Spyware

The time for “the talk” didn’t come in the morning, either. Sex again, instead. Even before the alarm went off, she found him gently touching her back and leaving tiny cold spots with his kisses. He entered her again and soon she was clutching the sheets and thrusting herself back onto him with an animal rhythm.

He went back to his room later to dress, leaving her only with a long kiss at the door. She smiled after him, letting her head loll to one side. She couldn’t believe a man could be so smart. He had said nothing. Nothing at all. There was simply nothing for her to attach her fears to, nothing to worry about all day. He had voiced no expectations or concerns. The warm glow of the night was complete, and it was up to her to decide when she wanted to talk.

She concluded that the man was a genius. Chuckling to herself as she showered and dressed, she wondered if she might be in love.

***

After a gulped breakfast, they headed for the police station, not wanting to be late. They beat Verr and his partner by a long shot. At first, she was pleased when they didn’t show up right away. Better that the other team should be late, that gave them an advantage.

By the time the eight o’clock shift of cops arrived and they were still waiting in the conference room, however, she was furious. Uniforms walked by the open door with their coffee and donuts and casually gave them a look of mixed amusement and pity.

She saw two of them nudge one another and rudely point their way. One of them raised his eyebrows as he delivered a punch line. The other guffawed so violently that he coffee dribbled onto his pants. Setting the white Styrofoam cup on a desk, he continued to laugh as he brushed off his pants.

She got up and slammed the conference room door.

“This is intolerable. They plan to screw us good with this one.”

“Yep,” said Johansen. He leaned back in his chair and watched her stalk about the room. She noticed that he was leering and underneath she enjoyed it, but was too pissed off to let that come to the surface.

“What exactly does that relief order say?” she demanded for perhaps the twelfth time in the last hour.

He somehow had managed to keep from becoming ruffled throughout this entire affair. She knew it had a great deal to do with last night, with her. He positively looked like the coyote that had finally caught and eaten that damned road-runner. It both gratified her and slightly irritated her to know this.

“We are summarily relieved of this case,” he greatly paraphrased.

“What case?”

“The location and apprehension of suspects in the release of a new, hitherto unknown virus upon the internet.”

She paced again, nodding. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay what?”

“It didn’t say anything about the missing kid case.”

“So?”

“So they missed the meeting. We’re going to do something,” she said, grabbing up her purse and briefcase.

“What?”

“Screw them instead.”

… 8 Hours and Counting…

Ray knew the end was near when the water entered the trunk. It was cold, but it actually felt good as it soaked his back. He had managed to roll onto his back so that he wouldn’t drowned immediately. He thought seriously about trying to get a drink. He had been raging with thirst all night long, but he dared not turn his face into the water lest he slip and die writhing like a slug that inches too close to the edge of a swimming pool and drowns.

Perhaps, he thought, as the water filled his tiny prison, it would soak into the tape and loosen it somewhat. He didn’t bet on it, though. Duct tape wasn’t made with paper, and the adhesive didn’t loosen immediately either when it came in contact with water. It was designed to hold things together, and it did a damned good job. There were rips in his tape cocoon now, places that he had managed to rub up against sharp edges of the metal trunk, but the tape still held him firmly.

At least the water keeps the dust down, he thought to himself. He wanted to chuckle, but that might be a fatal move.

Lifting his legs together like a mermaid in a bad movie, he kicked the side of the trunk three times. He had found a spot, through a night of experimentation, that was bowed and hollow like a drum. It made a loud sound that probably annoyed a few crows in the orchard, but had little other effect. Still, it was all he could do.

Then he lay back in the cool water that covered much of his body now. His greatest regret was that he had been unable to help his son.

Another few minutes passed. His body grew adjusted to the cool water and he floated in it somewhat. Soon, however, there would be no space to breathe between the surface of the water and the carpeted floor of the overturned Lincoln’s trunk, which now formed the ceiling of his coffin.

He kicked again, and this time the sound was greatly muffled. The water had risen to where it was dampening any sound he could make. That, almost more than anything, made him give up. If no one could possibly hear him, then he was truly doomed.