t do everything, and I mean everything, that you could to try and find her. Do you understand me? That kind of guilt doesn’t wash off.” Morton spoke in a whisper, outlined in hostility.

Brian heard those words in his mind again now, as he glanced back over to the clock. 05:31 A.M. He thought about how there was no way that Morton would leave, not until he felt he was finished. Alright, Brian reasoned with himself, it’s been a while. Let’s at least go make sure he’s alright, as he slid into his coat, preparing himself for the shock of the cold. Brian flipped on his flashlight, keeping it aimed at the man door as he made his way towards the barn, announcing himself as he got to the door. “Mort, I’m coming in, don’t shoot me.” As he let out a laugh.

The door fought him, Brian struggling to jostle it and drag it open. Immediately, Brian was caught in the eyes by the bright light projecting from Morton’s flashlight, involuntarily he shielded his eyes, calling out, “Damn it Mort, stop shining that shit in my eyes!” He squinted in preparation as he lowered his arm. He noticed the flashlight laying on the ground, and in it’s illumination, he saw Morton’s watch, sidearm, and phone laying in the dirt.

Brian immediately drew his weapon, surveying the inside of the barn from outside of the threshold, as he shouted “Mort? You in here?!” He waited for a response, his heart beginning to race. He shouted again, “Mort?! Is anyone in here?!” Brian stepped inside, being cautious to keep his weapon drawn as he crouched down to analyze Morton’s things. His eyes shifted quickly throughout the entirety of the barn, pausing occasionally to take glances at Morton’s things, sat together in a neat and orderly fashion. Brian didn’t touch anything, despite his lack of experience, he knew better than to disturb the items left behind. He stood up, maintaining a steady a rhythm, his gun following his light in a figure eight type pattern through the barn as he slowly backed towards the door.

The sun was just starting to crest over the field to the east as Brian crossed the threshold, the sunlight catching his eye, startling. The blanket of quiet still covering the early morning, interrupted only by the sound of Brian sprinting to his patrol car, as his equipment clattered together in the haste. Brian, nearly slipping on the loose gravel that covered the shoulder of the road where they had parked, quickly slid into the car and glued his eyes back on the barn, blindly fumbling for the radio to call dispatch.

A few hours later, Brian found himself still sitting in the patrol car, eyes fixed on the barn. He was plagued with deja vu as the barn was once more roped off, and Morton’s things were carefully bagged to be sent to a lab in Houston, just as they had been done for Jen. His eyes were bloodshot, and stung from the exhaustion. As the adrenaline wore off, lethargy began to set in, and Brian barely noticed as the local police chief tapping on his window.

“Brian, why don’t you head home and get some sleep. Come by the station this evening and we’ll get your official statement.’

“Damnit Mike, I already told you what happened.”

“I understand that, but you know how this goes. I’d rather get your statement when you’re well rested, maybe you’ll remember things better.” Mike maintained a stern, and commanding tone.

Brian wanted to choke him. There was nothing to remember. He had been there the whole time, he would have noticed if anyone came or went. Morton never left the barn. There was no further statement to give, no details to examine, no explanation that Brian could offer up. Brian contemplated, weighing the value of starting an argument versus not. Mike had been the local police chief for as long as Brian had been working, and before that, a local uniform himself for nearly twenty years. Mike was kind, and understanding, but his apathy was showing with his age, and efforts at changing his mind about anything would be fruitless. Brian started the car.

“Get some sleep, call me when you get up and we’ll meet at the station.”

Brian didn’t respond with anything more than a nod as he dropped the shifter into drive. He rode to his house in silence and thoughtlessness. A small victory as he pulled into the gravel drive and parked, having won the battle with fatigue. His house was small, and lacking of evidence that anyone even lived there. He placed the keys on the spotless kitchen counter, thinking of the similarities between himself and Morton as he glanced around the mostly vacant space. Nobody to call. There was nobody to notify of Morton’s disappearance; no next of kin, no significant other, no surviving family members.

Brian chuckled at the thought as he turned on the TV on, and laid down on the couch, brown leather worn from his repetitive use. Well, at least the hardest part is already done. On the rare occurrences that Morton would talk about his time as a detective in Houston, he would always make mention of the hardest part being the family. Brian drifted off, imagining that being alone would be worth saving someone that burden.

Brian woke up, accompanied by a feeling as if he had spent the night before binge drinking; sore, disoriented and nauseous. His attention was drawn to his phone, laying on the floor, a light flashing occasionally with the indication of a notification of some sort. The screen illuminated as he picked it up, it was just after two in the afternoon. A text from the chief:

“don’t forget to call me when you get up”.

Brian thumbed out a response:

“Up now. Showering then heading in. Meet you there in an hour? Did you find him?”

Brian rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, still stunned as he recalled the events from the morning. Where did you go Mort? He thought to himself, tired and still puzzled as he waited for a response. A few minutes of motionlessness passed before the phone vibrated, a response from Mike:

“No we didn’t find him. See ya in an hour.”

