the rough and rocky gravel of Sigler Road as Buck cranked the wheel hard to his left. They could see the flashing lights of Johnny’s car in the distance through the sheets of rain. Once again, the Sheriff pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator and then added in a rough whisper that sounded like sandpaper as the words scraped between his lips, “She spent fifteen minutes listening to Gilligan’s Island…till the storm knocked the power out,” a final pause as he set his jaw and turned to Griggs. “And that’s about the last time anyone’s heard from Johnny.”
Griggs swallowed slowly as the full impact of what was unfolding settled over him. He reached for the .38 at his side and brought it out from its holster. With the flick of his wrist the short-barreled pistol snapped open to reveal a full cylinder. It spun as he snapped it closed. In his three years as a Deputy, Griggs had never drawn his gun on a call. Now that he held it in his shaking hand with the very real possibility that he may have to use it, it felt heavy with the weight of responsibility.
“Every time you draw your gun you hold a life in your hands,” Sheriff Tanner had told him the day he pinned the badge to his chest. “Sometimes to save a life, you have to take one,” he added. And then giving his hand one firm shake he continued, “And as much as you try to convince yourself that it all balances out in the end, it doesn’t. It’s best just to let God worry about the math.”
The cruiser skidded to a stop at the end of the driveway announcing their arrival to anyone within earshot. Buck had the door partially open even before the car stopped rolling. “Cover the back,” he barked to Griggs as he drew the cannon he kept holstered on his hip. It was a .44 Magnum, the same gun Clint Eastwood would make famous in his Dirty Harry movies. He sprinted towards the house without looking back.
Griggs leapt from the vehicle with his .38 in hand. He leaned into the blowing rain and made his way through the yard as the Sheriff disappeared into the darkened garage. Wind and rain aside, the place felt too quiet. He crept to the side of the house and peered in a window. Shadows on top of shadows greeted him.
He continued along, slowly making his way to the backyard. The faint sound of banging and creaking could be heard. Griggs felt his stomach tighten and paused before rounding the corner, both hands clutching the gun. Through the rain he could see a tire swing dancing in the wind. The limb overhead creaked each time the tire struck the large maple. He exhaled slowly as he surveyed the back of the house. A gas grill stood alone on a small cement patio with what appeared to be outdoor furniture neatly stacked beside the grill.
The yard extended beyond the large maple tree into a densely wooded area. State land , Griggs thought, as he stared into the trees, it went on for miles all the way to the lake and old hospital.
His attention returned to the house as a shadow passed quickly behind the window. He approached and stood on his toes to look inside, nothing. He reached for the flashlight on his belt and brought it up to the window. As he contemplated whether to switch it on and alert whoever was inside to his presence, a streak of lightning illuminated the entire yard. It was followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that pierced the silence. The brightness lasted only a millisecond, but it was long enough for him to see the body of Kenneth Reed lying motionless on the floor inside. Reed’s eyes were open and his lifeless gaze burned through the window.
Startled, Griggs jumped away from the window and pressed his back against the house. His yellow slicker provided little refuge as the cold rain soaked him to his core. He shivered as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Fuck it! He thought, switching on his flashlight. Its beam sliced through the darkness, yet provided little comfort. He ducked under the window and took four
Griggs swallowed slowly as the full impact of what was unfolding settled over him. He reached for the .38 at his side and brought it out from its holster. With the flick of his wrist the short-barreled pistol snapped open to reveal a full cylinder. It spun as he snapped it closed. In his three years as a Deputy, Griggs had never drawn his gun on a call. Now that he held it in his shaking hand with the very real possibility that he may have to use it, it felt heavy with the weight of responsibility.
“Every time you draw your gun you hold a life in your hands,” Sheriff Tanner had told him the day he pinned the badge to his chest. “Sometimes to save a life, you have to take one,” he added. And then giving his hand one firm shake he continued, “And as much as you try to convince yourself that it all balances out in the end, it doesn’t. It’s best just to let God worry about the math.”
The cruiser skidded to a stop at the end of the driveway announcing their arrival to anyone within earshot. Buck had the door partially open even before the car stopped rolling. “Cover the back,” he barked to Griggs as he drew the cannon he kept holstered on his hip. It was a .44 Magnum, the same gun Clint Eastwood would make famous in his Dirty Harry movies. He sprinted towards the house without looking back.
Griggs leapt from the vehicle with his .38 in hand. He leaned into the blowing rain and made his way through the yard as the Sheriff disappeared into the darkened garage. Wind and rain aside, the place felt too quiet. He crept to the side of the house and peered in a window. Shadows on top of shadows greeted him.
He continued along, slowly making his way to the backyard. The faint sound of banging and creaking could be heard. Griggs felt his stomach tighten and paused before rounding the corner, both hands clutching the gun. Through the rain he could see a tire swing dancing in the wind. The limb overhead creaked each time the tire struck the large maple. He exhaled slowly as he surveyed the back of the house. A gas grill stood alone on a small cement patio with what appeared to be outdoor furniture neatly stacked beside the grill.
The yard extended beyond the large maple tree into a densely wooded area. State land , Griggs thought, as he stared into the trees, it went on for miles all the way to the lake and old hospital.
His attention returned to the house as a shadow passed quickly behind the window. He approached and stood on his toes to look inside, nothing. He reached for the flashlight on his belt and brought it up to the window. As he contemplated whether to switch it on and alert whoever was inside to his presence, a streak of lightning illuminated the entire yard. It was followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that pierced the silence. The brightness lasted only a millisecond, but it was long enough for him to see the body of Kenneth Reed lying motionless on the floor inside. Reed’s eyes were open and his lifeless gaze burned through the window.
Startled, Griggs jumped away from the window and pressed his back against the house. His yellow slicker provided little refuge as the cold rain soaked him to his core. He shivered as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Fuck it! He thought, switching on his flashlight. Its beam sliced through the darkness, yet provided little comfort. He ducked under the window and took four
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