There comes a time in a man's life when everything around him starts rotting away. The people he once knew are greying and dying away. The buildings and places he had seen and known all of his life are in decay until they are torn down and something new takes it's place. There comes a time, when the life you had always known starts to fade away.
Most people in this situation accept the circumstances dealt to them and face it with dignity. Others not so well.
Some men rage against the change. Just when you think their slow decent into the quicksand of life has swallowed them up, a hand reaches through the abyss and claws at the surface. Wildly it tries to grab hold.....of anything.
It's these men who are dangerous. Those who face the changing tide and can not accept it. These, are capable of anything. The people who would rather set themselves on fire and go out in a blazing light, than to fade away slowly into the night. Around them, no one is safe.
******
Campbell stepped out of his truck and onto the parking lot of the "Quick Trip" gas station on the corner of main street. It was 7:30 in the morning, and he hadn't been to his office yet.
The heels of his boots scratched across the concrete as he made his way to get his morning coffee. The mill across the train tracks, that ran through the middle of town, hissed steam out into the morning air. The bell on the door rang as he swung it open.
He tipped his hat to a few men that were sitting around a table, in an area set aside for a small amount of dining, and continued on his way. He flicked his quarters across the counter top to the woman working the register and carried his paper cup over to a card table off to the side. It had been set up with a coffee pot, sugar, cream, and anything else you might need.
A stream of sugar trickled into the black liquid and dissapeared beneath it. Campbell dropped a thin stirring straw in behind it and slowly stirred the coffee while the cup sat on the table. Suddenly, he could feel a presence behind him. He turned his head slightly and looked out of the corner of his eye. He saw a man standing, staring.
"George, can I do something for ya, or am I puttin' on a show?"
The man shuffled up beside him.
"Sorry, Sheriff. I was just wonderin' what you was doin' here. I figured you would be out there with the rest of 'em."
"Out where?"
"Down at Bayou Scie, hell of a commotion goin' on. Seen just about every cop car in the parish out there. Figured every police we had was out there, until I saw you."
Campbell stopped stirring his coffee and tapped the straw across the rim of the cup. He tossed it into a small trashcan positioned beside the table. With one hand, he dragged the cup off the table and up to his lips. The warm drink slid down his throat as he looked, not at the man, but through him.
"Bayou Scie huh? I ain't had my radio on this morning. Tryin' to clear my thoughts before I start my day. Guess I better head on over there."
"Good luck Sheriff, hope ya'll find something."
Campbell walked toward the door with a concerned looked spreading across his face.
"Yeah...me too."
The bell on the door rang once again and he exited the building. He stopped in his tracks as he made his way through the parking lot, as he noticed a man leaning against his truck.
The man's hair was disheveled. His clothes were wrinkled with wear as if they hadn't been changed in days. The man was Thomas Freemaux. Campbell hadn't seen him since the day they found his daughter's car.
Thomas stood up straight and waited for Campbell to reach him. As he did, Thomas looked toward the mill, the huge puffs of white smoke billowing and crawling through the sky as they were released from the stacks.
"You see that, Sheriff? She use to call that cotton candy when she was a little girl. We tried to tell her it was just smoke, but her imagination ran wild back then. She wouldn't accept no other explanation than what she had thought up."
"Kids are like that sometimes."
"She was my baby, Sheriff. Where is she?"
Tears ran from his eyes and his hands trembled at his sides.
"We're doing everything we can, Thomas. She's......"
In an instant, Thomas grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the driver's side door of his truck. Campbell's coffee cup rattled against the concrete, and a dark wetness around it slowly spread.
Campbell held his hands out at his sides in a non-threatening way, but the stern look on his face told a different story. The men sitting inside the gas station stood up and looked out the store's glass front.
"Don't you fucking tell me that you're doing everything you can. If you were doin' everything you can then she'd be home! She wouldn't be gone!"
"Thomas, you need to look around you. Think before you make youre next move. So far you got one foot on the line ready to cross it, and if you do that, you're gonna spend a night behind a cell. So ease up off me."
Slowly, Thomas' hands shakily released Cambell's collar and fell to his side. He looked directly into his eyes, through his own tears, for a few moments. Then, he turned his back on Campbell and began walking away. He repeated the same sentence over and over under his breath.
"You should have found her.....you should have found her"
As thomas walked away, Campbell could feel the people inside the store staring at him. Watching for a reaction. He didn't look over, and climbed into his truck.
******
A group of 10 to 15 officers stood in front of Bayou Scie Methodist Church. J.W. was perched on the steps looking down on the group and holding a notepad. A hush fell over the group as he began to speak.
"Alright, gentlemen. We are going to go about this slowly and methodically. Brown, you take your team and start a walkthrough from the south end. If there's a damn twig out of place, I want to know about it.
Torbert, your group take shifts removing dirt from the grave we got marked. Shave it off in thin layers, don't just dig. We don't know what's down there. If it is a body, we don't want to damage it."
A thin man toward the back of the group raised his hand.
"What about the rest of us?"
"I want two of ya'll on each entrance. Don't let nobody you don't see in this group walk through those gates. If we do find something, we'll rope it off. Until then, you're the ropes."
The group began to dispurse onto their individual duties. J.W. stood tapping the notepad against the side of his leg, staring into the distance. He half expected the sheriff to pull into view any second. His arrival would be a relief, so that he wouldn't have to shoulder all of this on his own.
He turned to look out over the graveyard as the officers began their work. A group was walking shoulder to shoulder across the yard, inspecting every inch. A hushed breeze glided through the air, snapping the American flag back and forth on a pole to his right.
******
Campbell walked through the entrance of the police staton and didn't stop to greet anyone. He headed straight for his office. The dispatcher on duty poked her head around the corner with a puzzled look on her face.
"Sheriff, I been tryin' to get you all mornin'. Why aren't you out at Bayou Scie with the rest of 'em?"
Campbell rifled through the drawers of his desk with a determined scowl on his face. Finally, he pulled out a piece of paper, folded it and stuck it down into the pocket of his shirt.
"Sheryl, tell J.W. to handle that scene out there. I got something that needs doin'. I have confidence he is equal to the task. I'll radio in when I'm done."
"You got a lead, Sheriff?"
He swung his lightweight windbreaker jacket, with "SHERIFF" printed on the back, off the hook on the wall. He threw it over his shoulder and made his way toward the exit.
"I got a sorta one, yeah."
The dispatcher trailed him to the exit and watched him climb into his truck and slam the door behind him. The engine roared awake as he turned the key. She jumped back in a startle as Campbell's truck flung rocks as he raced away from the police station.
