Authors: John Locke
He frowns, then hands me two packets of powder.
“Keep these in your back pocket at all times. If you have to use them outside, make sure the wind is at your back. Don’t get within ten feet of the cloud it makes. Better yet, throw it and run the opposite way.”
“Got it.”
“I’m serious, Trudy. If the wind shifts, you’re toast.”
“Kiss me goodbye, Gideon. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
He kisses me, takes a long, last look, then leaves.
I stand at the door and watch him drive away.
When he’s completely out of sight, I lock the door, turn on the livin’ room fan to get the air circulatin’, and start puttin’ things in piles. These I’m throwin’ away, these I’m givin’ away, these I’m takin’ with me to New York City. After a few hours of that, I go online, email some friends about my hospital adventure, tell ’em about Dr. Box, and how I’m goin’ to New York City. Then I call Alice T’s and tell Big Ed I’m quittin’.
“I could use you here these next two weeks,” he says.
“With Scooter laid up and out of town, I’d be too skittish at closin’ time,” I say.
“Kennon could bring you like before, and I could drive you home.”
“I couldn’t let you do that. Plus, Dottie would skin us both.”
He laughs. “She’s right jealous, my wife. If you come in to say goodbye, I’ll catch you up on your hours.”
“Forget those few hours of pay, Ed. You’ve been more than fair with me. But I’ll want a hug from you and the girls before runnin’ off to New York.”
“You’re finally going to do it!” he says.
“I finally am.”
“I know that’s what you always wanted,” he says, “and more power to you. But I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Ed.”
I hang up, watch a little TV, make some dinner, eat, put the dishes up, walk back through the house to turn off the lights. When I get to the livin’ room, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Sheriff Boyle’s sittin’ in Daddy’s TV chair with his feet propped up like he owns the place, givin’ me a look that says he ain’t here on official police business. I start to reach into my back pocket, but stop when I realize the fan is runnin’ full blast behind him. If I throw the powder at him it’ll blow back on me.
“How’d you get in here?” I say.
“I’ve had a key to Scooter’s place for years. And he’s got a key to mine.”
“Well, Scooter’s not here.”
“I wouldn’t’ be here if he was.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
FOR A SPLIT second, I freeze. I think about askin’ Sheriff Boyle what he means, but his meanin’ couldn’t possibly be more clear. He’s starin’ at me with dead eyes, like he’s been drinkin’ all afternoon and come to a snap decision.
“You need to go home, now, Sheriff. Luby’s gonna be worried about you.”
“Luby’ll be just fine, Trudy.”
“You’ve been drinkin’. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You have no idea what it’s been like these two years. Seeing you sashay your sweet little ass all over town, hooking up with this loser or that one, always trying to get away, like our town isn’t good enough for you. Then you hook up with a fuck up like Darrell, your own brother, and now you aim to run off with a guy old enough to be your father, who’s my age, by the way.”
“You need to head on home now, Sheriff, Luby’ll have dinner waitin’ on the table.”
“What have you got for me, Trudy?”
“Excuse me?”
“You give it up for all these losers. I’m the law in this town. I’m the one who protects people. You let a total stranger feel you up at the fence? What about me?”
“You’ve already got a woman, Sheriff. And a fine one, at that.”
He scrunches his face up and runs his fingers through his hair and says, “You send for me to come to the hospital last night like I’m some sort of errand boy, tell me how to run my business. Then you tell me to go fuck myself.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that. I was frustrated. I definitely owe you an apology.”
“You owe me a helluva lot more than that. I’m thinking of something pink.”
“That’s the drink talkin’, Sheriff, not you. You need to think about Luby, and how this sort of talk would make her feel if she heard it.”
“I was there that night you walked out on the football field to accept your award. Homecoming Queen.” He sighs. “Most beautiful girl in five counties. Watching you grow up, seein’ you make one bad decision after the other. I always showed you respect. But the way you treated me last night? I figured if half the town was getting in your pants, the Sheriff might as well get in there, too.”
“First of all, you can count on one hand the men who’ve been in my pants, and when you do, you’ll have four fingers left over. Whatever else you’ve heard is lies and speculation. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, but Darrell’s the only man I’ve been with in that way.”
