Sara (6 page)

ten

Sara pushed forward along a narrow game trail; her bare feet ached from stepping on jagged rock and fallen branches. The forest canopy opened wide into a grassy meadow and seemed to quell the sunless cavity that threatened to suffocate her spirit. The light drizzle had subsided, leaving the forest quiet and cool in its absence. The pain under Sara’s right breast was becoming unbearable. When she reached for it with her left hand, a piercing ache stitched along her forearm, reminding her of the broken bone in her wrist. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to continue much longer with this torment.

             
Finding a rock bathed in a bit of sunshine, Sara sat and began tending to her wounds. With her right hand, she removed a thin cotton belt from her waist. Finding a small dead branch from a dying Aspen, she used her bare feet to break it to a proper length, then scraped it against the rock she was sitting on to wear its sharp edges smooth. Leaving a small branch that had grown at a right angle to the bough, she fitted the improvised splint along her left wrist, carefully gripping the offshoot in her palm, and secured it snuggly with the cotton belt. The relief was immediate.

             
Sara took a moment to rest quietly while she surveyed the tree-line around the meadow. If the men were coming for her, she would have but a brief moment to flee. Bending over, she retrieved the unused portion of the Aspen bough. It had broken to a point and she gained some comfort knowing that it could be used as a weapon. Fear gripped her heart; she would
not
be raped again!

             
A Gray Squirrel chattered from a nearby tree and rescued Sara from her brooding. One thing she had learned during hunting trips with her dad is that a quiet forest usually warns of approaching danger. As long as birds were chirping and chipmunks were jabbering, she was relatively safe.

             
Turning to the stab wound under her right breast, Sara unbuttoned her blouse and inhaled sharply when she saw the discolored gash. The edges had already turned black and were emitting a foul odor. White bone from her rib stood out in ghastly contrast to the purple mass. Sara was reminded of patients with advanced diabetes entering the emergency room at Valley View Hospital, with appendages in various stages of gangrenous infection. She was well aware of the perils of untreated and infected wounds.

             
Sara closed her eyes as Stable Flies gathered around the wound to feast on blood and lay their eggs in the muddled mass of tissue. Tears streaked her face and she sobbed openly, knowing that the fly larvae may be her only chance at surviving this terrible wound. She remembered a lost hiker who had been found and brought to the hospital earlier in the summer. He had endured several days and nights in the mountains after a fall from Trestle Rock. A doctor had pointed out maggots around an open gash on the young man’s leg and informed the nurses that the larvae had eaten the dead tissue around the wound, probably saving his life. At the time, Sara shivered with disgust, but now she understood the importance of this lesson.

             
After several minutes, Sara pulled the folded bra from her pocket and brushed the flies away from the wound. She placed the bra over the gash and held it in place until it became stuck in the drying blood. She needed pressure applied to the wound, but could think of no solution other than her elbow to hold the improvised bandage in place.

             
Sweat stung the laceration on her neck as her fingertips tenderly probed to reveal a shallow laceration. Sara guessed the wound was about four inches long and had already closed up with dried blood. A dark realization passed over her as she thought about the knife being pulled across her throat. Never in her life had she felt as helpless as she did at that moment; that brief second in time when she knew that she would soon be dead; relieved that the nightmare would soon be over, but horrified by the realization that her life was ending.

             
The sound of a jet flying high overhead brought Sara’s eyes to the sky. She imagined the passengers sitting safely in their seats, concentrating on magazines or an in-flight movie, completely unaware of her plight far below. The image of normalcy stabilized a place in her quivering stomach. At that moment, Sara knew that she would survive this ordeal.

eleven

Mike found the county building and requested the proper paperwork to fill out for a missing persons report. He was
sitting at a small table in the lobby, chewing on the plastic cap of a borrowed Bic pen. He couldn’t get past a question that inquired whether Sara’s dental records were available or not. Of course Sara had dental records, but Mike couldn’t bring himself to answer yes. If he did, then he would have to admit to himself that Sara may already be…gone. He scoffed to himself and felt inwardly embarrassed when he realized that he couldn’t even form the word
dead
in his own mind.

