An Ounce of Power

Clouds parted. The glare of the sun shone through them. Sergeant Boyd Janey lifted his head in his patrol car. He had not dozed off at all. Instead, he waited for a response as the glare entered his vehicle. 

“There’s a BOLO for a Blue 2009 Ford Explorer. Last seen on West Fifth Street.”

“We’ll have our eyes in our hands. Copy.”

“Copy.”

Sergeant Janey looked at his watch and then heard complete static. 

“Do you read?” he asked. The static grew louder. “Dispatch?”

A voice, small and raspy and abrasive to the ear, came through on the other end.

“Do you happen to know what kills people in this town?” It sounded like someone grinning over the transmission.

“Alright you’ve gotta stop playing on the comms.”

“I can tell you where all the bodies lie….” The voice sounded like the machine people use to speak after receiving throat surgery from decades of heavy smoking. 

Janey’s pulse quickened. His hands remained firm against the steering wheel.

Static returned. Tiny beads of sweat formed at his temples. He  sensed not knowing what to do next. He threw away the idea. Action engulfed him. He stepped out of the vehicle into the Wilmington, Delaware morning. He shook himself off and cracked his neck. The snap pushed him. He walked down the block. As a Wilmington Police Department officer, he wondered if some kid had tapped into the system and now made eerie voices on the comms. 

When he returned to the vehicle, the static became deafening. He switched the dial lower to try to keep his ears from bleeding. It died down a bit. The voice returned.

“Did you know there were forty-one homicides last year? And in all, thirty-nine people fell due to gun violence?”

“Look, I don’t know which one of you is playing games. It’s not funny. Over.” Sergeant Janey addressed whomever this phantom voice seemed to be. 

More static. Then the voice returned. “Go over to the East Side. 12th Street. An alleyway between the two buildings where an ad for pain medicine stands.”

The officer didn’t know what to do. His training as a Marine and a cop propelled him to once again launch into action, though. He shook his head. Once he put the vehicle in drive, he followed what the voice echoed. Upon reaching the place, he waited. No voice. He waited some more and then when he thought about driving off again, he saw sneakers. Attached to the footwear, a body of a male, about nineteen, as black as himself but bloated, lay in a vacant lot. “Jesus,” Sergeant Janey uttered under his breath. 

“I’m requesting a van for a possible homicide on East 12th Street.”

“We’re sending one over to you right now.”

“Copy.”
Sergeant Janey looked around. Sweat and dust gritted in his teeth. The early November air chilled his body and drove his mind. He hopped back in his cruiser. 

Dead silence. Then the voice came through again. “I can show you where more bodies remain….”

When Sergeant Janey saw other police cruisers and the coroner’s van, he breathed relief. Lieutenant Gretchen Gunswald, lean with an angular face and sporting a blond bun tied to the back of her head, approached Sergeant Janey.

 With confidence, he walked towards her. They stood looking at the forensics team combing through the area checking for clues and evidence.

“So, you heard the voice, too?” She asked.

“You heard the voice?”

“No. I just wanted to see you react. What is this ‘voice’?”

“It’s like this grainy, sort of slowed down kind of pitch. It led me here.”

“Over the comms?”

Sergeant Janey looked up and then nodded his head.

“You’ve had a long shift….”

“No, I”ve had an extended stay in hell so far. Then I had a long shift.”

“Look, why don’t you go home. Rest up some. It’ll do you some good. Get out of your head.”

“But what about the voice?” Sergeant asked.

“If you’re hearing voices, you can talk to chaps.”

“A chaplain’s not going to be able to solve this. I’ve gotta stay on this radio. And it’s not voices. Just a single voice.”

“I’m not asking you, Sergeant. Take some time off. Get your mind right.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

As he drove his patrol car to his home, the voice returned.

“Your lieutenant didn’t believe you, yet there you all stood before a corpse. It’s not about who I am, instead, think of it as: who are you?”

“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not afraid of you.”

“Okay, that sounds cute. But I’ve got another homicide for you to contend with, now….”

“What the hell.”

“Go to D Street in Southbridge.”

Sergeant Janey had been working for seventeen hours. He did need sleep. But he pushed on without ceasing. The patrol car smoothed over the surface of the road. Once he arrived at the location, adjacent to his own home, he saw another alleyway. In between the space, a four-year-old boy lay motionless. Like the other remains, he looked black and eyes glazed over in an eternal stare. Sergeant Janey swore. He reached his vehicle and knew about the specific location. The horrific blast of ice-cold terror washed over his body and his mind froze him in time. The dusky feeling that coursed through him actually made him burn with a hatred that he’d never experienced. He returned to the squadcar and reported the incident. He broadcast an even tone and issued his predicament with coolness. Janey heard the crackle and fizz of the comms system.

“Now, you’re beginning to see…right? People actually die just to live in this city….” The voice trailed off like exhaust from an old freight train. 

He radioed this particular incident in as well. 

Once the cruisers had arrived, a mix of awe and suspicion hovered over the heads of the law enforcement officials like a blue cloud.

 “That’s two in a row, Janey,” the lieutenant observed. “Are you not telling us something?”

“It’s…someone has hacked into our communications system. That’s all I can say.”

“Maybe you should go home, rest up and come back in two days,” Gretchen suggested.

“I’m still going to hear the voice.”

“You can talk to chaps about that,” she advised. 

“The chaplain’s not going to do me any good. I’m an––”

“Atheist. We know. But you’re a damn fine cop. I just want to make sure you’re in good standing to perform your duties.”

“Yes, lieutenant.”

