Ryan Jahn - The Dispatcher

‘All right,’ Nance says. ‘If we got someone alive, the daughter of one of our own, your daughter, then I say let’s kick this with both feet.’

Chief Davis blinks several times. ‘What do you have in mind, detective?’

‘Well, I think we should move on the most obvious suspect before he has time to prepare. Ask questions, imply we got more than we do, see how he reacts.’

‘The most obvious suspect?’

‘Whoever owns this land.’

‘Henry Dean,’ Ian says.

‘We should get Sizemore to approve it, and-’

‘I don’t work for Sizemore,’ Chief Davis says.

‘But the sheriff’s department handles murder cases because we got the murder police,’ Bill Finch says. ‘Nance is murder police. This ain’t Fred Paulson crashed his car into a tree. It’s a multiple homicide.’

Davis squints silently at Finch for a moment, then says, ‘Fair enough.’

‘So we get the okay from Sizemore,’ Nance says, ‘and we bring Henry Dean in for questioning, intimidate him as much as we can, see if he cracks.’

‘It’s close to Main Street, though,’ Diego says. ‘Anybody could have dumped the bodies.’

‘But you don’t get nowhere until you pick a destination,’ Chief Davis says. ‘Can’t drive to every place at once.’

‘Exactly right,’ Nance says.

‘I think both departments should be in on this,’ Chief Davis says. ‘I know Henry Dean, known him since first grade, and I know what buttons to push.’

‘First grade?’ Nance says.

‘Yup.’

‘You think he’s our guy?’

‘Could be.’

‘I mean based on his personality.’

‘Who knows? In my experience you never know who’s capable of what till they gone and done it and you’re catching flies in your open mouth.’

Nance nods at that, then turns to Bill Finch. ‘Where was the sheriff at last time you-’

‘My ears are burning.’

Sheriff Sizemore moves toward them, his big belly swinging in front of him like a wrecking ball.

‘Sheriff,’ Nance says.

‘I want to go to the Dean house,’ Ian says as he, Chief Davis, and Bill Finch walk toward the street. Diego stayed behind so he could tell the coroner exactly how he came upon the bodies and give him the legal time of death.

Chief Davis shakes his head. ‘No chance, Ian. You’re too close to this.’

‘It’s my daughter.’

‘Now, Ian-’

‘I’m going,’ Ian says.

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Finch says. ‘Sizemore just wants us to bring him to the station so he or Nance can question him.’

‘Things might get hairy,’ Ian says.

‘I’ll bring Deputy Oliver.’

‘Deputy Oliver couldn’t blow his nose with a stick of dynamite. My daughter might be in that house, Finch. You might’ve got your fingers in every part of my life, but it’s still my life. My fucking family.’

‘Now hold up,’ Finch says. ‘I know Maggie might be in there. I know you love her. But look at you, man. You’re already worked up and we don’t know if he’s done a damn thing. You’re not going. You’ll just cause trouble.’

‘You got no authority over my officers, Finch,’ Chief Davis says.

‘He’s an officer on a technicality. He sits at a desk all day. And you said yourself he was too close to this.’

‘I did,’ Chief Davis says, ‘but I can. He works for me. That don’t mean I like the guy who weaseled his way into his wife’s bed trying to-’

‘I didn’t weasel my way-’

‘Look,’ Ian says. ‘This isn’t up for debate. I’m going.’

They walk out onto the street and into the sunlight.

‘Fine,’ Chief Davis says, ‘but I don’t even want you to get out of your car unless we need you. I mean it.’

‘Okay,’ Ian says, walking toward his Mustang. ‘Fair enough.’ His mouth is very dry.

Maggie paces the floor and looks at the ceiling. Strange noises come from above: banging and talking, footsteps back and forth, and things sliding and shifting. The sounds are making her nervous. Usually the only noise from upstairs is the drone of the television-daytime dreaming with eyes wide open. But this is different. She does not like different. She does not want different. It is worrying her.

What’s going on up there? Maybe they know her plans and are building some terrible torture device with which to punish her. Maybe they’re-

One two three four five six seven eight.

They don’t know anything. It is true that they’re making strange noises, and it is true that they’re talking about something, something that’s causing Henry to raise his voice at Beatrice, but she doesn’t think it has anything to do with her. When Henry is mad at her she knows it right away. Still: it makes her nervous.

Today is her day for escape and, except for that escape, she wants today to be like every other day. She wants today to be more like every other day than any day has been yet. She wants it to be perfectly normal. Normal is predictable and predictable is what she needs if she’s to escape, and she needs to escape: fresh air in her lungs and sunshine on her skin and Daddy’s arms wrapped around her.

If strange things are happening upstairs, and they are, that might ruin her plan.

No. It will work out. It has to work out, so it will. That’s all there is to it. There’s no point in thinking about it not working out.

She walks to the back of the stairs and pulls the weapon from the shadows for the third or fourth time today. She does not hesitate. The thought of staying here even one more day is much worse than anything she can imagine lurking in darkness.

It makes her sick when she thinks of what she plans to do with this weapon in her hand, it makes her stomach feel like rotten milk, but she also wants it done. She wants to be through it and up the stairs and through the front door and standing outside beneath the yellow sun.

She closes her eyes and imagines the sharp edge of the weapon hacking into the flesh of Beatrice’s ankle. She imagines seeing beneath the skin, seeing the opening in the skin like a slit in a piece of thick leather, seeing all the organic levers and pulleys that make up the moving parts of a human being, seeing blood pour from within and splash in great red drops on the dirty wooden step before the woman tilts like a great tree felled.

She can do this. She just has to be patient. In another two hours Beatrice will come down here and she will-

A metal thwack as, from the other side of the door, the lock is turned and the deadbolt retracts.

She looks out the window. It is too early for this to be happening. Donald’s El Camino has not yet even rolled down the driveway. It is far too early for this to be happening.

Should she do it now, anyway? Should she make her move now or should she wait? Something is happening, something she doesn’t understand, and if she waits she might never have another chance. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong and wrong and wrong.

Borden told. He is real after all and he told. He wants her stuck here in the Nightmare World forever and ever. He wants her to suffer and-

Borden is imaginary. He’s not real. He’s never been real.

The door at the top of the stairs creaks open and a bulging silhouette fills the doorway. Beatrice. It’s Beatrice and she’s coming down. She’s not carrying a plate. She’s not bringing dinner down. Maggie knew she wouldn’t be. It’s too early for dinner. Henry is still home and the shadows are not yet long, so it’s too early for dinner. She can hear his deep voice vibrating through the wood floor and into the basement. There are other voices up there, too. She can feel them but she cannot hear them. But they’re there and they vibrate differently than Henry’s voice. Something is wrong.