Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (39 page)

Slowly, cautiously, like walking on glass, she made her way toward the back of the cellar, a baby-step at a time, to the darkest part of the man-made cave.
She held her aluminum tube at the ready in case the snake made a move
,
but this wasn’t the time to kill it, not yet, not unless she had to
protect herself.
First she needed to figure out a way to skin the thing and clean the guts out, assuming of course she had the gumption within her to find it and kill it first.
Of course there was the possibility
it may have crawled out during the night, slithered right past her while she slept,
up the stairs and out the crack, long gone.
Melissa had mixed feelings about
that
theory. No snake to worry about while she slept… but no food either.

Returning to the shelf where she’d found the jar and candle, she ran her hand across the surface, feeling, straining to see. Thoughts of hairy spiders scampered though her head
, but she felt
only
dirt and slime from patches of mold. She didn’t like the way her bare feet were covered in ankle deep leaves, so vulnerable to any creatures lying beneath. She couldn’t stay here long
,
not with the possibility of that slithery thing lying somewhere close. Fighting the growing panic, she made one more pass and this time, her fingertips touched something different. On the far end of the board was a nail, driven into the edge, probably the same nail that once hosted the now-lost-forever, rain poncho. She wiggled the head of it.
The nail didn’t move but the
board
did. The shelf was loose. Melissa lifted the near edge, hesitant, feeling the weight of it.
Having never been affixed to the wall brackets that supported it, the single board easily came free. She
turned
and did the quick step back to the stairs and the light, carrying her discovery with her.

As she flipped the board over, a brown spider with spindly legs and about the size of her little fingernail, made a jump for safety.
Melissa made an “eek” noise and dropped the board wishing she had shoes to stomp it. She gave the spider time to move on and then examined the shelf.
It looked to be about 4 inches in width and at least 5 feet long. Having spent so many years in such a dank environment, the dark wood was in surprisingly decent shape with only the corners showing signs of rot. Cedar? She had no idea. The concern was that the nail would hold tight for what she had in mind, skinning a snake. One problem solved, maybe two. The board had some heft to it. A weapon? Awkward, sure, but this was no place to be choosy. As she had done with the aluminum tubing, she stood and tried to swing the board like baseball bat. But the board was slimy and with her small hands, hard to get a grip. The length was a problem as well. She sat back on the cot and tried to think about it, turning the board over and over, hoping for an idea. Concentration was almost impossible, her brain seemingly unable to get past thoughts of water and food.
But then;
Got it!

Standing, and with her right hand over the end of the board and her left hand on one side to steady it, she raised it as high as she could reach, almost to the ceiling, and struck downward, edgewise, straight down, hard, like a pile driver on pavement. There was a satisfying
thunk.

Out loud she said, “Oh yeah, that should do it. You, Mr. Snake, are in big trouble. Melissa the Snake Slayer, that’s me. I’m bad! Yes, I am!”

But to herself—
bold statement Lissa. So why does your voice sound so shaky? Is it because you know how close you’ll need to be to use this stupid board? What makes you think you can whack this thing before it gets to you first? Comes down to it, you don’t know if you can actually do this do you? Hell no you don’t. Shit. Sorry Jesus. Didn’t mean to say that. But you know what? I’m probably going to say it again before I get out of here, maybe worse, so you’re just gonna have to deal with it okay? I’ll make it up to you later.
But I
could
use a little more help here you know.

She took a breath, blew some air, and collapsed on the cot. Closing her eyes, she tried to see it like a You Tube video, scene by scene. First, kill the snake. Hang it from the nail, impale it through the head like she’d seen her daddy do, and then what? You
’ll
have to take the skin off, peel it down, but how? She had no knife to make the critical cut behind the head. Picking up the aluminum tube, she ran her finger over the broken and ragged end. There was a sharpness to it, enough to make a scratch, but thin enough to slice the outer skin and expose the meat? Maybe, but doubtful.

Oka
y, lets suppose you get that fa
r,
Lissa. How you gonna cook it? You got two matches left. Use those and your nights are dark again. Wait minute, what are you thinking girl? If you die of starvation, it doesn’t matter how dark it is does it? No, we’re talking about dark forever, eternal dark, dead dark. Eat it raw? Oh God, no way. No possible way. Unless…I’m dying. No, forget it. You haven’t eaten for four days but people can live a lot longer than that without food. Weeks, a month maybe. You don’t have to eat that snake Lissa, not now anyway.

With that realization, Melissa gave a sigh of relief. Starvation wasn’t the most pressing problem, not like the water situation.
And
there was that matter of sharing close quarters with a snake. Maybe it was poisonous, maybe
it wasn’t
.
Find it, kill it, or leave it be?
Her brain struggled to process and edit her mental video to any kind of conclusion, much less a logical one.
It was too complicated to deal with, too many unknowns, too many problems. She closed her eyes and tried
to think of better times, being out with her friends, playing with her cat, graduating from high school and going to college. Lately she’d begun thinking of becoming a veterinarian.
She could specialize in cats and dogs. She’d never owned a dog. Albert wouldn’t allow it. She tried very hard
not
to think about her cracked lips
, a sandpaper tongue,
and a mouth that felt like a dried up waterhole.

Chapter 32

The dog pricked his ears
at the sound of the phone but that was about the extent of it. H
arley
opened one eye, closed it, and went back to sleep. Lester picked up.

“Nelda? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night again?”

“It’s ten after seven
,
Sheriff. If you look outside, you’ll see that it’s not the middle of the night. That light you see in the east is the sun about to make an appearance. I’m the one been on duty all night while you’ve been sleeping your life away.”

