From a single egg inside our mother's womb we grow. We consume and we consume, we grow and grow. Taking nutrients, blood, and oxygen from the very being who gave us life. And we only stop, we only concede when we are forced out into the world in a blinding fit of rage.
It's in that moment, in that breath of fresh air that permeates through our lungs for the first time, that we not only seek to survive, but to multiply. To take what we have inside of us and make more of it. And it's in that control, of creating, that we realize the only thing sweeter than survival.......is control. And what, might you ask, is the most dominant form of control? Destruction.
In times past, we formed tribes, and now we form gangs. We made spears, and now we make guns. We have killed each other in the name of gods, and now we kill each other in the name of money.
Two thousand years separates us from our most primitive form on this Earth. One man banging two rocks together to make a spark, and we are no different today. We are still clawing our way through time, chasing the two most important things known to man: existence and power. And we will keep banging those two rocks together until the day we die. And the moment a spark flies and ignites the kindling at our feet, we feel that we are in control.
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The steel cable connected to the winch of the wrecking truck groaned as it pulled the little gray car onto its flat bed. The controller holding the lever in one hand and the other placed on his hip, a cigarette hanging from his lower lip.
The wheels rolled onto the platform and came to a rest in the center. The engine running the winch geared down and whined to a halt. By this time, a crowd of about ten to fifteen officers had gathered at the scene. They all stood around the wrecker talking to one another, speculating.
Every cop on duty, parish wide, had gotten wind of the investigation and had shown up to take a look. Cruisers were lined all the way down the dirt road until it met the blacktop highway. Blue and red lights swirled the whole way down.
"Who called all these damn people out here?" Campbell asked in an irritated tone.
"You know how it is, Sherriff. Not much else going on this time of day."
"Well, tell them to get their asses out of here and do some work if they want to get a check at the end of the week. This ain't a damn peepshow. They'll have to find something else to talk about over dinner tonight."
"Yessir."
J.W. marched down the road a ways, waving one arm through the air like he was running a dog off a porch. All the men standing around drew their attention to the commotion. Campbell couldn't hear what he was saying, but, shortly thereafter, the cars began to file out of the area. He turned his attention back to the wrecker. The driver was waiting on him. He flicked his cigarette down into the gravel of the road.
"Where you want me to take it?"
"Take it down to the station. Drop it out back so we don't get a bunch of rubber neckers driving by all day. That's all we need. Them boys from the Shreveport lab ought to be out here sometime after lunch."
When he turned back around, two officers were approaching on foot. Both were dressed down in camoflauge pants and a Sherriff's Department t-shirt that said "K-9 unit" on the pocket.
They each had an arm outstretched holding a leash that was pulled tight with a hound at the end. Both dogs were a reddish tan color with black on their midsection. White foam and drool collected at the corner of their mouths. Their tongues hung out, bobbing up and down as they panted through their labored breath.
"Warming up a bit out here ain't it? Them dogs look it."
"The frost is off their peckers, that's for sure."
"Ya'll come up with anything?"
"Not a stitch, Sherriff. We took the clothes you found in the trunk of the car and did as good as we could do with them. Followed it right to that lease road and it quit. My guess, she was put in another vehicle and hauled outta here. No scent to be had."
"Yep, that's about what we figured, too. The clothes seemed to be what the girl was wearing at the time she was taken. They had blood on 'em, so that's the best we can figure. They were folded up neatly in the trunk. Not sure what to make of that yet, but we appreciate you boys comin' out."
"Not a problem. These dogs gotta earn their supper."
Campbell stood and watched as the deputies loaded the hounds into the back of the truck that was loaned out by the parish. He nodded as the men drove away and he was left standing alone. With a bit of quiet, he looked around and took in what was left of the scene before heading back to town. Birds were chirping in the distance and there was a slight breeze, almost peaceful.
*********
Back at the station, the girl's father sat nervously in an empty room. A lonely clock on the wall loudly ticked away the seconds, that to him felt like minutes. Only a table with two chairs sat inside the room. His fingers drummed across the top.
When Campbell entered the room , Mr. Freemeaux jumped to his feet. He was still in the same clothes J.W. had dragged him out of the house in, an old pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a stretched out neck.
