Dark Visions (27 page)

Champ tugged the leash, pulling toward the
trees. Jack knelt down to touch the top of the dog's head and
offered calming words.

He scanned the area. No one was in sight.
Champ tugged on the leash again.

Jack began walking toward the trees. A
minute later he entered the woods.

"Hello?"

No answer.
Foolish, stupid, dumb
, he
reminded himself.

Champ's tugging was bothersome, but then
Jack realized why. He always let Champ off the leash when they
entered the woods.

He reached out and unclipped Champ's collar.
The terrier bolted down the path and was around a corner and gone
from sight in seconds. Jack called after him, but to no avail.

His nerves were firing, hairs rising,
stomach tilting.

Fully aware of his surroundings, Jack
started after his dog. With each step trepidation set in.

The further into the woods the darker it
got. He caught a glimpse of the sky. Dark purple clouds sat
motionless. There was less than twenty minutes of light left in the
day. Even though it was cool out, he started to sweat under the
collar shirt he wore.

He placed his hand on the rip in his shirt
and caressed it. The cut was made with scissors. It measured two
inches long and sliced on an angle near the lowest button. He
twirled the edges of the cut through his fingers, seeking a comfort
that remained elusive.

Trees surrounded him on all sides. He called
out to the terrier again. Nothing answered his shout. He was past
the halfway mark. Continuing forward would be a quicker route home
as the trail he walked led back to the corner of his street.

Movement caught his eye.

He stopped and stared.

Champ came into his view. The dog was
digging in the dirt about twenty feet away.

"Champ, come here boy."

He received no response from the dog as he
continued to dig. From where Jack was standing it looked like Champ
was on a mission. As if he was trying to uncover an old bone buried
for later consumption.

With the light dimming fast, Jack started
into the brush after his dog.

Champ didn't look up once. He kept digging
as Jack drew closer.

Jack stumbled through the thick foliage and
almost fell twice. The leash clip was in his hand and attached to
the dog's collar with just enough light left for him to see what he
was doing. Under the cover of the trees it was darker here than in
the open. Jack looked around to make sure he was alone with his
dog.

"Come on, Champ. Stop pulling on the leash
so much."

Jack bent to pick the dog up. He was
dismayed by Champ's behaviour. He wasn't usually like this.

He looked down to see what Champ had
uncovered and then stumbled to the nearest tree. This time when
Champ pulled on the leash, Jack tugged it back out of anger.

"Stop it. Now. That's enough."

Jack stumbled out of the woods. He had
mentally marked the spot.

Fifteen minutes later he was on the phone
reporting his find to the police.

Chapter 2

Jack sat on the trunk of a dead tree. A cop
who identified himself as Winnfield stood over him, flipping a
notebook page back and forth.

"You said you went to put him on his leash
when you saw the body."

Jack nodded.

"Let me get this straight," the cop said,
raising his pen in the air like a pointer. "You are out for a walk.
You go into the woods and let your dog loose. Your dog runs off but
then you find your dog. When you pick the terrier up, you see part
of a decomposed face. Is that about it?"

Jack nodded and looked at his shoes. The
lights on the three cruisers were still rotating about ten feet
away, flashing in his eyes.

"There's something that doesn't fit."

Jack looked up. He was tired of talking.
He'd committed no crime, nor was he going to defend himself.

Champ lay asleep at his feet. He only wished
his stomach was as calm as his dog.

The cop continued. "After last night and
this morning's rain, the ground holding the body is soft. That's
probably why, fifteen feet off the beaten path, your dog could be
drawn over by the smell. Soil in the area has shifted." Officer
Winnfield paused and flipped another page in his notebook. "We
found your footprint impressions in the dirt beside your dog's paw
prints. But we found no other recent impressions in the soil."

Jack made to get up. Officer Winnfield
reached out and touched Jack's shoulder to ease him back down. Jack
almost asked,
what the hell was that for
? but chose to keep
quiet and stay sitting.