Brian forced himself to sit up on the couch, unlacing the boots he had neglected to take off earlier this morning. He slid them off, placing them to the side as he stood up. He made his way to the kitchen, stopping the fridge for a bottle of water, taking a long drink. The bottle made contact with the counter, and Brian stared vacantly at the television, as a newscaster rambled on about the weather. Brian, in acceptance of Morton now being missing, spoke his frustration out loud. “Shit.”

His shower was short, and he was hasty in his movements to get dressed. He slid on a pair of blue jeans, and the shirt at the top of the neatly folded pile inside of his dresser drawer, pulling the shift on has he walked. He sat back on the couch, sliding on the socks, and lacing the familiar boots back up. He slid back into his old, olive green canvas jacket, finishing the motion as he stopped at the counter for the keys. Brian was surprised at his greeting by the sun, bright and blinding in it’s presence, his natural clock completely upset over the last few days. Brian had nearly forgotten it was the middle of the afternoon.

Brian started the car, and backed out of the driveway. He lived close to the station, and his haste in leaving the house afforded him some time before Mike would be at the station. He capitalized on the time he had, and stopped at a local fast food restaurant to satisfy the hunger that had set in. Brian ate as he drove in the direction of the station, contemplating how the conversation with Mike would unfold. Brian grew anxious, wondering if the disappointment he had in himself would resonate with Mike. The sleep hadn’t helped him; no great epiphany, no further explanation to offer up beyond a simple I don’t know.

Brian parked the patrol car in it’s designated spot, ensuring to gather all of his things from the car; his leftovers, the empty coffee cup, dropping them off in his truck on the way into the station. He scanned the parking lot, Mike’s vehicle was here, and another deputy, out on patrol judging by the single missing patrol car. Brian was slow to get to the door, the heat in the vestibule a stark contrast to the brisk outside air as he made his way inside, and hung the corner towards the Chief’s office.

“Hey Brian, feeling any better?”

“Less tired, anyway. No luck finding Mort?”

“No sir, we checked the entire barn, not a thing. We sent his shit to the lab in Houston, that’s about all we can do.”

Brian sat in silence, unsure of what to say.

“Alright Brian, you know the formalities, let’s get your statement down. Just start at the beginning.”

Brian was aware of the formalities, and did exactly that. He recounted every moment for the Chief; Morton’s frustration, the coffee stop on the way to the barn, how he sat and watched that barn for the better part of two hours, and never saw or heard anything, and finally how he went into the barn to get Morton, only to find his stuff left behind, with no sign of him, or of anyone else inside. Mike listened intently, careful not to interrupt as Brian went through the chronology of the night before, carefully scribbling out notes has he spoke. When Brian had finished, Mike looked over the notes thoughtfully, before beginning to speak.

“All right, is there any chance at all that you fell asleep while sitting out there? Maybe that’s when he left?”

“Absolutely not. I’m sure I was awake. I would have heard him, or anyone, coming in or out of that barn. You can’t open that door quietly, you know that. There’s no other way in.” Brian’s hostility made itself known through his tone.

“Brian, I believe you, I believe you. You know the job, I have to be speculative of everything I can.”

“Sorry Mike, I don’t know what else to say. I was there the entire time, I never saw anything. I never heard anything.”

“Well Brian, that’s all I really needed from you. Sorry to have you drive in here just for that. Why don’t yo—“

Brian spoke over the Chief, “Well, what’s next? Who’s working on finding him?”

“We’re going to have the on duty officer patrol by the barn every couple of hours for the next few days, just to keep an eye out. Beyond that, I don’t know that there’s much we can do. Maybe the lab finds something, I don’t know.”

Brian leaned back in the chair, the fluorescent light still showing through his closed eyelids as he stared at the ceiling. Steadying his breathing, before leaning back forward, and making his retort, “Damn it Mike, we have to look for him.”

“Brian, we did. We’ve been out there all day. We don’t have any direction to go here. We’ll keep checking, I don’t know what else we can do.”

Brian stood up, not making an effort at hiding his disgust in Mike’s lack of enthusiasm. He scribbled his signature onto the statement that the Chief had written out, tossing the pen on the desk in frustration as he stood up. Staring at mike for a moment, before shaking his head and walking out, he heard Mike call out at him.

“I have to be pragmatic here, Brian.”

A pragmatic prick, Brian thought to himself. He walked out of the station, his temper growing as he tried to accept the fact that there wasn’t really much to be done. Brian’s anger became less aimed at the Chief’s lack of ambition, and he became more infuriated by the fact that Mike was right. There really wasn’t much more that could be done. Brian climbed into his truck, slamming the door beside him as he turned over the ignition. In all the rage, he dropped the glovebox, and pulled out an old, bent up pack of Marlboros, lighting one for the first time in two months. A habit he was sure he had kicked.

He didn’t drive. Instead, he savored the nicotine, and welcomed the endorphins that followed, contemplating what he should do next. He wanted to imagine all of the places that Morton could be; to make a list of people to call, places to search. But he couldn’t. His mind drew blanks; given a puzzle to solve without any pieces. He thought about going home, about letting it go. He thought about going back to the barn, having another look. He thought about going to Morton’s house, looking for answers as to where he would have gone. The indecisiveness settled out. It has to be related to Jen. Whoever took her obviously took Mort. He thought to himself, as the last bit of his cigarettes burned away. He snuffed out the ember in the ashtray, and settled for going through all of the notes him and Morton had, and headed back into the station.

