Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (50 page)

At the top of the stairs, the fire was dying out, with only a single burning branch supporting combustion. But an ember from a post oak twig popped and rolled off the back of the step, landing on one of the thicker piles of leaves on the cellar floor. Soon, acrid smoke from the leaves joined with that hovering near the cellar door,
not all that much,
barely enough to set off a detector—had there been one. The real danger, unnoticed by the sleeping young girl, came when a fresh afternoon breeze found its way into the fraidy hole
, swirled down the walls and between the
steps
,
adding
new
oxygen to the fuel.

Chapter 41

Twenty miles out of Boise City and doing seventy, Lester asked, “How’s our prisoner doing back there, Deputy?”

Billy Ray spun around for a look. Greg’s long hair was blowing wildly in the wind and lashing across his eyes. The boy squirmed on the bed of the pickup, legs outstretched, looking in vain for anything to lean on that wasn’t hard.

“I’d say he’s a tad bit uncomfortable.”

“Good,” Lester said.

“You thinking we’ll find Melissa where he left her, in the weeds?”

“I’m afraid we might
,
Billy Ray. That poor excuse for a human being back there might have hit her too hard,
not knowing his own strength. H
e’s as strong as a bull.
Maybe
he choked the life out of her
and doesn’t remember it, or he’s not saying. Maybe she died from the
tequila
. It’s happened before.”

Billy Ray nodded
and said, “Then again, if she did start walking home from there, no telling who might have come by, gave her a ride, or forced her in their car. Could have been hit too,
hit and run, like we were thinking at first.
If we get nowhere on this, we could get the OSBI back out here or better yet, form a search party with
a dozen or more
citizens and walk the road.”

“I like your second idea best,” Lester said. “I’ve had my fill of that OSBI bunch.”

They passed the Pirate’s Den, still deserted, and flew by the turn off to the Parker place.
The Junkman’s house
flashed by on the left.

“Ask Greg if we’re getting close.”

Billy Ray lowered his window and yelled back, “We there yet?”

Greg craned his neck around the cab and
hollered
, “Just past that silo up ahead.”

The lane into the old house place
was about a football field long. In fact, it
was
no longer a lane
, only
two barely visible ruts through a combination of buffalograss and mesquite. Sprigs of cholla cactus (sometimes called the jumping cactus for the ease in which it attaches itself to humans) dotted what had once been a lawn. The house was of another era; only three rooms, kitchen, living, and a single bedroom. It’s gray and weather-beaten boards making a last stand against decades of exposure to sun, rain,
hail
and high winds. A stone chimney, sturdy despite its age, stood as an ancient monolith of the past. The tin shed that Greg had mentioned was still there, the only outbuilding left, part of its roof lost in some long ago storm.

Lester and Billy Ray slid out of the truck and stood around, looking. Lester said, “Greg, this where you were parked that night?”

“Dunno,” Greg said, “It was dark. Hey, how about taking these cuffs off. I gotta pee.”

“Shut up,” Billy Ray said.

Lester said, “Let’s walk the place. I’ll start at what’s left of that shed. You head to the left, circle the house, if you would.”

“Got it.”

As
Billy Ray
reached
the corner of the house,
he
stopped, and wrinkled his nose. “I smell smoke!” he called.

Lester sniffed the air. “Me too.”

“
Around
here somewhere,” Billy Ray yelled
.

The wind abated, only for a moment, but it was enough to pinpoint the source of the odor. A wisp of dark gray smoke rose from the ground
, the source hidden behind the weeds
.

“What the hell?” Billy Ray said.

Crashing through
the
brush, both men ran to the smoke.

“Cellar.” Lester yelled. Billy Ray spotted the latch. A long and rusty bolt, bent in the middle, secured the hasp. Billy Ray jerked the bolt from the U shaped ring and heaved
upward
on the door.

A cloud of pungent
gray
smoke billowed into their faces. Lester made a waving motion with his ha
t
and got on his knees, choking and blowing, trying to see. With the sudden rush of fresh air, the
once smoldering
leaves
at the bottom of the stairs found new life and exploded into flame.
Light
from
the open door
fell across a pale white arm.

“She’s here!” Lester
cried
, already on the steps, ignoring the flames. Billy Ray followed, his eyes burning, feeling the smoke in his lungs. Melissa lay sprawled across the cot, unmoving, her long hair touching the floor, as the fire raced toward her. Billy Ray tried to stomp out the burning leaves as Lester bent over the girl. The
blaze
worsened.

“Never mind the fire,” Lester gasped. “Help me get her out of here.”

The deputy took over, cradling the girl in his arms, and in three quick steps emerged from the cellar with Lester right behind him.
He eased Melissa down to the dry grass and on to her back. The once fresh and innocent face was shallow and drawn. Dark circles surrounded her sunken eyes.
Dirt and grime covered her body. A hideous purple bruise marred one cheek.
There was no movement.

Kneeling at the girl’s side, Lester put his ear to her chest. “No heartbeat that I can hear.”

Billy Ray knelt on the opposite side of the limp body and placed the tips of his finger across the inside of the girl’s wrist, slightly below the heel of her hand. “I got a pulse, faint, but she’s alive.”

“Thank you
,
Jesus,” Lester said.

