“I feel awful,” Shayden replied.
Just then, angry, raised voices began to permeate the room from outside. Ruth recognised the voice of Doctor Brooks and the other complainant sounded like Shayden’s grandfather.
“How on earth can you stand there and tell me my granddaughter is faking this thing?! Just take a look at her, Brooks, and then tell me that it is all in her head.”
“According to the symptom guide put out by the DBD, the patient must undertake a full psychiatric evaluation. If we continue to treat her in this hospital we will be liable for her treatment costs and not your insurance, Mr Glenn, plus I could lose my practice licence into the bargain.”
“This is nonsense! I am not a doctor and I can tell there is something physically wrong with her.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Glenn, but I have no choice but to move her over to Bairnsworth.”
“THE NUT HOUSE...?! Are you insane?! I’m taking my granddaughter out of this poor excuse for a hospital.”
“I am sorry, Mr Glenn, we can’t let you do that either and if you stand in the way, we will call the police. Child welfare will be involved in Shayden’s case and as of now, all your rights as a parent or guardian have been dissolved and she is in the state’s control.”
The flabbergasted look on Shayden’s grandfather’s face was backed up by the fire in his eyes. The law had stepped in and removed Shayden from his care, but they had picked on the wrong man. Grayson Glenn never backed away from a fight, and this fight was a desperate fight.
The gloves were off.
*~*~*~*
In the small muster room of the Sue’s Bridge County Sheriff’s office, the morning jobs were being distributed among the deputies.
“Where’s Bayer?!” the sheriff barked.
The deputies stared back at him with blank faces and shook their heads. It was unusual for Bang Bang not to front for work.
“Cleaver...!” the sheriff barked across the muster room and out into the corridor.
“Yep,” the dispatcher appeared at the door, answering the sheriff’s bark.
“Have you heard from Bayer?”
He shook his head. “She hasn’t reported in sick.”
A frustrated frown covered the sheriff’s face and he dismissed Cleaver with a nod. The last thing he needed with the backlog of work he had was an itinerant deputy turning up for work when she felt like it. His ire began to rise and his face turned crimson but he continued with the job distributions. In a moment of mental gymnastics, he added another job to each deputy’s workload and then dismissed them to their day’s activity. He would chase up Bayer and bore her out once he’d located her.
The sheriff pressed his desk phone receiver against his ear and tapped his finger on the desk, waiting to explode once Bayer’s cocky voice answered. The longer she dodged him, the greater his temper festered and his blood pressure went through the roof. When the phone rang out for the second time, he threw the receiver back in its cradle and uttered something contemptible.
He wasn’t happy.
The sheriff shuffled the mountains of paperwork covering his desk but his mind was still on Bayer. Her arrogant stance as a police officer and militant feminist bugged him and drove a wedge between his deputies and the coveted peace that came with efficient teamwork.
Just then, Cleaver poked his head into the sheriff’s office. “Boss?”
The sheriff glanced up from his desk with a frowning glare and fire erupted from his sarcastic tone. “Yeah?!”
“Ah... a member of the public has brought in a collection of empty cartridges they found up on the running track.”
The sheriff was just about to roast Cleaver for wasting his time, when Cleaver recognised the explosive forces at work in his longtime boss’ eyes and he quickly continued.
“They are police-issue Glock 17 cartridges… and there’s more. The M.O.P. described a huge blood stain running across the path.”
The sheriff swallowed hard. “What was that about an offender harassing women on the running track and didn’t Bayer run there too?”
The two men locked eyes for a long moment and then the sheriff bellowed for his secretary.
“Jeanie, get in here!”
A small, older lady squeezed around Cleaver’s form blocking the doorway into the sheriff’s office. “You bellowed, boss?”
“Can you have a look in the female locker rooms and check out Bayer’s equipment belt? I want to know if her service revolver is still there in its holster.”
The secretary nodded and made her way out of the office, while the sheriff listened to the door to the locker room open with a tired, muffled screech. Soon the door screeched again and the secretary was back, shaking her head.