Brian found himself back at his desk, pouring through all of the notes that him and Morton had. All of the information that they could find related the handful of people who had gone missing in that town, a good amount of them having something to do with that barn; taking place in the vicinity, or under very similar circumstances. Brian was about two hours in, searching the digital database, he came across a report while searching the keyword ‘barn’. The snippet read:

“almost taken from that barn on county…”

His curiosity piqued, he opened the file, and compiled mess of documents scanned and transcribed into computer formats. He scrolled through, arriving at the statement the woman had made. Brian was diligent as he read through the report, the woman making claims of having almost been abducted, claims of her shadow moving without her, notes of her hysteria. Reading through the follow up reports, it appeared as though the involvement of drugs was suspected. Apparently, she had a history of drug use, likely the result of her parents having had the same.

Brian chuckled at the insanity, how crazy. He thought to himself, as he moved on in his search. Half an hour later, Brian’s curiosity brought him right back to examining the report. Mort must have known this was a waste of time, or he would have already called her, he thought to himself, as he read once more through the bizarre claims. He tried to talk reason back into himself, as he jotted down the woman’s name, Amy Loch, and thought to himself, definitely going to be a waste of time. And then he remembered Morton, preaching the importance of exhausting every bit of information available. Another database opened, and Brian had her number.

The phone rang a few times before Brian heard the voice of a woman on the other end, it sounded weak in its age.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Amy Loch?”

“Yes it is, who’s calling?”

“This is officer Brian Hurst, I’m calling about a report you made about fifteen years ago regarding a near abduction. Do you remember that?”

“You didn’t believe me then, and you won’t believe me now.” The voice cracked as it tried to reach a volume indicative of yelling.

“Ma’am, if I could just ta—“, Brian was interrupted by the clicking sound, as familiar as the cocking of a shotgun, she had hung up.

He tried to call her again, but the phone only rang. Brian hung up, waited a minute, and tried again, still no answer. He looked at the time, just pasted five. He jotted down her address, and gathered his things. I’ll just stop and talk to her on the way home. He thought to himself, as he made his way to his truck.

As familiar as he was with the town, he didn’t know where the address was. He had to use the gps on his phone, which guided him to a small, single story house ten miles outside of town, barely on the border of the township. The white siding had been tinted green from the unchallenged moss, the roof sagging, showing signs of water damage left I repaired. The house was set back at the end of a long drive, outlined by tall, unkept grass looking more like a wild pasture than a front lawn. The step leading to the front door was detached, and unstable in it’s freedom as Brian tried to find footing on it, knocking on the peeling front door.

“Ms. Loch? Anyone home? It’s Officer Hurst from the Sheriff’s department.”

Brian could hear the shuffling inside the house, he tried again.

“Ms. Loch? Sheriff’s department, can I talk to you?”

He waited. A few minutes passed, and he began to rap on the door once again. This time, before he could call, the door swung open. Time had robbed the woman of any beauty she may have once had. She was short, hunched over, what was left of her grey hair was thin, and messy. Her eyes glossed over, as if death had already taken them. The wrinkles on her face carved lines along her cheeks, forming valleys with the stretched, worn excess skin. Immediately, Brian started.

“Ms. Lo—“

“Leave now. I haven’t done anything wrong, leave now!” Her antiquated voice scarcely able to make her anger known. The door slammed, and Brian listened as she locked it shut. He leaned up close to the door, hoping she’d be able to hear him as he shouted.

“Ms. Loch! There’s two people missing, my partner and a young girl! They were taken from that barn, the same one where you were almost abducted from. If you have any information, I’m going to leave my card out here, anything at all, please let me know.”

He waited for a few minutes, hoping her sympathy would be enough to bait her into a few moments of conversation. The minutes passed, and he didn’t hear so much as a shuffle. He took a card out of his wallet, sliding under the worn weather stripping at the bottom of the door. “Anything at all Ms. Loch, please get a hold of me.”

Brian watched the sun dropping in the sky, barely peaking over the earth as he pulled into his driveway. He retreated to his house, sinking back into that familiar couch, the words from the newscaster nothing more than background noise. Brian laid down, closing his eyes, unsure of what to do next, he drifted off into a slumber of defeat, only to be awoken shortly by the ringing of his phone.

“Hello?”, still drowsy from the short nap.

“Hey Brian,” he recognized the voice, another deputy, Robert, “sorry to bother you, but I just came back to the station and there’s a box here with your name on it, you want me to drop it off?”

“A box? What kind of box?”

“It’s just a box, I don’t know. It’s wrapped in brown paper, and has your name written on it.”

“Take it inside I guess, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Morton tried to remember if he had ordered anything, or asked for anything from one of the local businesses. He couldn’t remember anything that would result in a box showing up at the police station, especially not at this hour, it was nearly eight p.m. Brian’s patience gave way to the mysteriousness, and it wasn’t long before he was turning the key in his truck.