Dakota (Ch 3)

The pulsing flash of red and blue began to sleuth its way between the trees, still nearly covered in leaves in autumn hues. I sat at the window and waited. I felt remorse for leaving Jason's lifeless body on the cold tile floor. But I couldn't bring myself to sit next to him. It was surreal, like I had walked onto the set of a movie, like I could simply wake him up. Then of course, I had noticed the gaping holes in his chest. This was nothing that could be corrected, healed, undone. My older brother, the idol of my youth, my best friend lie dead at my side. I had to leave that room.

So I sat and waited until the lights, and the sirens, got closer. I watched as the South Dakota State Police SUVs pulled down the dirt road. I saw the ambulance arrive--a futile effort--Jason was dead. It had been nearly 30 minutes since I made the discovery, the call. I opened the door, guiding the professionals to the crime scene. I remember consciously identifying it as such in my mind, in that moment.

With a single glance, the paramedics requested the coroner. The patrolmen called the county sheriff and a more experienced crime unit. The two men, one a fresh-faced juvenile was maybe 25, the other much his senior seemed to lack the necessary professional skills to begin to address the situation he now found himself in. Their presence was a blur. I sat in the chair and stared into the fire as they did their jobs. They marked the body. They searched the kitchen and the porch which led out to the woods beyond. The dark hour provided no assistance. Whoever had done this had the perfect means of cover. There was no way a perpetrator could be tracked in these woods, not now. There was no way to tell which direction he set out in. There was no inclination as to who could have done this. There was little left behind. There was no sign of forced entry.

I sat and stared. The fire blazed. Time seemed to stand still. A hazy voice broke my trance.

"Sir...sir"

I turned my head slowly to the left, unblinking, my eyes meeting his.

"Sir, we're gonna need to ask ya some questions. I'm Sheriff Holt. Lyle Holt. First let's start with your name."

"Jake."

I cleared my throat, it was dry. I offered a scratchy reply.

"Jake Samuels. In there...that's my brother. Jason."

"Can you tell me what happened? Did you see what happened? They tell me the 911 operator lost contact with you, tried calling back but got no response."

I rose to my feet. I knew instantly that it was a mistake. I collapsed back into the chair.

"Would you mind sitting Sheriff? Please, have a seat Mr. Holt"

I weakly gestured to the other chair. He sat but maintained his rigidity.

"I...I just drove back to Dakota."

My words trailed off. I swallowed hard. I was barely holding it together. I had to.

"I'm sorry. This is still so fresh, I don't know if I can get through it all--I spent the day driving home from Chicago. Jason and I grew up in this house. He had lived in Chicago as well until about five years ago when our mom died. Dad was sick with Alzheimer's. He came home for him. I spoke to Jay on the phone ten or fifteen minutes before I got here."

The fire entranced me. It danced and flickered. Crack. Pop. A smoldering ember floated up, attempting to escape the box and clear the metal grate. It hung there and faded from red to gray. It slowly dropped back into the flame. Crack.

"He was excited that I was finally moving back. I was ready for a fresh start. I was more tentative about coming back. I pulled down the lane. When I got to the door, there was no answer. I called his name, nothing. So I tried the knob. It was unlocked. Our mother had always stressed that we keep the house locked when we were growing up. It was ingrained in us. Her house was robbed when she was young. She held on to that fear until the day she died. To this day, I never leave my door unlocked, never. Jay wouldn't have left it unlocked either, even if he knew I was moments away."

"So then you entered the premises?"

Sheriff Holt sat with his notepad and pen. He analyzed me. I felt his eyes grating my skin. He grimaced.

"Please continue Mr. Samuels."

"I opened the door. I kept calling out his name. I looked ahead, into the kitchen, and saw the puddle on the floor. I didn't know what it was. I walked to it. I turned right. And that's when I lost it! I saw him lying on the floor with the knife in his hand. I didn't know what had happened. I kept calling his name. I called for help. As I talked to her I watched him die. He struggled for those last breaths."

I tried to keep my composure. The tears were building up now. I didn't want to cry. Not now. I hated crying in front of people. I was the strong one. Jason, Jason was emotional--he was a crier.

"I was too late. I should have been here. I could have saved him. I could have stopped this--"

"Sir ya can't beat yourself up. No one can say what could have happened, or what would have happened. Be glad you're safe, you're alive."

He offered no emotion.

"Did you know of any enemies your brother may have had? He didn't seem distressed when you spoke to him?"

"No. I...I didn't get to speak to him that often. I mean, he never said anything about having any problems up here. We never had problems growing up. It was always quiet in Wessington."

"And when you talked to him early?"

"He seemed fine. I'm sorry Sheriff, I don't think I can answer any more questions tonight. I need to lie down."

"Mr. Samuels. Mr. Samuels could you please sit back down. I need to gather as much information as possible. I need to get this case moving. Time is critical."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything else. I don't know anything else that might help you."

Pop. Another ember escaped the blaze.

"Mr. Samuels. Mr. Samuels."

My knees buckled. My world went black.