The Sentinel

Sheriff Myers pressed his hands against his forehead, trying to crush the hangover into submission. Damn it, he’d been doing so well! He’d made it more than six months this time, got the AA chip to prove it. Then he’d switched on the news last night, and seen Grayson Collier’s smug murderous face plastered all over it, and that was that. Goodbye sobriety, hello waking up on the kitchen floor this morning with no idea how he’d got there.

He tossed back a couple more Motrin, crunching them dry rather than face small talk over the water cooler. He thought about the flask of bourbon in his top drawer, just a swig or two to take the edge off... But no. He didn't want to be that person anymore. He reached into his pocket for his sobriety chip, but it wasn't there. Oh well, he'd have to start over anyhow.

Another 25 minutes and he could head out, stop by Rita’s Diner for the Wednesday night brisket. Rita was in the program, she’d understand. Maybe slide a scoop of vanilla ice cream in his cherry coke. It was the little things that kept him going. It had to be. He’d already lost all the big things.

Lynda poked her head nervously around the door. “You busy, boss?”

Myers shook his head. “What’s up?”

“It’s that woman again. You know, the cuckoo-crazy one from before? I tried to send her away, but she won’t shift, she’s been sat in reception this past hour. Says it’s urgent, but refused to talk to anyone but you. Sorry.”

He sighed heavily. “Right, well best send her in, then.”

Lynda retreated, and Delores swept into the room on a cloud of incense and patchouli oil. Her hair was grayer than he remembered, falling around her shoulders in matted tangles. If it weren’t for the brightly colored shawls and beads she wore, he might have thought her a ghost, she was that pale. A ghost from his past, one he had hoped never to see again.

“Sit down, Delores. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, a candy bar?”

She flicked her wrist dismissively, copper bangles jangling furiously against her scrawny arms.

“Did you see the news, Joseph?”

Nobody called him that, not even his mother. It irritated him in a way he couldn’t quite explain, like too-tight shoes or eggshell in his omelet.

“I saw it. Good news, right? They’re finally going to execute the bastard.”

“Don’t use that language, Joseph. You’re better than that.” She wagged an arthritic finger at him disapprovingly. “Yes, the execution… that’s why I had to come today. You have to stop it! It can’t go ahead, not now… not after this!”

“What?” He was confused. “Why on earth not? You know as well as I do that he’s guilty. Those poor girls, don’t they deserve justice finally?”

“I thought so too. I truly did – until last night. Now everything is muddy and confused, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s happening again!”

“What’s happening again? You aren’t making any sense.”

“Another murder! Oh! Such a beautiful girl, and so much blood, blood everywhere!” Her shoulders shook with emotion, and she stared at her hands as though transfixed.

“What murder? Did you have another one of your dreams? There’s been no reports of a missing girl. Have you stopped taking your meds again?”

“Red everywhere, Joseph. Look, look at it!” She held up her palms, as though cupping liquid that dripped through her fingers. “Still warm, can’t you smell it too? Metallic and sweet… innocent blood, poor child…” She trailed off, wiping her dry hands on the hem of her dress, over and over.

Great. Almost time to clock off and now he was stuck with this mess. His eyes drifted towards the top drawer again, the craving almost too much to withstand. This case again – it had nearly destroyed him, taken everything from him – his marriage, his kids, his health. All those hours of searching, the never-ending mountains of paperwork. The overtime clocking up until he stopped going home at all, sleeping in an empty cell when he could no longer hold off exhaustion. And the photos of the dead girls pinned to the wall, their glossy black hair and big brown eyes that seemed to follow him around the room beseechingly. Those other photos, from the crime scenes, bloody and unrecognizable, torn apart, ravaged. He shuddered, pushing the images from his mind.

“You know we caught the right guy. You helped us, remember? Grayson Collier can’t have killed anyone else, he’s been locked up in Poughkeepsie Prison for nearly a decade! It’s all over, you just had a nightmare, that’s all. He dies tomorrow and we can put this all behind us.”

She shook her head. “No, Joseph. You’re not listening to me! There’s another girl, another poor girl just like the others! She’s waiting out there, waiting to be found. She’s all alone, I can feel her fear hanging over her body, so much fear it has nowhere to go. He left her in a wooded area, just like before… near a tumbledown shack. I can see fields of maize stalks, broken stems where he chased her down. She’s in pain, Joseph – not physically, no, that passed with her blood, leeched into the earth around her. But she’s crying out still, I hear her voice, she is so confused and hurt!”

Myers ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I can see you’re upset, Delores. But I don’t have anything to go on, no missing person report, no crime scene, nothing. And what you're telling me makes no sense. Collier can’t have killed again, he’s got round-the-clock guards for god’s sake!”

“Then how do you explain this? I found it on my pillow when I woke up this morning.” She reached into her shawls and pulled out a white and brown speckled feather, pushing it across the desk towards him.

The hair on the back of his arms bristled as he grasped the feather. It couldn’t be! But it was. This one didn’t have the familiar turquoise bead attached, and it wasn’t stained reddish-brown. Yet it was the same as the others – the half dozen of them stored in forensics bags, labeled ‘Tito Alta – Barn Owl tail feather’. Grayson Collier’s calling card.

“How did it get there, Delores? You think someone snuck it into your room to threaten you?”

“No, no. I think she dropped it off to me – the Guardian of the forest. I sleep with my windows open, so she must have flown in and left it with me, along with the vision of the girl.”