“Need a little room here, Sheriff.” Billy Ray nudged Lester aside and using his left hand, held Melissa’s nostrils closed. He
tilted her chin upward to clear the airway,
took a deep breath, covered her mouth with his, and blew. From the corner of his eye, he saw
the girl’s
chest rise with life giving air, and blew again.

On the third effort, Melissa coughed; a dry raspy painful cough, and then sucked in a lungful of clean Oklahoma air. She opened her eyes. The panic returned like a bad dream. She could barely breathe. Someone was on top of her, and this time there were two of them. She kicked out, swung a fist and caught Billy Ray across the chin, but it was a feeble blow lacking strength or power.
She went limp once again, her strength gone as quickly as it came. Like a wild animal in a trap, afraid and helpless, Melissa knew that this time, it was over.

The Sheriff took her hands in his and spoke, his voice soft and gentle. “Easy honey, easy. You’re safe now. Everything’s okay. My name’s Lester P. Morrison.
I’m the County Sheriff.
This is my deputy.
We’re gonna get you to the hospital and fix you up, okay? You’re gonna be just fine.”

As the words of comfort soaked in, Melissa was drawn to the warm blue eyes of the man kneeling beside her.
She parted her cracked lips as if to speak, but no sound came.

“Billy Ray, do we still have some of that bottled water behind the seat?”

The deputy sprinted to the truck and returned with two open bottles.

Lester poured a little of the water in his hand and then rubbed it over the girls face, smearing the acquired filth from being underground for five days. Melissa made a move to grab for the flimsy plastic. “Hold on
,
girl.
Best
to do this a little at
a
time I think.” Lester tipped the opening, allowing the clear and precious liquid to trickle past her lips, across her parched tongue, and ease down her desperate throat. She made a sound like
more
and tried to move toward the bottle.

“Easy now,” Lester said
in a whisper
as his throat got tight
. Melissa didn’t notice when a tear ran down the old lawman’s cheek.

“Call for an ambulance or take her in ourselves?” Billy Ray asked.

Lester thought a moment then decided.
“We’ll take her in. I suspect we can get her to emergency as fast as they can get a crew together and find us.”

“Let’s go then.”

Billy Ray lifted Melissa to his chest
with ease
and did a quick step back to the pickup while Greg Kingston watched, eyes round, without comment. Lester helped to slide
the girl onto the
middle of the
seat
as
Billy Ray
jumped in beside her. He
put
his left arm around Melissa
and gently placed her head on his shoulder. “Would have been nice to have the sedan,” Billy Ray said.
When Lester didn’t reply, Billy Ray added, “Wish we had the time for me show shit head back there a
sample of
police brutality.”
Again, nothing from the Sheriff.

Lester turned the pickup around and mashed the gas to the floor, spitting dirt out the back. Flashing red and blue lights shot out from the rack mount above the cab. The warble of the siren shattered the stillness, a sound most likely never heard by the forgotten residents of the old farmhouse. In less than a mile, the speedometer was touching eighty. Billy Ray checked the passenger in the back.

“Our boy is holding on with both hands. Looks scared.”

“
Good.
How
’s
Melissa doin’?” Lester asked. “I need to keep my eyes on the road.”

Billy Ray gently tilted the girl
’
s face upward with his right hand. Melissa tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off and closed her eyes. “She doesn’t look so hot. Her breath sounds pretty ragged to me.”

Despite the speed, Lester shot her a glance and said, “Call dispatch. Get an ambulance on the way. She probably needs oxygen on account of all that smoke she inhaled. Be sure the EMT’s know what highway we’re coming in on. We’ll do the transfer when we meet up, probably be somewhere near the Pirate’s Den.”

Billy Ray checked his cell. “I got bars. I’ll call the hospital direct, save time.”

Lester nodded. “I keep forgetting about those things.”

After a short conversation, Billy Ray looked at Melissa again and said,
“They’re on the way.”

Melissa moaned and motioned toward the bottle of water
laying
on the dash.
When Billy Ray tipped it for her, she choked, coughed, and spit most of it out. Her eyes were glassy and her head bobbed as if she were on the verge of passing out. Billy Ray said, “We need to haul ass. Is this the fastest this piece of junk will go?”

Lester didn’t miss the convergence by far. As the outline of Earl Redman’s dark and silent bar came into view, from out of the setting sun, an ambulance appeared. Lester slammed the brakes tossing young Mr. Kingston flat against the back of the cab with a thud, and yanked the wheel toward the parking lot. As the dust settled, Boomer was shaking his head of cobwebs like he’d just been hit by a 275 pound linebacker.

Seconds later, the same
pair of EMT’s
who
only days ago had
picked up the bodies of the Parker’s, jumped out of their vehicle and approached the pickup.

“This the missing girl?” the woman asked.

“It is,” Lester said.

Billy Ray said, “Here’s what we know. She has severe dehydration and smoke inhalation. That will be her priorities. See the bruise on her face? There could be other injuries, internal maybe, just guessing though.”

The woman nodded, appreciating the input. When a gurney appeared,
Billy Ray and the male EMT eased Melissa out of the pickup and laid her on it.
Security straps clicked into place.
The team quickly loaded the gurney through the rear of the vehicle, the woman stepping inside with the patient.
Lester and Billy Ray watched a
s the woman hooked up the oxygen
and checked the flow
. With a rip of Velcro, a blood pressure cuff was
snugged
around Melissa’s arm. “You all take good care of her,” Lester called out just before the doors shut.”