“Well, that’s about to change,” he says.
He pauses a few seconds, then bolts out of the chair and comes straight at me.
I THINK ABOUT makin’ a run for it, but there’s no way I can get to the back door and unlock it before he can catch me. Instead, I grab a glass bookend from the book shelf.
“Good luck with that,” he says.
He’s quick and agile for bein’ forty, but I’ve got plenty of experience dealin’ with my own drunken addict, who enjoyed comin’ at me when I denied him sex. I’ve got a clear shot, but that’s the sucker move.
The one he’s expectin’.
So I wind up, and fake a throw, knowin’ he’ll instinctively duck and cover up, just like Darrell.
He does.
When he looks back up, I hurl it into his forehead, and he goes down. I jump over his body, open the front door, and see somethin’ that surprises me.
Cletus Renfro’s car.
He must’ve taken it from the impoundment lot. Didn’t want anyone to see his sheriff’s car parked in my driveway.
I could easily outrun him, but not the car. I make the quick decision to get inside the car and hope the keys are in the ignition. I hear a noise behind me and turn to see Sheriff Boyle comin’ out the door. He’s hurt bad, and blood is literally squirtin’ from the angry cut in his head. I run to the car, jump in the driver’s seat, and lock the door. Unfortunately, all the windows are rolled down, and there’s no time to roll them up. I look on the column to see if the keys are there, but they’re not. I feel around on the floor board, but again, no keys.
I raise up, grab the packets from my back pocket, and wait for him to come into view on the driver’s side. I can’t throw both packets with accuracy, so I place one on the floorboard and scoot across the seat to give myself some room. When he stands at the driver’s side he’ll try to open the door, realize it’s locked, and his focus will be on reachin’ in and unlockin’ the door. I’ll hit him in the chest and scramble out the passenger door while shuttin’ my eyes and holdin’ my breath. Maybe I’ll get lucky.
So that’s the plan.
But it doesn’t work.
When Sheriff Boyd gets to the door, he sees me windin’ up, and when I hurl the packet, he somehow manages to duck out of the way.
It’s dark, and I don’t see the packet after it whizzes past him, but I know it’s gonna land too far away to have any effect on him.
Now I’m tryin’ to reach the packet I placed on the floor, but the Sheriff is all over me, grabbin’ my legs, pullin’ me toward him. He climbs half into the car to get to me, and lands a punch on my sore cheek that makes me so groggy and weak I can’t do nothin’ but be slid out the car.
I’m lyin’ on the ground, and the only light I see is comin’ from inside the car, where I see my second packet of powder has been crushed. Sheriff Boyd must have stepped on it while pullin’ me out.
So I’m nine-tenths knocked out, I’ve got no weapons left, and I hear him openin’ the trunk. I try to scream, but the sound that comes out of my throat is more like a scared, whimpering hiss.
Sheriff Boyd picks me up like a sack of flour, puts me over his shoulder, and dumps me into the trunk.
“Wh-what are you doin’?” I manage to say.
“I’m going to take you to my fishing camp,” he says. “You’ve never been there, but it’s real nice. You want the itinerary? I’m going to fuck you all night long. And when you’re completely fucked out, I’m going to take you for a boat ride and sink you three hundred feet into the bottom of Kentucky Lake. By this time tomorrow, your pretty head will likely be in a catfish’s belly, and your feminine parts will be working their way through the digestive tract of a giant paddlefish.”
I get out a nice scream before he slams the trunk door shut, but I doubt it was loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
He starts the car and all I can think about is how lucky I am.
I take a minute to thank the good Lord for providin’ such a hot night for my abduction, and for puttin’ me in the trunk of a car with a broken air conditioner.
As he starts the car, I remove my blouse and tie it around my face.
Then brace myself for the comin’ impact.
I feel the car backin’ up, movin’ slowly down the driveway. Feel it turn, stop, then lurch forward as Sheriff Boyd puts it in gear. Feel the right turn that leads to the open road. Feel the speed pick up. Hear the sheriff scream as the wind comin’ through the open windows stirs up the blindin’ powder on the floorboard. Feel the car losin’ control. Feel it swerve off the road and pitch forward, as if we’re goin’ downhill. Feel it crash into somethin’ sturdy.