He didn’t have to go far. His home sat just outside the city limits on a quarter acre of land and offered respite. As he parked the car, the voice swung back in on him. He had just taken his body cam and firearm and stun gun and the rest of his equipment off and planted them in the front passenger seat when he heard, “Are you still with me, Sergeant Janey?”

“Look whoever you are, I’m going to find you and stop all this nonsense.”

“Okay, but there’s another body on the West Side. 7th Street.”

What to do…? In desperation, he wished to just eat a home-cooked meal, spend time with his family, and follow the lieutenant’s orders. He entered the house. 

“Daddy!” 

“Hey, Sweety,” he announced to his six-year-old daughter Tamala. The vision of the young boy flashed in his mind. His wife Cassandra had just finished their dinner and watched TV in the family room. His meal sat in the oven. He kissed his wife. She stood at about five foot four inches tall and possessed sparkling green eyes and long brown hair.

“How was your day?” she asked. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He headed back outside.

With an ounce of power remaining in his frame, he sighed and listened to the comms.

“The body’s not getting any warmer….” He placed his uniform cover on his head and put the car into reverse and then into drive. He looked at Cassandra and Tamala in the doorway. As the day died and the night life breathed its dark breath into the city, Sergeant Janey found himself traversing the streets to find this body. He arrived at the vacant lot where nobody had been around. A young female about twenty-years-old or so lay motionless amongst grass and weeds and debris.

The mixture of dread and a sort of relief from finding these bodies and eventually leading to their possible killer motivated him. But the source chilled his guts. A sigh pushed out from his mouth. To keep this to himself would mean that he was hiding a possible homicide. He could just ignore it and act like he stayed home. The gears in his mind continued to function. But it was a slow, hard grind that made him question his own sanity. 

“Dispatch, this is Sergeant Janey. I have another possible homicide on 7th Street on the West Side.”

“Copy.”

The blue and red lights licked the buildings surrounding Sergeant Janey’s vehicle. Lieutenant Gunswald got out of her patrol car.

“What the hell, Janey?!”

“I just heard the comms….”

“You need to get some sleep. Some food. Something. Cassandra and Tamala need you to be at your top form if they still like a roof over their head.”

“I understand that, Lieutenant. But….”

“You’re seeing the chaps on your next shift.”

“Copy.”

The next morning, Chaplain Shane McGinley sat at his office desk with pictures of police officers being baptized and meetings with the mayor and other elected officials. He showed flecks of gray that colored his Caesar haircut.

“Sergeant Janey, always a pleasure,” he rose to shake the officer’s hand.

“Father,” Janey grasped the clergyman’s hand.

“It seems like we’re experiencing some stressors with the communications system….” McGinley mentioned.

“I don’t have a problem. Some punk is using our network to send me messages. They’re not good. But they help us find bodies. That part is good.”

“And you don’t know where any of this is coming from?” McGinley asked. A white noise machine hummed in the corner of the space.

“No.”

“It’s something that God wants us to take into account. We all have our faults, I too stumble. But the best part is about getting back on our feet and walking onward. Wherever these unfortunate souls have traveled, East Side, Southbridge, or West Side, they never got any warmer. It all matters that you remain a guardian protecting this city from those who wish to do harm.”

“You know, I remember the voice saying something similar….”

McGinley looked up and smiled. “I hear all the scuttlebutt. That must’ve come up at some point.”

“Yes, but you said ‘warmer’ like the voice, it sounded mechanized but distinctive all the same….”

“Must be a coincidence.”

Janey stood and pressed his hands on the desk and looked into the chaplain’s eyes.

“If you have something to say to me, let me know before I get the captain in here and––”

“Hey, hey. We don’t have to get all huffy,” McGinley noted, nervousness coloring his voice. “Why don’t you just take a seat and we can talk this over like gentlemen.”

“So you were that creepy voice? You hacked our comms?”

“Yes and yes.”

“You know your least worry is obstruction of justice, right? How did you know about those three youths?”

“Call it what you may, I’m just a vigilante using what I learned when I was on the force.”

“Or are you a murderer?” 

“I didn’t drop the bodies. I got tips from gangsters from around the way. I just called into you because I knew you’d be the most vulnerable, your lack of faith and all.”

“It is because I do not subscribe to the unknown and unknowable that I get my strength. I respect those who believe but I never mix my professional life with my personal one.”

“Well, why don’t we work out a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes. I can continue to supply you with bodies and they’ll look at you as some sort of clairvoyant or something. It’ll be God’s grace and really just tips, but they’ll see you as a hero.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero. I just want to do my job and you’ve made the last few hours horrific for me.”

“In order to make an omelette….”

Janey rose to his feet again.

“Sergeant Janey, remember that you were the only one who could have known where those bodies lay.”

“I think that more people are going to know, including my superiors.” He walked out of the office. During this entire encounter, Janey’s bodycam recorded. The chaplain didn’t even give it a thought. Janey ran to a room adjacent to the chaplain's office. The police team pored over the footage, even the muffled sound due to the white noise machine. They could still figure out what the chaplain said about the tips. A specialist began a lip-reading session. to further confirm McGinley's guilt.

The chaplain stood at the doorway to the room. Ten officers including Captain Marshall Covington looked up from viewing the video on a desktop. Janey sat at the front and then walked towards the door.

The chaplain froze in fear and began to walk backwards. Lieutenant Gunswald clasped the silver bracelets of justice around the chaplain’s wrists.

Janey looked the clergyman in his face. “You can’t pray this away,” Sergeant Janey announced. The lieutenant then hauled McGinley to a cell.