"So, explain it to me again."

Jack felt increasingly frustrated. Next time
he wouldn't call the cops. Let some kids playing in the woods find
a dead body. "I was walking my dog. He got away from me. When I
found him, he'd dug up a surprise. Write it up that way. Now, I
need to get home. Are we done here?"

Officer Winnfield folded the notebook and
slid it into a breast pocket in his uniform.

"You're sounding pissed off, Mr. Tate.
Please understand, I'm only doing my job. I have one more question.
Why is your shirt torn at the base?"

Jack looked down. He was fingering the rip.
Ever since what happened almost twenty years ago he would only wear
shirts with this exact tear. It was something he could never tell a
cop. Partly because he wasn't supposed to remember what really
happened. And if he told him the truth he would be arrested.

"I cut it accidentally with scissors when
removing the tags." As soon as he said it, Jack felt his voice had
betrayed him. It lacked confidence. "What has that got to do with
anything?" he asked the cop, trying to put him off from asking more
questions about the shirt.

"Stay right here. Don't move until I come
back," Officer Winnfield said.

Jack watched the cop walk over to a man in a
suit. The suit looked like he was in charge, motioning to numerous
people, instructing them on what he wanted. People in white body
fatigues were setting up lights and various apparatus around the
makeshift grave. Other people were sifting dirt away to get to the
rest of the body.

Jack bent and stroked Champ's head. "This
will all be over soon," he said. The terrier lifted his head a
notch and dropped it again, completely oblivious to the serious
commotion going on around him.

Officer Winnfield started walking back.

"You're going to have to come with us."

Jack stood up as Winnfield got to him.
"Why's that?"

"Is there someone you could give your dog
to?"

"Am I under arrest or something? What did I
do?"

"Mr. Tate. Listen to me. Answer my questions
or this could get bad real fast. Is there someone who can take your
terrier?"

Jack sat back down. What's going on? How
serious was this? It could fuck everything up. He looked over at
the spectators gathering around the yellow tape the police had
sealed the area off with.

"Glenda over there," he raised his arm and
pointed. "She takes Champ when I'm away for any length of time. You
can give my dog to her. She's the one with the white
housecoat."

Winnfield took the leash and walked away
with Champ.

Jack sat there, his knee bobbing. He had
nothing to do with this. Why would they think otherwise? He'd just
found the body.

The temperature had dropped leaving the
evening with a subtle chill. Jack shivered under the assault of his
own sweat.

Moments later officer Winnfield stood in
front of him again. "Jack Tate, please stand up."

"What's going on here?" Jack asked.

"We're going to continue our questioning at
the police station."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Not at this time."

"So I find this person buried in the ground
while walking my dog, call you guys about it and you make me feel
like I'm guilty of something. What's really going on here?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out,"
Officer Winnfield said as he put a hand on Jack's arm and started
guiding him to a cruiser.

"Why all the suspicion? Is it because I
mentioned the girl I saw?"

"No, it's not."

"Then why are you taking me in for further
questioning?"

"You know that rip on the bottom of your
shirt?"

Jack looked down and nodded.

"There is an exact rip, in the exact same
spot on the shirt the dead girl in the ground is wearing."

Chapter 3

It took two hours before an officer opened
the interrogation room door and offered Jack a bathroom break.

Minutes later he retook his seat back behind
a drab metal table on a hard steel chair. The room was classic
crime movie stuff complete with the wall of glass and a solitary
light hanging from the ceiling.

"Feeling better?" Officer Winnfield asked as
he re-entered the room.

Jack noticed he looked refreshed like he'd
taken a nap followed by a tasty coffee. Jack chose to not answer
the cop's stupid question as it was obvious to him who was feeling
better.

Winnfield stood in front of the mirror,
adjusted his shirt and turned back to Jack.

"What can you tell me about the girl?"

