J. Spelbring: Perfection

Under the heat of the afternoon sun, perspiration gathered on Ellyssa’s forehead and dripped down her face, stinging the sores on her lips. She took another sip of her dwindling water supply. Soon she’d be forced to drink the water she was sloshing through. She shoved the thought out of her mind to worry about later.

Right now another pressing sensation gnawed in the pit of her stomach, protesting the emptiness. Hunger echoed in the hollow depths of her gut. With the expenditure of her energy, water couldn’t be her only source of sustenance. She’d have to find food. The forest in late summer provided all the nourishment she’d need in the forms of fruits and roots. If worst came to worst, the little minnows struggling to hold their positions against the current could be a delicacy.

She left the safety of the water and moved into the grass bordering the rocky edges. As predicted, just a few meters away from the stream, blackberry vines burst with ripened fruit. She hobbled over to them, her mouth watering and stomach rumbling in anticipation.

Ellyssa placed the dark purple fruit on her tongue and squeezed it against the roof of her mouth. The sweet juice soothed her burning throat. Sitting down, she picked another, and another, following the same procedure, until her stomach began to swell.

Making camp next to the food supply would be ideal, at least until she could decide on her next course of action, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She started to take turns with the berries, one in her mouth and one in an empty water bottle, filling the container with the fruit.

Squeezing her eyes tight, she pulled her feet under her and stood. Her body uttered a scream of defiance that, thankfully, calmed to a mumbled complaint. She wallowed back to the stream, submerged her feet in the icy water, and continued downstream.

She stumbled in the water until twilight consumed the east and the sun fell to the horizon in the west. Against the bluish-black sky, the first stars winked into view.

Shivering and completely exhausted, Ellyssa stopped her march and stepped onto dry land, where she dropped to her knees on a patch of grass. She took off her shoes and socks and dried her prune-like feet with a strip of cloth. No longer mobile, she felt the coolness of the night sap away the warmth in her body. Huddling into a tight ball, she lay on the ground and, almost immediately, sleep reached up and laid claim to her.

“Detective Petersen, they picked up the trail of the Renegade,” said the Captain of the Warrensburg Department, Dyllon Jones. She still found his manner of speech strange, as if every vowel had to be drawn out, so unlike the way citizens spoke in the city.

Angela aimed the flashlight into his face.

Flinching, the captain brought the hand holding the radio up to shield his eyes. “Hey!” It sounded more like, ha-a-ay .

“Sorry,” Angela said. She moved the beam down so it pooled on his chest. “Where?”

“About one hundred sixty-one meters away. She left footprints in the soil,” he replied.

Angela gazed at the sky; stars glittered brightly against the black velvet. “Have them mark the area and call everyone in, but I want them back at five in the morning.”

She studied the man again. Like the rest of the unit, he wore a dark green uniform, signifying area police. His face was beaded with perspiration, and his hair, which she knew was cream in color, clung to his head in a darkened mess. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. Tall, lean muscles, defined cheekbones, strong jaw, perfect mouth; and when his lips broke into a smile, which happened a lot, his whole face lit up.

Regardless, Captain Jones fell short by the detective’s standards. His hair leaned more toward a yellow than white, and his skin was darker than the alabaster of perfection. She did like his eyes, though. They weren’t the clear azure color of the perfect being, but they were interesting, the warm bluish-green of the deep ocean.

As she scrutinized him, he pulled out the radio and relayed her orders. Static sounded, followed by someone answering, yes, sir .

The captain whipped out a bandana and sopped his forehead. “It sure is hot,” he remarked, looking at her.

Hot was an understatement. Angela found Missouri not only to be hot, but very humid. She’d spent the better half of a day swatting at the persistent gnats circling her head. She flipped her head up in acknowledgement, which apparently gave him the go-ahead for more small talk.

“You’re staying in Warrensburg, right?”

“Yes,” she answered curtly and returned her attention to the map. From the corner of her eye, Angela watched Captain Jones’ shadow as his weight shifted from one foot to the other as if waiting for a more elaborate explanation. Irritated, she rolled up the map and shoved it under her arm. “I need the dogs returned to the kennel.”

“I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, as she walked toward her car parked on the side of the access road.

“See you tomorrow.”

Angela lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave, then opened the door of the green Volkswagen Beetle and slid inside. She peered at Dyllon, who was standing next to the cardboard table she’d just left. The captain’s arm flapped up and down as he gave orders into the handheld radio.

She hoped he wasn’t going to pose a problem. The discipline in the smaller communities seemed to be lacking. Something she’d discuss with her superiors when she returned successful. Starting the car, Angela eased onto the blacktop and drove into town.

Tremors rocked Ellyssa’s body and her teeth clacked together like castanets. Even though the sun hovered in the eastern sky, and she could feel the heat on her skin and hair, zero warmth sank into her flesh. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, rough and swollen and crusted with blood. Thirst clawed at her throat.

Was she sick?

In all her life, Ellyssa had never experienced illness. Diseases had been eradicated in the general population, but this was a different type of sickness, caused from the injuries.

She’d never felt so vulnerable. So weak.

She grabbed the empty bottle nestled under her arm and turned to face the bubbling stream. Refreshing water lapped over the rocks, splaying droplets glittering seductively under the sun. Her tongue flicked out, like a snake’s, as if she could pull the moisture from the air.

Ellyssa shifted onto her elbows. Her muscles seized. Pain licked through her body, and a cramp bunched her calf muscle. Pressing her face into the grass, she stretched her toes outward. The cramp lessened to an irritating pull.

The water babbled, mockingly.

How far was it? Five meters?

Reaching her arms out in front, Ellyssa dug her fingers into the soil and pulled. Her body scooted along the grass. She wrapped her fingers around some shoots and a rock embedded in the ground before heaving herself closer to the edge of the stony shore. Exhausted, she lowered her head and rested on a flat river stone.

Displeased, Angela stood at the bank of the stream where the dogs had lost the scent of the escapee. She couldn’t believe it. The trail had been so easy to follow from the field to the woods, before disappearing at a tree. It’d taken the dogs the better half of the day to pick up her scent again. Now, another obstacle. She sneered at the running water.

Every minute that ticked by led Ellyssa farther and farther away.

Her hands clenched into tight fists, the detective looked back and forth between the German Shepherds as they circled around with their noses to the ground and their tails wagging. Occasionally, one of the dogs broke through the water to the other side where it would continue its search.