Dakota (Ch 7)

She reached for the phone. No. She shouldn't do it. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't do it. She wasn't going to make that call. No. Blink. She pulled her hand back and turned back to the window. She had barely moved in the past eight weeks. She had planted herself in that spot on the sofa. She wasn't moving. She was waiting, just waiting. Time passed. Nothing changed. She sat, waiting.

Her mother tried to encourage her, inspire her but in time it turned to a repeated chatisement.

"Get off the damn sofa, Beka. Get up and do something. Get a job. He's not going to call. He's not coming back."

She never responded. Her mother's nagging tone only cued the her to allow her eyes to glaze over. She stared at the window, not beyond it, just stared at the twelve panes of glass that separated her from the world. She wanted to make a change, do something. But she just couldn't. She didn't know where to go from here. Her life as an adult did not exist apart from him. He was all she knew. She had depended on him. She needed him. Maybe she should call him. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe he would answer. Maybe things could change.

She reached for the phone and dialed before allowing herself to doubt the irrationalities that floated about her head. She heard it ringing. She waited. She heard the familiar sound of his voice. She missed that voice. She missed hearing it as he whispered to her in bed. She missed hearing it as he called out, 'Goodbye, hun, love you,' on his way out the door each morning. She missed hearing in as he called, 'Just to talk,' on his lunch break. Beep.

"Um, hey Jake, it's me. Just wanted to see how you were--I miss you. I'm sorry--"

She hung up. She had expended her energy for the day. Her head fell back on the cushion behind her head. Her eyes closed.

/ / /

The investigation was not going well. Many unanswered questions remained. The autopsy and medical investigation didn't turn up much new information. The crime scene unit was not able to gather much from the house, or the woods for that matter. There was little left undisturbed. There was nothing missing. They found nothing in Jason's background or personal items to indicate that he had any real enemies. Essentially, Holt and his team had nothing. Nothing more than a dead body and a weapon that may or may not have been used in self-defense. No one had turned up at local hospitals in need of treatment from knife wounds. The killer was seemingly a ghost, a phantom of the night.

Sheriff Holt sat at his desk. He rubbed his eyes and leaned back. Reaching into the drawer at his right he pulled out a file. It had been a slow day. He flipped open the cover of the folder, there before him were the photos. Jason Samuels dead body lay covered in blood on the floor of his kitchen. The knife lay in the palm of his open hand, one leg bent back, broken, the medical examiner had determined.

There was a shot of the kitchen. Nothing seemed to be disturbed, missing. The back door, still secured, locked. The photos of the woods had been taken the next day, in the day light. Nothing was extraordinary. It was the woods. There were leaves, trees, limbs.

"Sheriff--"

Blink. He rubbed his eyes again, took a deep breath and stretched his arms out to the side.

"Yeah Marge."

"Sheriff, I've a man here to see you."

"Alright, well don't keep 'im, send 'im back."

"Yessir."

He closed the file and returned it to its place in the drawer. He pulled out his pad and pencil.

"Sheriff this is Mr. Bingham. Says he found something. Says he needs to take you and the boys to see it."

"Alright, thank you Marge. I'll let the man speak for 'imself."

"Yessir. Sorry sir."

Marge dropped her head and swiveled on her heals turning back to her desk at the front of the office.

"Have a seat Mr. Bingham. What's this about now? What've you found?"

"Well, er, uh, Mista I is down at da dam. Minin' my business, waiting on this ere buck to get up from 'is rest in da brambles. Waiting. Ya know, crouchin' about real quiet like. Well then I did tripped on and let off a round of my rifle. Didn't hit nothin' but done did sceared me. Nearly pissed myself. I pulled myself up on a limb, lookin' down at my feet. There he was."

"He?"

"Yeah, this ere dead guy layin in the leaves, barely covered over. Couldnta been there too long, anemals ould got 'im. That's when I a'mos messed my drawers--"

"You remember specifically where this was? You can take me there?"

Sheriff Holt stood reaching for his coat.

"Yep, I done remember."

/ / /

I trembled in a heap on the steps. Janie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around me.

"Jake, oh Jake, I'm sorry. Jake I had no idea. I didn't know. It's alright. It'll be alright. I'm here Jake. I'm here for you now. I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'm sorry--"

"You couldn't have stopped it. You couldn't have changed things. It's just the way things are."

"Let me help you up. C'mon let's go inside. I want to hear the story. C'mon."

She put her arms under his shoulders and heaved.

"C'mon, Jake. Get up. I'm sorry I pushed you. I should have listened to you."

"You didn't know. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. You weren't here."

"I know Jake. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here. But I'm here now. So let's go in and you can tell me what happened."

He leaned on her as they trudged to the door. She took the bags to the kitchen and he slumped into the chair by the fire. He was in that place again. He sat and recounted the night in his mind. He had to tell her.

She took her place in the chair opposite him.

"Ok, let's have it then Jake."

"Let me start with mom. I'll work my way to what brought me here, to where we're at now."

"Take your time. It's alright. I'm right here."