He saw death, hatred, abuse, cruelty, and just too many other things he wished to forget. Living in that ugliness had weaved a misery inside himself he didn’t like feeling. Peace, small-town happiness, the random idiocy, petty squabbles. Now that he could live with.

When he walked into the sheriff’s office just days after moving back, asking for a deputy position, Sheriff Bob Overly had jovially accepted him into their family—a tight-knit place with only two deputies, and Charlotte, the queen of the front desk. Five years later, at the age of thirty-three, Logan found himself in the sheriff’s position when Bob retired, and the small county of Fortune graciously voted him in. He hadn’t even put his name on the ballot, but the county took it upon themselves to do it for him. Or more like Charlotte had without his permission after he heard a few whispers around Lucky. The county had loved Bob as their sheriff, and two years into his term, they loved him as well.

Running a ragged hand over his face, he released a calm breath and pasted on a friendly smile as he turned the corner to the front area. The walk from his office, located at the hallway’s end, wasn’t far enough. The dreadful conversation he was about to have plagued him, it made him wish he could walk right out the door.

“Mr. Thomas, I’m Sheriff Caldwell. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances,” Logan said, holding his hand out to shake hands with the man.

“My niece…where’s her body?” He choked the words out, barely speaking above a whisper.

“She’s currently at the clinic, sir. We’re a small town here in Lucky. We don’t have a coroner’s office or a hospital. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Does an autopsy need to be done? I want everything to...what the hell happened, Sheriff?”

“Would you like to talk in my office, Mr. Thomas?” Logan gestured a hand toward the hallway he just came from. Not that Charlotte would judge the man as she sat behind her desk, but sometimes privacy was called for.

“No. I want answers, Sheriff. Then I want to get the hell out of here with my niece,” Mr. Thomas said, his voice becoming stronger.

“I’ve never had a problem with your brother-in-law, Mr. Thomas. No calls of service to that residence. No reports from the school of anything unusual. I want you to know if I had come across any of that, it would’ve been taken care of. Unfortunately, nobody in town suspected anything. There’s no need for an autopsy. I witnessed most of it myself. Early this morning, we received a report of shots fired at their residence. Mr. Baxter was standing on the porch when I arrived, the gun pointed at his head. I saw your niece Brittany lying in the front yard with multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Before I could even utter a word to Mr. Baxter, he shot himself. Brittany was already dead, Mr. Thomas. If you would like an autopsy done, I can arrange that,” Logan said, looking the man in the eye the entire time. Talking about a death, any death, especially the death of a child was difficult. He was no coward. Looking the man in the eye was the least he could do.

“No, that’s fine, Sheriff. I should’ve known something was wrong. Her mother…my sister…dying last year. Brittany struggled with her death. I never really cared for Baxter, but he was her father. It’s not like I could just take her home with me. She never said he was abusive, but I knew she was unhappy. I should’ve known something like this would happen. I should’ve.”

Logan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Thomas. I wish I had known as well. But the sad reality is, how could any of us have known? You can’t blame yourself. Think of your niece with happy memories. That’s what she would want. I can walk with you to the clinic if you’d like to see her. I can help with the arrangements for her funeral. You tell me what you need, and I’ll help.”

“I’d like to walk myself, Sheriff. You’ve done enough. Throw some fire on Baxter’s body and let him rot in hell. That’s the only thing I need you to do.” Without waiting for a response, he turned around and stomped out of the building.

“Damn! You dealt with that on a daily basis in the Cities. I don’t know how you did it, Logie,” Charlotte said with awe.

Logan looked over at her. “Char-Char, I never dealt with that on a daily basis. If I did, I would’ve never lasted five years down in the Cities like I did. Did I see death? Yes. But that just now, that was hard. This is my town, and I can’t believe this happened.”

“Must you call me Char-Char?” Charlotte said with a sliced tone, even as she smiled.

“Must you call me Logie?”

Charlotte pierced her eyes in a measuring manner, then laughed. “I sure do love you, Sheriff. You can’t prevent all tragedies. Just like you told him, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s my job to keep the county safe, to keep it in peace. And I feel like I failed today.” He looked at the door where Mr. Thomas had walked out wishing he had never walked in to begin with.

He loved this small town with all his heart, and now it was tarnished with a horrible memory. Lucky, MN, population 381. Rarely did a newcomer move in and announce, “This is it. This is the place where I want to be.” Most people, if a chance presented itself, moved out. This town provided nothing for advancement, only peace, friendliness, and a sense of community. If that’s what a person wanted, they stayed. If they didn’t, they hightailed it out of town without a backward glance. He suddenly wanted to do that.

“Why are you still here? Leave already,” Charlotte said with annoyance.

“You are the bossiest woman I know, besides Kat. I thought I was the sheriff here.”

“You are the sheriff. A damn fine one, too. But if I recall correctly, which I have an excellent memory, your vacation started today. You shouldn’t even be in the office standing in front of my beautiful face.”

“I need to be here. A little girl died today. I’ll leave when I know Mr. Thomas needs nothing else from me.”

“I don’t know how you survived in the Cities. You’re such a damn softie,” Charlotte said with a grin.

“I don’t know how I did either, Charlotte.” He glanced one more time at the door with Mr. Thomas’s forlorn look imprinted in his mind. “I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me. Let me know right away if Mr. Thomas needs me for anything. And I mean anything, Charlotte. Don’t you dare take care of anything for me without asking.”

Charlotte placed a hand on her chest, feigning innocence. “Me...do that? Never.”

Logan shook his head, laughing, as he walked back to his office.

* * *

She saw the sun dipping down into darkness and wanted to scream to the heavens to stop the movement. The light was her freedom. It would show her the way out. She had suffered the darkness for far too long. She didn’t want to suffer in it anymore.

A twig snapped.

Turning her head slightly, she saw nothing in her vision, peripheral or otherwise. Focusing ahead, she tried to run faster through the woods before he caught up to her. He had to be in pursuit. She didn’t stick around to find out if he heard her finally get the door open. She just ran and never looked back. And she decided, as another twig broke, she wasn’t going to look back now either. Going back into that room was not an option. Seeing the darkness, living in the darkness again, was not an option.

A branch hit her cheek. A soft cry echoed around the brisk night as she stumbled. Correcting herself before she went head first into the ground, she continued to run. Her feet would give out before she stopped running. She would stop for nothing, or she would die. She knew it with every breath in her body. If he found her, he would kill her.

Stumbling again, over a small log this time, she thankfully managed to stay afoot. Each step brought her further away from the madness, yet brought the sun ticking down from the sky, cloaking her in a darkness that threatened to paralyze her. She couldn’t decide what was worse—difficulty seeing with the dark wrapping her up into the deep abyss. Or getting caught by the man who had been her daily terror for so long she couldn’t remember what day it was.

Another sound ricocheted around the towering trees, louder than a twig breaking. Swiveling her head, unable to stop herself, she saw nothing. It didn’t matter. That movement was her undoing. Her foot stepped into a hole, plunging her forward and messed with her rhythm. With no time to correct herself, she fell hard to the ground. Dirt and leaves coated her body as she rolled, waiting for the momentum to stop, to get up, get back in her fluid pace of escape. 

But only the raging speed of rolling increased. She knew she hit trouble, hit her last thread of life, as she tumbled down the hill.

Copyright © 2016 Amanda Siegrist.

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