“It’s not there. Aren’t the weapons supposed to stay here when deputies are off duty?”
The sheriff just waved her off and stared at Cleaver, the two men thinking the same thing.
“Get Jackson up there immediately and give me a report back.”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 37
Aanasi worked feverishly, sewing a new pair of bearskin boots together for her husband, Nikkulaat. He had worn his old pair down and now he was complaining the cold was seeping into his feet and making them stiff and sore. She had chided him for the lack of notice, but because the winter weather had arrived early and with a vengeance and he still needed to work, she set about her task with fervour.
The wind outside had increased to a new level of intensity, screeching through the roof iron and blowing snow up against the dark blue painted woodwork of their wooden house, perched high on a hill and commanding the surrounding scenery of Ittoqqortoormiit. The normal view from their house, positioned to overlook the settlement, included the green waters of the Sund and the many brightly coloured village houses scattered throughout the barren mountainside and built on the grey, rocky soil. During a recent storm, snow had blanketed the vista with plain white and buried the striking village houses, while the tenacious Arctic wind froze the green waters of the Sund into solid ice.
The sound of a snowmobile struggling up the incline towards their house caused Aanasi to glance up at the clock from her position on the floor. If this was Nikkulaat coming home, he was extremely early. Casting aside the nearly completed boot, she left her tools where they lay and stiffly raised herself from the bearskin rug, heading for the window. Pulling the muskox pelt back obscuring her view, she gazed out through the frosty pane and recognised the unmistakable, solid shape of her husband, covered in icy snow.
Smiling in anticipation of his embrace and needing only two more stitches to complete her task, she let the pelt drop back down over the window and hurried to her work.
As she heard the pounding of feet on the landing, the last stitch went into place and she proudly held the finished boots out in front of her, giving them a nod of approval and admiring her handiwork.
The door swung open as a cold blast ripped into the warm atmosphere and she was greeted by a very frosty husband.
“Nikkulaat, you are home early; be quick and close the door,” she chided. “Now take off your icy bearskins and give me a hug. See, I have finished your new boots.”
Aanasi held up the completed craft for her husband to inspect and as usual, he was exuberant in the praise of her work. Placing the boots down, he pushed his aching feet into his new luxury and smiled with pleasing relief, like he was settling into a hot bath on a cold day.
“Ah...! You have done well, Aanasi.”
With a twinkle in his eye, the big man chased his wife around in a mock ambush and then gathered her into his loving embrace while Aanasi giggled at her husband’s advances.
Just then, the sound of an approaching snowmobile stifled any escalation in their play and Nikkulaat released his wife to check on the intruder. He pulled back the thick pelt covering their only window and scrutinized the approaching machine. The rider was covered in an icy blanket of snow and judging by the steam billowing from around the
engine and its exhaust, he had ridden the motorised sled for some distance. Nikkulaat glanced back at Aanasi with a questioning gaze, waiting for the rider to bring his machine to a stop and ascend the landing steps before opening the door.
They paused for what seemed like hours, listening for the usual pounding boots to dislodge the ice and snow from the person’s clothing before attempting to enter a family home. But when no obvious attempt was made and a pitiful knock came at the door instead, Nikkulaat began to suspect the person was suffering from exposure to the cold and quickly pulled open the door, pushing back against the strength of the wind. As Nikkulaat struggled with the door, the frozen figure collapsed into his arms, sending ice and snow spilling onto the floor and the door crashed heavily against the wall.
In a sinuous movement, he dragged the figure inside and shoved the door closed against the wind and removed the figure’s bearskins and face scarf. Aanasi gasped, recognising the shivering man while quickly wrapping him in a dry bearskin rug. Nikkulaat stared at his good friend, wondering what dire emergency would cause him to ride into town facing into a blizzard.
“Katu... Katu, can you hear me?” Nikkulaat implored.