Lester swung his feet to the floor and scratched his head. “Is there something you want to tell me Nelda, or did you just get lonesome and want to hear the sound of my voice?”

“No, I’m not lonesome, not for you anyway, you old coot. Now listen. R
emember how you told me to call that hospital in Oklahoma City every day, the one where that Sanchez boy is at?”

“I do recall that. And?”

“The boy regained consciousness early yesterday evening and is talking this morning. A nurse said it was like somebody threw a switch and the lights came on. He’s already out of ICU. Looks like he’s gonna be okay they said.”

“Oh, that is great news Nelda. Maybe, finally, we can hope for some good information on Melissa. Okay, I’m headed down there. Hope the doc will let me talk to him. All I need is a few minutes.”

“I surely pray that he can
you
help find that girl
,
Sheriff
. You know, come to think of it, Imogene didn’t check in with me last night. Wonder if she’s all right? Poor woman. I feel so sorry for her. I’ll give her a call before I go home.”

“Tell your relief I’ll be out of pocket most of the day. I’ll be takin’ Billy Ray with me.”

Lester hit the off button and went to speed dial. The deputy answered after a half dozen rings just as Lester was about to give up on him.

“Ummm, hmmm.”

“B.R., you still in bed? You’re supposed to be at work in about 45 minutes.”

“So are you,” Billy Ray said, his voice raspy with sleep. “But you’re always late.”

“Like I’ve explained
so
many times and what you can’t seem to grasp,” Lester said, “I’m on duty the moment I set foot in the pickup, property of Cimarron County. That’s when my official day starts. Other times it starts when I’m on the phone, like now. So get your butt down to the office. I’ll meet you there. The Sanchez boy is awake and we’re driving to the City.”

Billy Ray let that sink in and said, “Okay. Okay, but please tell me Harley isn’t riding with us. I can’t deal with him in my lap for hundreds of miles. He needs a bath, Sheriff, bad.”

“Well, I don’t know if he wants to go yet,” Lester said. “But I’ll ask him. See you shortly.”

“Sheriff?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have a car, remember?”

“Excuses, always excuses. I’ll pick you up. Be ready now.”

Lester heated some milk and oatmeal, sprinkled some raisins on top, and sat down to breakfast, but not before dumping out a can of dog food in Harley’s dish. The dog finished it in seven seconds, his average time,
and then went to sit by Lester and wait for any recognizable sounds such as
go.
Didn’t happen.
Lester gave the lab a quick head rub and then realized Billy Ray had a point;
the dog did have an odor about him. A five and a half hour drive, one way with a stinky dog, would not make for a happy deputy.
Lester ate,
put the dishes in the sink
, gathered his gear and made his way
to the pickup
.
Harley followed,
tail wagging
in
eager anticipation.

“Sorry
buddy
, not this time.”

The dog’s head sank. He trotted after the pickup for a few yards in case there was any change in plans. All hope was lost as the truck made the turn on to the highway and grew small in the distance. Harley decided to check the perimeter for rabbits one more time before finding a warm place in the sun for a morning nap.

Billy Ray was waiting on the sidewalk with a thermos of coffee and bag of white Styrofoam cups. “Figured you’d be in your usual hurry so I made us some coffee to go. You don’t have to drink it you don’t want to. Be more for me.”

“Get in the truck and pour me a cup
,
B.R.”

As they passed the courthouse on the way
out
of town, Billy Ray said, “You do remember we have a perfectly good sedan sitting over there don’t you? Be a smoother ride to Okie City. AC works better too. Speakin’ of sedans, why do I not get the loan of that one while I’m afoot?”

There was no reply.
The Sheriff was deep in concentration.
Billy Ray tried to get comfortable with his head between the window and the back of the seat. It wasn’t working. At the city limits, Lester said, “I don’t feel right in that car. Don’t know what it is. I like sitting up like this, in a truck, where I can see over the traffic.”

“Traffic? In Cimarron County?”

It was the end of the conversation. There was no other mention of the sedan. Lester took 287 south and dropped down into Texas, hitting Stratford and Dumas and Pampa before picking up I-40 to the outskirts of Oklahoma City. They pulled off the interstate at a Love’s store, got gas, a couple pieces of chicken, and a fried apple pie for desert. At the cash register, Billy Ray said, “I wonder why they didn’t send the Sanchez boy to Amarillo instead of Okie City. Would have been a lot closer.”

Lester shrugged, “Don’t know. I’m guessing that Oklahoma City had better doctors for his kind of injury.
Neurologists I think is what they call them.”

Cimarron County had not provided Lester’s truck with a GPS device
. The
logic being there weren’t that many roads to get lost on in the Oklahoma panhandle. As a result, the men were forced to stop at another convenience store and ask directions on how to find the hospital. As they made the turn north onto I-44, it seemed to Lester as if the entire population of the state’s capitol, all 580,000, were on the road and hell bent on running over him.

“Don’t like all these cars whizzing about Billy Ray. Makes me a tad nervous.”

“You need to pick up your speed Sheriff, blend in with the traffic. You should have let me drive.”

“Should have,” Lester admitted.

Lester missed his exit, took the next one, and eventually found the parking lot for the OU Medical Center. The woman at the admitting desk did a double take at the badges and asked, “Any problems
,
Gentlemen?”

“No Ma’am.
I’m Lester P. Morrison of Cimarron County.
Just need the room number for a Carlos Sanchez,” Lester said.