Finding Graciela, Part Two

A science fiction short story from The Lewis Town Chronicles.

“Finding Graciela” is a science fiction short story from The Lewis Town Chronicles anthology.

In part one, we learned about the new Lewis Town Police Chief, Tim Matthews, his past struggles on the Detroit PD, and his desire to fix his marriage while serving the Lewis Town community. When a local eleven-year-old girl named Graciela goes missing, Tim makes it his personal duty to find her. The search leads to the mysterious Baumgartner cabin in part two, the conclusion of “Finding Graciela”.

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I traveled toward the intersection of North Territorial Road and Shoreline Road East, making sure to copy in Corporal Patrick Walsh on my whereabouts. Instead of walking a beat, he preferred exploring the Baumgartner place, a duty he thought was beneath the chief. I reminded him that thinking is exactly why I was the chief. Fresh out of the academy he knew enough not to argue. Finding Graciela had to be my responsibility. There weren’t really any other good options.

We ran a lean department, with Cathy on dispatch, Monday through Friday, eight to five. This evening, a Saturday, she would be at bridge club, one of the few personal details I squeezed out of her. A retired librarian, Cathy doubled as my administrative assistant, and wouldn’t take any lip. She kept the paperwork in order and the coffee pot warm, and that’s all that mattered. Sergeant Dean Hill, the fourth in our party, nearly retired himself, ended up in Montmorency County General with appendicitis the previous week. His wife called, said he would be out a spell and I prayed he wouldn’t hang up his badge. For what Dean lacked in stamina he made up for in experience.

A beautiful mix of red, orange and pink hues blanketed the horizon, painting a pretty picture over the pine, birch and oak trees just beyond the gravel shoulder. Sunset was giving way to complete darkness. I wondered why most folks were clamoring over a spot to watch the Lumber Fest fireworks when the greatest show could be seen over the west side of North Twin Lake. That made me think of Mel, who eagerly desired to sit on the bench swing with a coffee, good book and my company to enjoy the view. I would need to make it up to her, a pattern of transgressions and apologies over the years I had yet to break.

I drove slow, half along the shoulder, afraid that Graciela would walk out of the woods with tattered clothes, lost in despair, hurt by somebody. After working as an officer in Detroit, it opened me up to the idea that humanity had been running around in the same vicious circle for too many centuries. Cycles of decay and crime repeated themselves, eventually giving way to growth and prosperity, but back again into a pit of despair. It’s possible I could ride this Lewis Town experiment up until the tipping point.

Nestled in the woods, barely visible, a looming metal presence overshadowed nature. The barbed wire fence encircled several miles of land, a surprising development indicating the township held loose views on aesthetics so long as property taxes were paid in full. Odd that a real estate investor would fence off a large portion of land — including at least a hundred cabins — unless they planned to develop beyond prying eyes.

I pulled the cruiser over near the blinking stoplight at the intersection. With no other streetlights to speak of, it would have been foolish to let the car sit in the dark, so I put on the hazard lights. Using the spotlight, I inspected the area for any evidence kids had traipsed through, either a man-made path or a marker indicating safe passage. Nothing. I needed to walk the perimeter.

My tactical flashlight lit up the dense woods. The air cooled the deeper I walked beyond the tree line. Thick underbrush and a layer of dead branches and leaves met warmer air, forming a fog, making it difficult to walk and see. My beam of light refracted off billions of tiny droplets, setting them a glow and casting back cunning shadows that danced around the tree trunks.

I glanced over my shoulder to keep my bearing with the exit leading back to the road, only to discover the woods had swallowed me in its belly of haze. The fence stood nearly ten feet tall and I questioned whether Graciela would venture this far, daring to continue, even in the presence of a close friend. I shined the flashlight in a sweeping pattern, barely able to make out the silhouette of a two-story cabin on the other side of the metal barrier.