“Help... Ataneq... Nanuq... Bruun,” Katu wheezed.
Nikkulaat’s concerned gaze met Aanasi’s, wondering about the meaning of Katu’s cryptic message. Aanasi threw back the bearskin blanket on their bed and motioned for her husband to carry his friend over to it and place him between the warm blankets. Once he was positioned she pulled the fur skin over the shivering man, then they both gathered around the bed in concern, waiting for the warmth to restore his chilled body.
*~*~*~*
In the darkened room, bloodshot eyes blinked open, surrounded by severely frostbitten brows and for a moment, confusion troubled his mind as the unfamiliar surroundings panicked him. In a frightened gesture, he threw the bearskin off his body and tried to jump up from his horizontal position until a familiar, baritone voice calmed his attempts.
“Steady on, old friend,” Nikkulaat’s rumble crossed the room from a chair positioned around the stove.
Aanasi’s concerned gaze followed her husband’s, momentarily distracted from preparing a meal.
“How did I get here?” Katu’s cloudy mind tried to piece together the mystery and at the same time, he was thankful for the presence of his friend.
Nikkulaat shrugged, walking over to Katu and placed his hand on the tense shoulder. “I was hoping you could tell us that one, Katu.”
Katu glanced up at Nikkulaat and then dropped his head into his hands, trying to remember his ordeal and then in a sudden revelation, his sense returned and the fog parted, like a ship forcing its way through swirling sea mist.
“I saw it, Nikkulaat,” Katu whispered.
By this time Aanasi had turned away from her work and faced Katu, unsure what he was about to reveal.
“Saw what, Katu?” the concern was beginning to rise in Nikkulaat’s voice, worried his friend was having a breakdown.
Katu swallowed hard, wondering whether he should even give breath to the incredible statement. “Ataneq Nanuq. I saw his pad print and he was following Bruun.”
Nikkulaat turned and glanced back at Aanasi to see if she had understood what Katu was saying, but her concerned shrug confirmed she was as confused as he.
“Back up a bit, Katu; you’re not making sense. Help us to understand you, old friend.”
*~*~*~*
Once again, Aanasi filled Katu’s cup with hot Inuit tea and at the same time, listened intently to Katu’s words as they sat around the family table. Katu appeared to have regained his colour after consuming Aanasi’s home cooking and his conversation was just now starting to make sense.
“So... this Bruun character is a bounty hunter, looking to cash in on Bjarni Kleist?” Nikkulaat glanced over to Katu for confirmation.
Katu shrugged. ”I can’t be sure, but he certainly gave the impression he had studied Bjarni’s situation and if he is a bounty hunter, he is the greenest one I have ever met.”
Nikkulaat stood and paced around the room before speaking again.
“So, he stole a rifle and some food from your store and then walked off into this blizzard, is that right?”
Katu nodded. “I am not worried about the stock he stole, but what I saw when I was tracking him really unnerved me. I found what I think were Bruun’s tracks, preserved from the wind in the snow by the shelter of a rock outcrop.”
Katu’s face furrowed and a worried frown crossed his features, cautiously picking his next words and whispering so quietly Nikkulaat had to bend his frame into Katu’s direction to hear it.
“Overstamping some of Bruun’s tracks were the biggest pad prints of a nanuq I have ever seen, and it was following Bruun.”
Katu’s obvious distress unnerved Nikkulaat; he wasn’t a man who was prone to exaggerate. Slowly, Nikkulaat’s frowning features turned to face Aanasi and her expression reflected his sentiment in her big, staring dark eyes.
Katu interrupted the growing silence, “I decided to turn back at that point because the storm was getting worse. I doubt Bruun could survive the force of the blizzard, but if he does...”
Nikkulaat ran his hands through his thick black locks and sighed. “Bjarni Kleist hasn’t made too many friends in the village, particularly among the elders, but I will always be grateful to him for what he did to protect Siimuut.”
