Peter Grist - Flashback

“Just curious. I was demonstrating a computer to a potential customer in the last place I was at, and I did a search on the internet about the next place I was going to. It’s something I always do, gives me a bit of a heads-up on my next destination and shows off the computer’s powers.”

The smile never left Rosen’s face but his eyes were disbelieving. Ed continued, “I did a quick search for ‘Ludlow history’ and that story came up. I just wondered if she ever got found. But now I’m more curious. I only asked the guy behind the bar about this a couple of hours ago, and next thing I know you’re knocking on my door. He obviously called you as soon as I left him, so I’m guessing you must have started looking for me almost right away, which makes me wonder what’s so important that he would call you like that. So let me ask you something, why are you here at all?”

The Sheriff’s constant smile was unnerving. Whether Rosen believed his story or not, he didn’t know. Unlikely, as it sounded pretty lame to Ed, but it was the best he could come up with at short notice. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, he grabbed a handful of fries from the greasy paper bag and pushed them into his mouth.

The smile finally left Rosen’s mouth.

“I don’t have to explain nothin’ to you son, but I will, being as you’re a visitor an all. It was a traumatic experience for the whole community when little Gracie went missin’. Hell, just about everyone in town, including me, went lookin’ for her ‘cos she was a well-liked kid. Took a long time to get over it. There’s plenty o’ folks still around that remember her, including her pa, but I doubt she’s gonna walk back into town any time soon, so there ain’t no need to open up another bag of hurt for those folks, understand what I’m saying?”

Ed thought about what the barman had said, how only a few people had searched for just two days before giving up. The barman’s story sounded nearer the truth than what the Sheriff was dishing out.

“I understand completely officer and I have absolutely no wish to open up any ‘bags of hurt’ as you put it.”

The smile had returned to Rosen’s lips.

“That’s good, so we have an understanding then. Enjoy the rest of your time in Ludlow Mr Saunders, enjoy your meal too.” Rosen turned and grabbed the door handle.

“Sheriff, if she never came back, what do you think happened to her?” Rosen paused as the door opened.

“I’m pretty sure I know exactly what happened to her. I knew that girl some, the kid was picked before she was ripe, if ya get ma meaning. Not the sharpest knife in the draw. She went riding up in the hills on her cycle, took a fall and broke her leg or something. Crawled around and got lost. Reckon the bears or coyotes finished her off. A tragedy fur sure but no mystery.” The sheriff placed his hat squarely back on his head, turned and stepped to the door. He looked back at the salesman “Good night Mr Saunders.” There was the briefest of nods then the door swung closed behind him, only the stale smell of cigarettes lingered.

Ed moved to the front window and unhinged the only part that would open along the top to let in some fresh air then he slumped onto the end of the bed and took a sip of the still hot coffee. For a fast food chain, it tasted pretty good. He liked it strong, even though he couldn’t drink it without drowning it in creamer. The Sheriff’s visit had only added to his curiosity. Remembering that he was sitting on the newspaper article, he lifted one of his cheeks and pulled the folded copy out of his rear pocket. He carefully unfolded it and began to read. The Who, Where, When, and What were all there; Eleven-year-old Grace Benjamin had been seen cycling around the black part of town one Saturday morning in the summer recess on her new red bicycle that she had got that same morning as a birthday present. She never came home for lunch, she never came home for supper, basically, she never came home, period. Everything was mentioned including the ‘Why’, which of course was pure supposition on the reporters part. The article was written on the following Monday and described the discovery of her bicycle just inside the woods on the outskirts of town by some of the search team, nothing in the report made the disappearance sound ominous. There was a blurred picture on page 2 of half a dozen people standing behind the bicycle, some of the team that found it. The only person mentioned in the caption below, and the only person smiling in the photo was the young Police Officer holding the bike, Officer Johnny Rosen.

Ed’s appetite had disappeared. He finished the coffee then dumped the empty cup and the remainder of his fries and untouched chicken burger into the small wire mesh trash can near the table. It was still relatively early but it had been one hell of a day, so he unzipped half of the flight bag and removed his clothes for the morning, hanging them over the back of the chair. Turning the bag over, he unzipped the other side, took out his wash kit and a small canvas sack. He put the wash kit in the bathroom, brushing his teeth while he was in there. Back in the main room he slowly undid the drawstring on the faded khaki sack and carefully removed a roll of canvas packing material. He sat on the side of the bed and gently unrolled the package until the contents were in his hands. He let the packing material fall to the floor unnoticed as he stared into the faded face of a child’s handmade wooden doll. The doll had the painted face of an oriental woman and wore a simple yellow pattern smock dress over its basic jointed body. The shoulder-length hair looked like real hair and was jet black.

The dolls previous owner had haunted his dreams for many years, and even now, on occasions she would arrive unannounced from his subconscious. Not every night like it used to be, but maybe once or twice a month. He would see her beautiful face and the slow trickle of blood running from her delicate lips. He didn’t know why he had stuffed the girl’s doll into his jacket before he left her in that hut but he had carried it with him ever since. It somehow gave him a little peace but these last few weeks the dreams had returned more frequently and with a difference. There was someone else in the hut with them now, just out of sight in the shadows, always just on the periphery of Ed’s vision but he could feel the hatred and malevolence radiating from whoever it was. Many times he had woken in a cold sweat, fearfully searching the room for the mystery occupant. Now those nightmares had been added to by these new daylight horrors of the missing girl.

He placed the doll in a sitting position, on the bedside table next to the clock, with her arms folded across her lap, then rummaged deeper into his flight case for another bag. The small satin black bag carried something much heavier and bulkier. Ed unzipped the top and pulled out a 9mm Browning automatic pistol, held snugly in an old leather shoulder holster. Although it was old, dating back to Ed’s military service, he had carefully looked after it, keeping it clean and oiled. Jeanette had asked him to start carrying it many years ago when he first went on the road. She had read about car-jackings and muggings of salesmen from time to time and she felt better that he had it with him than sitting uselessly in an old shoe box in the bedroom closet. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t mind carrying it either, but it rarely saw the light of day as Ed rarely felt threatened. But today had been a very strange day all round, so he smoothly pulled back on the slide, chambered a round then set the catch to safe and placed the gun under his pillow. Better safe than sorry his mom always used to say. He thought about taking a shower then quickly realised he couldn’t be bothered to get wet. Instead, he fished out his travel clock and set the alarm for 7.30 and sat it down next to the motel’s own clock, then pulled off his clothes down to his boxers, turned out the light and slipped between the crisp, cool sheets of the bed. He lay in the semi-darkness staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was about to have yet another headache. There was no pain, just a feeling of unease and the lingering smell of damp forests. His thoughts turned to the little girl he saw in the cab of the pick-up. That flashback or whatever it was seemed so long ago now, even though it had been just a few short hours. His mind led him through the events of the afternoon and brought him pleasantly to the library and his meeting with Linda Saxon. He fell asleep thinking of her and for the first time in many weeks had pleasant dreams.