My blog fiction continues...
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DARKENING
STURGEONS
Chapter Fourteen
by John L. Harmon
“Do you
have something you would like to share with the class, Clyde?” Sheriff Benjamin
Straker inquires, not taking his sight off the dark-haired, spectacled man in
front of him.
“She was
my sizzlin’ Saturday night date,” Chief Deputy Clyde Woodhouse explains, not
taking his sight off the yellow-blond woman in front of him.
Ben
briefly closes his eyes and inhales deeply.
“Perhaps we should all go inside and sort this out a-sap.”
Sam’s crisp
blue eyes take in the smudged, bloodied countenance of the beige-hatted Sheriff
and he realizes that both sides may require assistance. “Yes, we should. Christine?”
“Fine,”
she acquiesces in a contradictive tone to her word.
The
scientific duo fall back and separate to either side of the doorway, allowing
the law enforcement duo to enter. Soon
Ben and Clyde are near the bar counter, whispering severely to one another.
“You
realized on the way to Stickler Woods that your date may be involved in these
disappearances? Why didn’t you tell me
last night?”
“I don’t
know. I wasn’t completely sure.”
Sam and
Christine stand near the door, giving them an occasional glance. They also engage in whispering, albeit, in a
far more discreet fashion.
“Guess we
feel the same about a man in uniform.”
“It wasn’t
the uniform. He was short, stocky, and
willing. The internet expedited the
rest.”
After a
time, severe and discreet whispering dissipates, leaving curious and suspicious
glances. Finally the scientific duo move
together as one toward the bar. The law
enforcement duo perk up, preparing for whatever comes next.
“Who are
you and what the hell is going on?”
Benjamin demands, tired of not knowing what is happening in Sturgeons.
Christine
and Sam give each other a glance before she answers half of the question. “My name is Dr. Christine Abernathy, and I am
head professor of the science department at the State University. This is my colleague, Dr. Samuel Dwyer.”
Sam takes
over the answer without missing a beat.
“We have theories concerning the recent phenomenon, but nothing
concrete. All we know is that whatever
is taking place appears to be natural in origin.”
“That’s
all you know?” Ben asks, somewhat deflated.
Christine
chimes in, “All of our test results are either inconclusive or point to
something natural. Anything else is
simply guess-work.”
Suddenly
the bar falls into silence, as if the oxygen has just been sucked out of the
room. This is not what Ben had
imagined. There is no exchange of vital
information. No leads. No answers.
Just four people in a bar as clueless as the next.
He turns
and leans against the bar counter, trying not to sigh in utter disappointment
and defeat. Near the edge is Gordon’s
croquet mallet. Ignoring his police
training, Ben touches it and ponders the fate of the bartender of many years.
“What
happened to lead you here?” he asks, still focused on the mallet.
“We have a
device which allows us to trace the phenomenon while it is occurring,” Samuel
answers quietly, empathetic to the emotional tone of the Sheriff.
Benjamin
Straker, pulling a Clyde by fiddling with the croquet mallet, muses over how
such a seemingly unthreatening instrument can strike fear in the hearts of an
angry mob. Within this musing he recalls
a potentially vital piece of information.
“Gordon
had security cameras installed last year.”
__________________
JLH
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