The exuberant words had just bubbled up over Nikkulaat’s tonsils and escaped his unguarded lips when their meaning stabbed at his heart, knowing the callous mistake would cost Aanasi dearly. He turned to face the struggling figure of his wife and her tears told him she had heard and understood his faux pas.
A wave of grief knocked her from her feet and she slumped to a chair, laying her head in her hands, trying to understand again why her baby had been ripped from their lives. Nikkulaat moved quickly to comfort his tender wife and apologise for his thoughtlessness. Her tears subsided in a heaving shudder. Although her grief would live with her until she died, she knew Nikkulaat also struggled with Siimuut’s death but he had refused to ever talk about it.
Katu wasn’t any stranger to death and loss of loved ones and he struggled to contain his own grief at Aanasi’s tears, laying the memory of Nigaq into a closed compartment of his heart, barred by a mental sign that said, Restricted: Do not enter.
Nikkulaat turned his attention back to Katu. “What is it that you want us to do?”
Katu held his head in his hands. “So you believe me?”
“I always knew Bjarni was an honourable man, even if the rest of the village could not see past the situation.”
Nikkulaat glanced across at Aanasi. She knew what was coming and she peered at her husband with huge, pleading eyes.
Katu filled the silence again. “I’m not really worried about Bruun, but I am worried that Bruun’s stupidity will lead this thing right into Bjarni’s lap... if he is still alive. But even if he isn’t, I owe it to Bjarni to clear his name.”
The sudden interjection from Aanasi caused the two men to focus on her determined speech.
“If you are intent on tracking whatever this thing is, I’m coming too!”
Nikkulaat’s stare spoke of a gathering storm at his wife’s confession, but Katu quickly moved to stifle the brewing trouble.
“I will need someone to look after the outpost while we hunt. Aanasi would be safe there, and close enough to raise the alarm if we are overdue.”
Nikkulaat held the gaze of his treasured wife for a long moment. Her determined eyes spoke well of the compromise and finally, Nikkulaat agreed.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 38
Slinger stood gazing out the window of the executive boardroom, staring into the car park of the substantial Sue’s Bridge Community Church property with his back to the seven man executive team. If it wasn’t for Mrs Parks’ glowing testimonial of what God and Cutter had done in her life, then he would have dismissed Cutter. He
really wanted to vent his frustration at the interfering ex-biker and chew Cutter’s head off, but that wouldn’t befit a man of God. Besides, knowing Cutter’s ability to come up squeaky clean, he would probably get caught and end up being fired instead.
Unconsciously, Slinger sucked his teeth with his tongue, his frustration starting to climb and with a huff he turned away from the window, glancing around the room at the seven associate pastors. He threw a quick gaze up at the wall clock and noticed it was a quarter past midday; the meeting was supposed to start at 12 noon.
“Well, gentlemen, we can’t wait any longer for Cutter to arrive. We have a packed schedule planning our activities for the coming twelve months and any activities that may appear less attractive to the members present, our man Cutter can take up the slack.”
A mumbled agreement rippled through the quiet room.
*~*~*~*
On a lonely stretch of highway leading into Sue’s Bridge, a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy was parked behind a family sedan with the hood up and Cutter’s big frame stooped over an overheated engine while a very pregnant woman hovered around him, holding the hand of a small toddler and preventing him from running out on the highway. The woman had seen the big biker pull up behind her and the loud chugging of his motorbike had panicked her. The huge, sleeveless arms and a tattoo of a dagger–with Cutter at its point–did little to allay her fears until her eyes settled on his jacket and the logo written across his back: Jesus... Don’t leave Earth without Him.
In a few moments, his gentle manner and his kind face disarmed her and she had accepted his help without hesitation.
“Well, there you go, Juanita. That’s the best I can do out here. It should get you home and then Javier can take it from there.”
“Thank you, Cutter. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped to help me.”
“All part of being in Jesus’ service. You will come and hear me preach this Sunday won’t you and bring your husband, Javier.”
“We would love to come, Cutter.”