"Did you find her?!"
Campbell held his hand out in front of him and moved it in a lowering position, signalling Mr. Freemeaux to take his seat. He did. The sherriff removed his hat and sat it on the table between them and sat himself down. He slicked his hair back and took a small notepad from his front pocket. He placed it down on the table and drew a pen from the same pocket and clicked it into a usable position.
"When did you see your daughter last, Thomas?"
"Tuesday sometime. I'd say Tuesday. I talked to her before I left for work."
"And what did you discuss?"
"Not much. Tryin'to drag a conversation out of a teenager is about like draggin a stubborn mule out of quicksand."
"She have any plans that evening?"
"Going to see her boyfriend, same as any other day."
"What's the boys name?"
"It's...Brandon Creaks, Sherriff."
Campbell looked up from his notepad with a raised eyebrow. That name was one that he was familiar with. Someone who had crossed paths with the law several times. He didn't figure him to be the kind of boy you would approve of dating your daughter.
"Can your wife vouch for you being home all night?"
"Of course, Sherriff."
When he exited the interrogation room, J.W. was in the hallway leaning against the wall with one foot cocked back. He had his department ballcap, with the police logo on it, pulled down over his eyes. He quickly jerked it up when he heard the door swing open.
"How'd that go?"
"Get yourself another cup of coffee. We got a long day ahead."
It wasn't 30 minutes before they were pulling onto the road of the boy's address. It was a small house, maybe 2 bedrooms. From the outside it looked mostly unkept.
Campbell brought the car to a slow stop on the side of the road. The house was just in view through a group of trees. One car sat in the driveway, but no activity could be seen outside.
"How you wanna do this, Sherriff?"
Campbell pulled his gun from the holster on his hip and sat it on the dash of the car.
"You sit tight. I'm gonna see if I can go up unnoticed."
"He coud be armed. He got several charges on his record. Marijuana, pills and whatnot. Did a two week stay here a few months ago."
"I believe a jump from pissy ass possession charges to murdering an officer of the law ain't one he is gonna take. He's just a boy. I do heavier liftin' when I take a piss."
As Campbell approached the front yard, he could hear noises coming from inside. Sounded like someone was cleaning the house or moving furniture. He stopped just before the front door and listened for a few moments, until the sounds stopped. Then, he knocked. Nothing.
He reached down and as gently as he could , tried the knob and was met with the resistance of the lock. He backed away and made his way a few feet to his left into the carport. Immediatly, he noticed that the door was ajar. He pushed it open slowly with the point of his boot.
"Sheriff's Department! I'm looking for Brandon. Anybody else who might be in there can walk away, warrants or not. My business is with him only. Just come out!"
No answer. Inside the door, Campbell stepped into the washroom and pressed his back against the wall. He looked carefully around a doorway that led into a kitchen area. After not seeing anyone, he immediately lifted himself from the wall and stepped through. A light haze of cigarette smoke floated through the air.
Spread out across the counters and kitchen table were bottles, meats, and vegetables of all kinds. Tupperware bowls, tea with ice still in it. The place was a complete mess. He took a few more steps forward and approached the table. He took a few looks around the room, then at the refrigerator.
On the edge of the table, close to him, was a glass bottle filled a quarter of the way with orange juice. He put his hand to it. The coldness of the bottle radiated and made the small hairs on his hands bristle. Condensation had not even formed yet. He touched a packed of meat, cold as ice.
"Mmmhhmmm." He looked back at the fridge.
Campbell slowly drug a chair out from under the table. It squealed across the tile floor until it came to rest against the fridge. He leaned it back so the the top of the chair rested just under the handle.
He pulled his pack of tobacco out and refreshed the leaves that were dwindling in his mouth. As he sat down in the chair, he reached around behind him, grabbed hold of the electric cord connected to the fridge and jerked it from the wall. The fan inside, that was feeding in fresh cold air, whirred to a stop.
He took his hat off and placed it on his knee. Every few minutes he would spit beside the chair, directly onto the floor. Then finally, he felt it.
First, a slight nudge coming from inside the fridge. Then again. Finally, a hard shove that bounced the back of the chair a little. Campbell smiled slightly. A muffled voice yelled from inside.......
"Help! Open it up!"