             
“Mike Haller,” a deputy called out from an open door. When Mike finally stood, the deputy asked again, “Mike Haller?”

             
“Yes,” Mike nodded.

             
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the deputy said, eying Mike’s uniform suspiciously. “I thought you were one of us.”

             
Mike looked sheepishly at his rumpled outfit.

“I’m just a worried father today.”

              The deputy opened the door wide for Mike to pass through.

“I am Deputy Ryan Watts. Do you prefer to be called Deputy, or Mr. Haller?”

              Mike smiled at the young officer, “Mike, is fine.”

             
Deputy Watts led Mike through a series of hallways until they came to a small room with a table and two chairs.

“This should be private,” Watts said. “Have a seat.”

              Mike tossed his paperwork and Bic pen on the table, and slid heavily into a wooden chair. Deputy Watts placed an
Interview in Progress
sign on the door and closed it quietly before sitting.

             
“How long have you been a deputy sheriff, Mike?” Watts asked.

             
Mike held eye contact with the officer.

“Six years now,” he said.
“How about yourself?”

             
Deputy Watts blushed a little, “Only a year, sir. I spent six years as an MP in the Army.”

             
Mike smiled at the deputy, “Well, I guess that makes you the senior man in this room, Deputy Watts.”

             
Watts accepted the compliment with a nod and opened a thin manila folder he had placed on the table.

“We are going to fill out a missing persons report on your daughter, Mike, and hopefully, before all this paperwork is finished, she will turn up at a friend’s house or something.”

              Mike pulled his small stack of papers closer and picked up his pen. His eyes swam for a second. “That would be good,” was all he could say.

             
Deputy Watts noted the solemn response and paused for a moment before proceeding.

“Mike, I’m sure you are aware that I have to ask you a series of questions that are going to seem insensitive and some that are just downright impolite. I’ll try to get through them quickly so we can get down to the serious business of finding your daughter.”

              Mike tapped his incomplete form with his pen and nodded.

             
Watts continued, “Now, your daughter’s name is?”

             
Mike sat up straight, “Sara Jean Haller,” he said, then spelled her first name out loud for the deputy.

             
“And her date and place of birth, Mike?”

             
“She was born on July 6
th
, 1992, in Wheatridge, Colorado.”

             
“Can you give me a brief description of Sara, including what she was wearing the last time you saw her?”

             
Mike took in a deep breath that shuttered a little.

“Sara is about five foot seven
, and she weighs around a hundred and twenty-five pounds. She has blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair.”

             
Deputy Watts asked, “Is her hair naturally blonde or is it dyed?”

             
Mike laughed a little to himself. “It’s natural,” he said. “In fact, I made fun of her just before she left, for putting in brown highlights.” Mike looked at Watts, “Oh yeah, she has brown highlights in her hair.”

             
Deputy Watts smiled and wrote it down. “Do you remember what she was wearing?” he asked.

             
Mike thought for a moment before answering. “She was wearing a short denim skirt that was beige in color and a white cotton blouse, short sleeve.”

Mike
closed his eyes to concentrate, “She was wearing beige sandals with little leather straps crisscrossing all across the top of her foot. She had two or three thin rings on her fingers and a silver charm bracelet I had given her for graduation. It had several hearts around it of all sizes and shapes and they each had one word on the back.” Mike shook his head. “I can’t remember what they said though.”

             
Deputy Watts was writing rapidly.

“That’s fine,” he said. “
Any scars, tattoos, or other identifying marks?”

             
Mike closed his eyes again.

“Just a small scar at the outside corner of her right eye.”
He smiled. “She tried to follow me over a barbed-wire fence when she was two. Jean was so upset. I thought she was going to ring my neck.”

             
Watts looked up from his form.

“Jean is Sara’s mother?”

              “Yes.”

             
“And the two of you are still together?”

             
Mike opened his eyes and looked toward the corner of the small room.

“Yes,” was all he
said.

             
Deputy Watts followed his instincts.

“Are there any problems at home?
Any conditions that might cause Sara to be angry?”

             
Mike saw through the line of questioning.