Scaling the barbed-wire fence would be impossible. I combed the boundaries, trying to find evidence Graciela could be located nearby. While I wasn’t necessarily trespassing on private property, no evidence pulled me in further, until I finally uncovered the makeshift entrance. A large log with a Y-shaped crotch had been wedged underneath the base of the fence, bending it outward away from the post. The wire attaching the chained links had been cut, providing enough room for someone to slip through the gap.

What worried me most was the sharp edges at the bottom clinging onto a tear of red fabric, the same color hoodie Javier said Graciela would be wearing. Even more distressing, a few drops of blood dotted the landscape, which gave me reason enough to snake under and search the Baumgartner residence. The adrenaline kicked in, heightening my senses, and I quickly found myself standing on the other side. A cool wind swept through the towering treetops, orchestrating a symphony of creaking and moaning. I wavered in unison. A mesmerizing dizziness arrived then departed at the point where I might faint.

Movement near the cabin grabbed my attention. It looked like a person Graciela’s size, but the blanket of darkness made it impossible to verify. I shined my flashlight toward the body, only to have the beam disperse and fade outward, impossibly misdirected. Something about the shape appeared familiar, the shape of mortal danger, the shape of a weapon pointed at my head. An experienced reflex caused me to reach for my gun, but I stopped short of withdrawing it from the holster. I remembered Paul Sutton’s words about magnetic fields, tricks on the mind and hallucinations.

“Graciela, this is Chief Tim Matthews from LTPD! Your uncle and grandmother are looking for you,” I shouted. The figure became startled by my voice and sprinted toward the cabin. I ran in the same direction, barely able to catch a glimpse of legs leaping up the porch steps and disappearing through the front entryway.

While I expected the cabin to be larger than usual, its rustic presence towered over the clearing. Dead pine needles decorated the roof, porch and front yard, the discarded remains of evergreens on either side. A porch wrapped around the whole cabin, which had been built with massive logs hewn from hundred-year-old oaks. Two large glass pane windows, menacing eyes, entrances into the structure’s soul, gazed down at me with condemnation. A blinding blue light blazed out from behind them, followed by the scream of a young girl.

I rushed toward the open front door and looked inside past the threshold. Confusion caused me to stop short. Graciela, a frightened runaway, did not stare back in my direction. Instead, the weight of my guilt and shame for more than a year held my gaze, materialized in corporeal form, back from the dead. The boy I shot and killed, once again pointed a gun in my direction. The door shut by itself. I pulled my own gun from its holster, the great equalizer that caused so much past pain. Several gunshots echoed in my ears.

Crouched low in a huddle, all I could do was wait for the ringing to subside. I had not fired a single shot. Against the pleas of my hardened instincts, I sensed nobody had fired, but could not deny I heard the distinct noise of bullets splintering wood. The blue light from the windows extinguished. When I raised my head, I expected to find several holes in the front door, but encountered the tearful face of an eleven-year-old girl named Graciela. Had I fired, she would surely be dead. She ran down the steps into my arms, sobbing.

“Graciela, are you okay?” I asked.

“I cut myself and can’t stop the bleeding,” she muttered through tears. “I thought I could find a towel inside the cabin to stop it.”

“The light, through the windows, did you turn that on?” I asked.

“No. It’s why I screamed.”

“The electrical in a place this old is probably faulty. You have nothing to worry about,” I said more to calm my own nerves. Those same nerves experienced another jolt when a tall man walked out of the woods into the clearing. His presence, while startling, left me with an eerie sense of calm. He dressed neatly in jeans, a flannel and hiking boots, indicating he was not lost, but familiar with our surroundings.

“Chief Matthews, I’m sorry to arrive at a time like this, while you’re performing an important duty,” the man said.

“Please identify yourself,” I said.

“My name is James Webb. I’ve been tasked as caretaker of this land. Everything on this side of the fence to be specific,” the man said.

“Mr. Webb, do you have any official credentials?” I asked.

“Yes, I do. However, seeing as how the young lady is hurt, would it be better to get her some assistance first?” James asked.