Jack looked up into the cop's face. "She's
dead."

Winnfield pulled back a little as if
surprised. Then Jack figured it out. He's new at this. Winnfield
was being allowed to start the interrogation to see what he's made
of. The two hour wait was meant to rattle Jack. The swagger when he
entered and the posturing in front of the mirror was an,
I got
this
confidence.

"Okay, smart ass. Is that how you want to
play it?"

"There's no playing anything. I already told
you everything I know at the crime scene. You've wasted both our
time bringing me here."

Winnfield leaned forward, dropping both
hands on the table with a solid thump. "Start by telling me about
the rip in the shirt. Why does the girl have the same one?"

Jack looked down at his hands in his lap.
He'd been anticipating this question. He looked back up and said
nothing.

Winnfield tried again. "Why does the girl
have the same rip?"

The officer stood up to his full height and
began pacing in front of the mirror.

"Okay, here's what I see happening," Jack
said. "You've held me here for over two hours and for what, to ask
me the same question you already asked me back in the woods? I want
to be released to go home or charged with something. I have no idea
why the girl had a ripped shirt. So, release me or charge me."

Winnfield stepped back and leaned against
the mirror. "You're in a lot of trouble Mr. Tate."

A buzzer sounded twice. Winnfield walked
over, opened the door and stepped out.

A few minutes later the door opened again
and two men in suits entered.

"You're free to go Mr. Tate. But stay local.
We may want to be in touch."

Jack stood up. One of the men held the door
for him. "Someone gonna give me a ride back."

"You're free to go Mr. Tate. You're on your
own."

Both men escorted Jack to the main door of
the building and walked away.

He paid for a cab and got home after
midnight. When the taxi pulled away he looked over at Glenda's
house debating if it was too late to get Champ or leave him for the
night.

The air was still, calm, and cool. Jack
breathed in and sighed. He had some work ahead of him. The ripped
shirt meant they fucked up. The fact that the body was found so
close to his house was another message. It was so long ago. He
couldn't remember the details. The bullet had erased much of his
memory. He was lucky to be alive.

He started up his walkway. A light flicked
past an upstairs window. He stopped and stared. The windows stayed
dark. Nothing moved.

He eased up to the porch and waited. With
his breath under control he reached for his keys. He'd done this
sort of thing before years ago when he was a cop. He didn't need
memory to use instinct.

From inside the house he heard a creaking
noise. Someone was on the other side of the door.

He stepped aside. He would wait for whoever
it was to come out.

Cold steel pressed against his neck.

"Don't be stupid. Don't say a word."

Jack lifted his hands, the house keys
falling to the porch. His stomach dropped with them. Calm breathing
a moment before had tripled.

"Move away from the door and keep your hands
at the side. Don't raise them high. It looks dumb and may alert a
neighbour."

Jack stepped down and onto the lawn. The man
behind him stayed close. He could hear his front door opening and
closing.

"Did you find anything?"

"No," the new voice said.

"Okay, let's move. Jack, do you see the red
van on the other side of the street? That's where we're going. Has
anyone seen any sign of that fucking girl?"

No one answered him.

The street was empty. In this area, after
midnight, not many people were around.

Halfway across the street, movement caught
Jack's eye.

A tall girl, blonde hair flowing past her
shoulders from under a red bandanna, stepped out from behind a
tree.

She lifted her arms. There was a gun in her
hands.

It all happened so fast.

Her gun spewed a silenced bullet. The cold
steel pressed against Jack's neck pulled away. The man holding the
gun fell and began grunting on the ground. He held his leg about
the knee where blood gushed past his fingers.

The girl moved fast. She was standing beside
the second guy, gun held between his eyes and telling him to give
her his weapons or he'd lose a knee too.

Jack had stepped aside and was leaning
against the van amazed at how efficient this girl was.

She stowed the guy's gun, kneed him in the
groin and pistol whipped him unconscious all in one fluid
motion.