Page 15 of Nightmare

Sitting across fromthe police officer who worked the case of Daniel and Braithe twenty years ago, I thank my lucky stars that he is still living in this town and was willing to talk to me. I couldn’t believe my luck when I tracked down his name and called the station, scheduling a time to speak. I’m not entirely sure exactly what questions I want to ask. I guess, more than anything, I just want to start from the beginning.

He was on the scene that day.

He was one of the two police officers there.

Police Chief Jordan Myers sits across from me, a small smile playing around his lips. The deep blue of his eyes reflects from the light above him, making them look almost murky. His face, clean shaven, is free of any wrinkles or blemishes. His uniform is crisp, and he’s fit. He’s possibly in his mid-fifties, but when the case was big news, he would have been in the prime of his career.

He's now Police Chief, which is a big deal.

Shifting in the seat, I give him my best smile and introduce myself.

“Thanks for seeing me today, Mr. Myers. My name is Bonnie, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me asking you a few questions.”

“Call me Jordan.” He grins, leaning forward on the desk so he can rest his arms. “I’m happy to answer any questions I can. I hear it’s about the Gregory case?”

I nod. “It is. I am doing some research on it. I’d love to write an article, but I’m having some trouble finding the information I need, and I was wondering if you might be able to help?”

“Shoot away, I’ll answer what I can.”

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and crossing his arms in a somewhat relaxed manner. I’m no detective, but I’d say that he looks a little uptight. It only makes me want to ask him the questions that much more.

“I heard you were the first on the scene when Western was arrested that day,” I begin.

“I was, me and my partner, George.”

“Is George still here?” I ask.

“George was sadly killed not long after.”

His statement takes me by surprise, and I can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe it’s the casual manner in which he is speaking about his dead partner, or the fact that his face didn’t even twitch or show any signs of emotion when he said it. Almost as if he is talking about someone he never knew.

“Oh,” I say softly, “I’m so sorry. What happened to him?”

“Suicide. The job was too much.”

There are only a few moments in my short life where my instinct screams at me that something is wrong. Taken aback, I quickly discover this is one of those moments. The mere second after the words leave his lips, it feels as though a jolt of electricity courses through my veins. Blinking rapidly, I keep my cool, unable to process the feelings swirling deep inside of me.

It's as if the universe is screaming at me that something about that statement is completely suspicious and I need to look into it.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I go on.

“That’s really sad.”

Pathetic.

“It was.”

Keep going, Bonnie.

“So you and George were first on scene, can you tell me what you walked in on? I’ve found a few articles but none really go into what actually happened out there that day.”

“Western was leaning over the boy, trying to assault him. He had already used a gun and shot him, obviously to keep him from screaming. He had already taken the father’s life.”

The boy. The father.

They have names.

He’s talking about them as if they’re nothing more than objects.

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