WHEN I OPEN my eyes I hear a lady’s voice say, “Do you know where you are, sweetheart?”
I say, “If it ain’t heaven, it’s gotta be Starbucks.”
“It’s Starbucks County Hospital, dear,” she says. “According to our records, this isn’t your first time.”
“I’ve never made it past Starbucks yet,” I say, “though I’ve tried eight times.”
“You were in a terrible automobile accident. It’s a miracle you survived. You’re a very fortunate young lady.”
“What did we crash into?”
“I’m told you struck a tree.”
“What about Sheriff Boyd?”
“He didn’t make it.” She pauses, then says, “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Were you close to the Sheriff?”
“Not really. But I think he was hopin’ I’d open up to him more.”
She nods. “He was a good man.”
“He’ll be missed,” I say.
“Do you know your name, hon?”
“Trudy. Trudy Lake.”
“Good. Now that you’re awake, I’ll go fetch the doctor.”
“Wait. What about Sheriff Boyd?”
“He didn’t make it.”
“He’s dead?”
“That’s what I’m told.”
She starts to leave.
“Wait,” I say. “Am I okay?”
“You’re fine dear.”
“Did they take out my spleen?”
“Your spleen? No, hon. Why do you ask?”
“I dreamt they removed my spleen, and my husband, who’s really my brother, mounted it above the bed, next to his spleen.”
“Okay, hon, you’re hallucinating. You won’t even remember this conversation in a few minutes.”
“The hell I won’t!”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Has anyone contacted Dr. Box? From New York City?”
“Box? What sort of name is that? Just relax, Trudy. You’re still groggy from the medication.”
While waitin’ for the doctor I try to remember what happened. It’s just flashes right now, but I remember bein’ real dizzy and scared. I was havin’ trouble breathin’. Then I realized I still had my blouse tied around my head, and remembered the powder. I kept the shirt there in case the powder was still circulatin’ after the wreck. I kept real still in case the sheriff was alive, and assumed someone would come along directly to offer help. But either time stood still, or everyone who passed by had somethin’ else to do. After what seemed like a long time, I decided to try pushin’ the trunk open. But when I reached up, all I felt was air.
The crash had popped the trunk open.
I staggered out, fell to the ground, and passed out for what might’ve been the second time. When I came to, I realized the car was on an embankment. That’s why no one stopped to help. They couldn’t see us. I made my way up the hill, then untied my blouse and put it on and tried to walk down the road. I don’t remember anyone givin’ me a ride to the hospital, but someone must have, ’cause here I am. I make a mental note to find the good person or people who helped me, so I can give them a proper thank you.
The doctor comes in and says, “I’m honored! You left at one o’clock this afternoon and missed us so much you went out and got a concussion less than twelve hours later. I believe that’s a record. How do you feel, Trudy?”
“I can’t feel my arms and legs. Is that the medication?”
“Excuse me? You’ve lost all sensation?”
“I can’t feel my arms and legs!” I shout.
His face takes on a panicked look.
I wait a moment, then say, “I’m just havin’ fun with you, doctor. I’m fine.”
“Not funny, Miss Lake. Not funny at all.”
The doctor’s wrong. It was funny. I know because when I called Gideon and told him what I said, he laughed hysterically for a whole minute!
Then he said he’ll be here in the mornin’, and won’t leave my side till we’re safe in New York City. Then his voice takes on a smug tone as he says, “I was right about you being in danger, and I was right about the powder. Is there anything you’d like to say to me? Anything at all?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
I say, “I can’t believe you fucked my sister!”
Then I hang up before he gets a chance to say anythin’ else.
THE END
If you enjoyed “BOX,” you’ll love
John Locke’s Gideon Box novel titled, “Bad Doctor!”
***** WOW! Bad Doctor is a wild, jaw-dropping story that is so funny you’ll laugh out loud. An amazing list of characters make every other book you read pale in comparison. I wanted it to go on for another 1,000 pages! A wonderful wild ride!
~ Ron Chicaferro (Scottsdale, AZ)