“Do you have a first-aid kit handy?”

“I do, if you’ll follow me into the cabin. While the structure is in a state of disrepair, I keep supplies handy in case of situations like this.”

James Webb didn’t strike me as the lay-in-wait serial killer type, or the kind of individual looking to murder the police chief and kidnap an eleven-year-old girl. If he was, then he failed to utilize the element of surprise to his advantage, a sure sign in my experience he was telling the truth so far. He walked past us, and we followed up the porch and into the Baumgartner cabin.

The insides smelled of musty upholstery and damp newspaper, most of the furniture cushions torn apart by wild animals, all of it shrouded in a thick layer of dust. The open layout led into a living space off the left and a kitchen off to the right. Up the middle, a single staircase stretched to the second floor. James pulled out a kerosene lamp from a kitchen cupboard and then a new first-aid kit from underneath the sink. I walked Graciela over as he unpacked the contents.

“I apologize, there is no water, or else I would suggest we wash with soap. The well has long since gone dry. We’ll use antiseptic temporarily. I suppose you have the appropriate medical training to administer aid, Chief Matthews,” James said.

I took over while James fiddled with his wallet and pulled out a company badge. The glow of the lamp cast a light over his name, picture and title, and across the top was printed Obsidian Dynamics. He held it up until I indicated my satisfaction.

“It reads head of security,” I said.

“I’m not fond of the title,” James said.

“Why would a private real estate company need a head of security, or for that matter, feel the need to fence off a few thousand acres of land?” I asked.

“I did not say real estate, Chief Matthews — you did.”

I didn’t want to press him, but made a mental note to research James Webb and Obsidian Dynamics on any other day when I wasn’t supposed to be returning a frightened adolescent back to her family.

“Graciela, how about we get you back to your uncle and grandmother. You can call them on my cell when we’re back in the cruiser,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Webb, for coming onto your property. It was a stupid thing to do,” Graciela said.

“I’m disappointed, but I’m willing to forget about the incident if you’ll do the same. Do we have a deal?” James asked.

“Yes, we have a deal,” Graciela said.

“No charges to file. That makes my job easier,” I said.

“In preparation for a larger repair, my associates have been kind enough to remove a portion of the fence where you entered. No need to crawl out,” James said. “And Chief Matthews, you won’t need to worry about the cabin causing any further disturbances in the community. It’s being torn down this week.”

The way James said disturbances, slithered across my skin and up the back of my neck. He knew the cabin emanated a force or power, but recognized it wouldn’t benefit anyone to put a finer point on it, especially if the building would cease to exist. Nobody wants a police chief who walks around talking about visions of the deceased or blue lights streaming from the windows of an old, abandoned cabin nearly two centuries old.

We walked out together. I took one final look at the Baumgartner cabin, a mental snapshot to carry with me, a strange occurrence that was sure to be the first of many. James Webb watched me carefully out of the corner of his eye, assessing my willingness to forget the incident.

“We’ll find our way out then, Mr. Webb. But before we go, I’m curious, if you’re not in real estate, what is your line of business?” I asked.

“Environmental protection. We’re preserving Earth and its inhabitants for our generation and the generations to come,” James said, placing his hand on Graciela’s shoulder. A slight static shock leaped between the two, but she didn’t notice. We said our goodbyes.

The fog had dissipated and once again my flashlight lit up the woods without issue. As communicated, a large portion of the fence had been removed, but none of the aforementioned associates were in the vicinity. Before we reached the car, Graciela stopped and unraveled the gauss dressing around her hand.

“You should leave that on…” I started to say, but stopped when we both realized the cut had healed entirely; not even a scratch. A thunderous sound grumbled from above. I looked up and glimpsed a metallic object flash across the sky and disappear under the stars. When I got home later, Mel would either think I’d gone crazy or was trying to hide the real truth behind a series of unbelievable events. She would have hard questions. Lewis Town would need to provide the answers.