She looked sincere, no hint of a lie in her voice. Clearly she believed what she was telling him. But how could it be? Owls didn’t just go flying into bedrooms at night, delivering messages like some kind of Harry Potter nonsense! It had to be a coincidence.

“Look, it’s gone five now, I’m off duty. How about we go for a drive, and you see if you can show me where you think this crime occurred? If we find anything, I’ll investigate. Otherwise, we’ll say no more about it, and I’ll drop you home. Sound fair?” He stood up, grabbing his car keys from the desk tidy.

They drove out past the township road, the lanes narrowing as they wound through barren fields. The bridges had iced up, and he could feel a chill in the air as the darkness grew around them. Delores sat beside him, hands clenched around the feather, humming tunelessly. Her eyes were pressed closed, and he felt a flash of anger towards her. Why was he out here on this fool’s errand, taking orders from a crazy cat lady who thought she had psychic powers? What did he think was going to happen – that they’d stumble upon a body by the roadside? And what if they actually did? He had no doubt Collier was guilty, the evidence had been overwhelming. So why was he out here trying to prove him innocent?

Yet he drove on.

Delores looked as though she’d fallen asleep. Her jaw hung loosely, spittle pooling at the corner of her mouth. The perfect end to a shitty day. He pulled over near a rusted gate, grabbing the GPS to figure the quickest way to her house. Maybe he’d still make it to Rita’s in time for dinner.

THUMP!

Something big banged against the roof of the car. He jumped, then laughed at his overreaction. Probably a branch falling, there’d been a storm a few days back. He unclasped his seatbelt, stepping out into the cold to check it out. He peered into the darkness, unable to focus properly. He grabbed the torch on his belt, flicking it on and illuminating the car roof.

“What the hell?” He yelped, stumbling back as the beam lit up a glowing pair of deep orange eyes. The flat white face tilted slightly, observing his terror dispassionately. A freaking barn owl!

“Go on, scat! Shoo, shoo!” He shook his arms at the bird, but it didn’t budge, watching him intently.

“Delores, wake up! Look at this!” He reached back into the car, shaking her shoulder to rouse her. Her head lolled on one side, a thin trickle of red dripping from her left nostril.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the radio handset from the dashboard. “Dispatch, this is Sheriff Myers. Lynda, are you there? Delores has passed out or something, we’re out past route 27, about 5 miles down Woodcreek Drive. Send an ambulance, will you? Better send for backup too. Something’s not right out here.” Linda was saying something else, but he let the radio fall from his hand as he heard a tapping come from above him.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The owl was banging its beak on the roof of the car. Was it rabid or something? Could owls even catch rabies? He had no clue. He got back out, holding the torch steady, watching the bird.

“Go on then, what do you want from me, huh? I’m listening!”

The amber eyes blinked slowly, once, twice. Then, silently, it stretched its wings wide and flew to a tree on the other side of the gate. It preened itself, plucking a single feather from its tail, before letting it fall to the ground below.

In a daze, he stumbled over the gate, mud splattering his shoes. He swung the torch over the field – nothing unusual, just dead stalks and more mud. He walked over to the feather, reaching out to pick it up – it had landed like a dart, the pointed end stuck in the earth at an angle. Not a dart, an arrow – an arrow pointing to where? The owl fluttered above him, then took off low across the field, in the direction of the feather. Myers had no choice. He followed.

There, in the shadows past the fence line, he could just make out a building of some kind. The roof had caved in, and the boards were old and rotten, barely holding together. Could it be Delores’ shack? He pressed on, across the next field, making for the tree line beyond. He knew he should go back to her, check she was breathing. He was breaking every rule in the book now, and for what? A wild goose chase? Wild owl chase more like. There it was again, looping in slow circles over the woodland ahead.

Myers stopped. He didn’t want to go further – suddenly afraid of what he would find. His mind flashed back over the old crime scenes – the tumbled bodies sprawled naked in the dirt, their long black hair full of leaves and twigs. Savagely torn apart like rag dolls, bent and broken and defiled. Those sad brown eyes in a row, watching him from his office walls. Judging him.

You could have saved us! Why didn’t you save us?

His hand brushed against the dried stalks in the field, and he saw that they were broken ahead of him. The flashlight dragged him forward into its circle, pulling him past the first trees, luring him on. The trees thinned out into a small clearing.

And there she lay. The young girl, just as Delores had described her. The same dark hair, same wide brown eyes, glazed over in death. Her body naked, sullied, and soaked in crimson. In one upturned palm a single feather, tied at the bottom to a turquoise bead. But in the other – what was that? He got to his feet, aware dimly of the sirens in the distance. The right hand was clutching something – a coin, perhaps. This was different, this wasn’t part of Collier’s MO. Could it be a copycat? Some last ditched attempt by a fan to get a stay of execution for the bastard?

He used a stick to gently unclasp the girl’s fingers for a better look. Not a coin, no – a plastic medallion. Red, with a triangle in the middle… he didn’t need the flashlight to know what it said around the edge. In God We Trust. A sobriety token.

He stumbled to his feet, staggering a few steps before falling to his knees and retching. The flashlight rolled from his grasp, coming to rest by a large boulder. From the field he heard worried shouting, the barking of a police dog growing nearer.

Overhead an owl hooted once, then flew off into the night. In the back of the ambulance Delores woke with a start, her eyes staring blankly up as she repeated over and over “It’s started again, it’s started again…”