“No,” he shook his head. “Sara was raised in a loving and stable home. She was excited to start college in Wyoming, but sh
e is very close to Jean and I.” Mike leaned forward in his chair. “This disappearance is highly out of character for her.”

             
Ryan Watts understood and relented.

“Does Sara have a boyfriend?”

              Mike sat back again, “No one steady. My uniform made it difficult for her to date, and I was completely fine with that.”

             
The deputy laughed quietly, “I have a four-year-old daughter at home,” he shared. “So I know where you are coming from.”

             
A light knock at the door interrupted the conversation and Sheriff Barnes stepped through.

             
Deputy Watts stood and looked a bit uncomfortable.

“Sheriff,” he said politely.

              Sheriff Barnes made eye contact with Mike. Ignoring Watts, he closed the door and sat in his deputy’s seat.

“
I took some time to question Jordan about the events that led to your daughter’s car being towed to the impound lot.”

Barnes pulled a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket
and flipped it open.

“Jordan says
that he received a request to tow your daughter’s Honda Civic around two-thirty yesterday afternoon. He says that he was busy in the yard and didn’t get out to the vehicle until after four. He says that when he arrived, the car was unlocked, with the keys in the ignition.”

Sheriff Barnes looked to his notes.

“The right front tire was flat, so Jordan says that he towed the vehicle back to the lot and parked it before calling it a night.”

             
Mike’s eyes showed his skepticism.

             
Sheriff Barnes leaned back in his chair and softened his expression.

“Look,
I already mentioned that Jordan is my stepson. His momma convinced me to legally adopt him after we married, so I’ve been his pop since he was a little boy.”

Barnes stuffed the notepad back into his shirt pocket.

“Being the boy’s father, I know when he is lying to me.” He leaned forward and pointed a finger at Mike. “I knew, just like you did, that something wasn’t adding up. That boy was lying to me straight out. So I slapped the handcuffs on him, brought him down here, and threw his scrawny little butt in a holding cell.”

Barnes
paused and smiled, “He wasn’t in there more than ten minutes before he was blubbering all over himself and promising me that he would tell me the truth.”

             
Barnes waited in silence and stared at Mike with a hard look.

             
Mike wasn’t sure he could ask, but he finally found the strength.

“What did he tell you,
Sheriff?”

             
Barnes reached in his back pocket, pulled out a small device with a thin cord wrapped loosely around it, and tossed it on the table. Mike recognized Sara’s iPod.

             
“Jordan wants to apologize for taking this music player from the front seat of your daughter’s car.”

             
Mike looked at the sheriff and shook his head in confusion.

             
“The boy has a girlfriend,” Barnes shared. “And he thought she might like this thing.” Barnes pushed the player toward Mike. “That’s all,” he said. “End of story.”

             
Sheriff Barnes slapped his hands to his knees and stood.

“Now, Mr. Haller, I will let you finish your interview with…” Barnes looked at his deputy.

              “Watts, sir,” the deputy sounded off. “Deputy Ryan Watts.”

             
The sheriff looked back to Mike, “Deputy Watts is going to take your statement, then I suggest you go on home and wait for your daughter to call. We’ll release her car to you once the investigation is complete.”

He laughed out loud,
“Teenage girls in their first year of college. I do not envy you, Mr. Haller.”

Mike completed his interview with Deputy Watts and left the county building. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten or slept in more than thirty hours. The iPod in his hand felt small and
fragile. He turned it over and over, wrapping the cord for the headset tightly around the base. His stomach turned again, but not from hunger this time. Doubt coursed through his veins, feeding the lead weight that seemed eternally seated in the pit of his stomach.

             
Where are you, baby girl?
Mike asked to himself.
Send me a sign and I will bring you home.

             
Tears spilled from his tightly closed eyes. Blinking them away, Mike looked west toward the mountains and the setting sun. He knew that Sara could be anywhere. If the sheriff and the tow truck driver were being straight with him, Sara could have easily been taken from that lonely two-lane highway by a passerby and carried off to, God only knows where. She could be in the next state, her trail growing cold as Mike wasted valuable time chasing his “gut feeling”.