By Jeffrey Caminsky (Video Prompt)
The full moon cast shadows through the leafless trees, and Willie sat down on a jagged stump. The cold air burned his lungs, and the rain washed the sweat from his face. His legs felt like wood, and he’d been running for so long he’d nearly forgotten what it was like not to hear the pounding of his own his heart.
The wind shifted to the east, and Willie heard the hounds baying in the distance. Rising to his feet, he kept moving west. On Dodge Lake there was a cabin that always stayed open through hunting season. If he could find it, he’d have someplace warm and dry to rest; and if that leaky old fishing boat the owner used for duck hunting was still there, he could row across the lake, down to the river and right into the State Recreation Area. Tripping over a tree branch in the dark, Willie felt a sharp pain crawling up his shin, and the raw air made it hurt all the more, He swore at himself for being clumsy.
He didn’t mean to hurt her, he thought, limping along the trail. In fact, there shouldn’t have been anyone home, at all. Least of all that crabby old lady. He just wanted some easy money, and it was Bingo night at the church. He’d scouted the neighborhood for a whole month, and she was regular as a bowlful of prunes. Every morning, at precisely 10 o’clock, she took her little dustmop dog on a walk from her house to the park before stopping at the grocery store to buy the daily paper. Her Bingo outing was her one night out, and she never missed it.
At least, not while he was watching. Not for the last two months.
At the crest of a small hill, Willie stopped to catch his breath. The hounds were closer now, just over Robbins Hill, a half-mile away, and he could hear voices rising in the distance. He pressed on, the cold wind biting through his sweatshirt. His jacket would have helped cut the wind, though the fresh blood might have given the hounds a better trail to follow. He’d left it behind in a clump of brush when he first heard the dogs on his trail, hoping that the mud and rain would confuse their noses.
Just shows how much you know about dogs, he sighed, pressing ahead.
Maybe if he’d killed the old lady’s pesky dog right off: he always liked to keep the noise down to a minimum. It was a source of professional pride, he smiled grimly. And it might have been enough to keep her where she was, watching television, letting him back off to return another day when the house was empty. But the silver in the house was just waiting there, and he could still imagine what was locked away in the jewelry case he’d seen through the window, in the bedroom. With the price for silver heading skyward, it had been too tempting to pass up.
Behind him, he saw a ribbon of light glowing beyond the last hill. Flashlights, he thought. Probably made it a lot easier than groping through the half-darkness, tripping over every branch and downed tree in the woods. The cabin was just ahead, down the pathway through the trees and visible in the pale moonlight. He felt his heart pounding wildly. If he could just push himself a little more, he’d be safe.
What was it she’d screamed: not again…never again? Something like that. How was he to know she was a basket case who thought that every man was after her? It might explain why everyone in town thought she was such a strange old bird, always scolding the kids for stepping on her lawn, or the UPS driver for knocking too loudly on her front door. It wouldn’t help him now, of course, but next time he’d try to find out a bit more about the owner. It might help keep him from making another amateur’s mistake. Like breaking into a house when someone was home.
Making his way down the path, Willie could hear the hounds baying up the hill, gaining on him with every step he took. Breaking into a run he tripped over a woodpile at the end of the pathway. Rising at once, he limped madly toward the dock as the moonlight rippled over the water.
If only she hadn’t come at him with that knife, his mind cried out, struggling to push the sight of her wild, fearful eyes from his mind. What happened was really her fault: if she just hadn’t rushed at him, screaming and slashing wildly. Then he wouldn’t have had to defend himself. And once she’d drawn blood, he grabbed the first heavy object he could find. That baseball bat she kept by the back door was probably heavier than he needed, but he was too angry about the slash marks on his face to think about stopping. After the first few blows, it probably didn’t matter much anyway.
He saw the old fishing boat moored at the dock, and felt his fatigue melt away. Racing onto the rickety dock he worked frantically to cut the knots holding the boat in place. A garish beam of light flooded the dock, and he could hear men barking orders to him through a bullhorn. Pushing off from the dock, he fitted the oars into the oarlocks and began rowing as fast as he could toward the far shore, where the lake flowed into the river. He could feel his heart pumping harder with each stroke of the oars.
Soon his fading mind felt itself floating downward, into darkness; the last sensation he felt was the cold, enveloping his body.
***
“You’re sure it was him?” asked the sergeant.
The sharpshooter looked up from his scope.
“Fine time to ask, Sarge,” he grunted, shaking his head. “But I knew him. Arrested him three times in the last three years. And I went to high school with him, besides. He was a loser then, and hasn’t changed a bit.”
Dropping the bullhorn to the ground, the sergeant took a deep breath and removed his two-way radio from his belt.
“Radio dispatch,” he spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Tell them we caught up with him, but they’ll probably have to drag the lake to find him.”
He knew the suspect as well, the sergeant sighed. He’d coached the kid in Little League. And a more promising young pitcher he’d never seen.
The full moon cast shadows through the leafless trees, and Willie sat down on a jagged stump. The cold air burned his lungs, and the rain washed the sweat from his face. His legs felt like wood, and he’d been running for so long he’d nearly forgotten what it was like not to hear the pounding of his own his heart.
The wind shifted to the east, and Willie heard the hounds baying in the distance. Rising to his feet, he kept moving west. On Dodge Lake there was a cabin that always stayed open through hunting season. If he could find it, he’d have someplace warm and dry to rest; and if that leaky old fishing boat the owner used for duck hunting was still there, he could row across the lake, down to the river and right into the State Recreation Area. Tripping over a tree branch in the dark, Willie felt a sharp pain crawling up his shin, and the raw air made it hurt all the more, He swore at himself for being clumsy.
He didn’t mean to hurt her, he thought, limping along the trail. In fact, there shouldn’t have been anyone home, at all. Least of all that crabby old lady. He just wanted some easy money, and it was Bingo night at the church. He’d scouted the neighborhood for a whole month, and she was regular as a bowlful of prunes. Every morning, at precisely 10 o’clock, she took her little dustmop dog on a walk from her house to the park before stopping at the grocery store to buy the daily paper. Her Bingo outing was her one night out, and she never missed it.
At least, not while he was watching. Not for the last two months.
At the crest of a small hill, Willie stopped to catch his breath. The hounds were closer now, just over Robbins Hill, a half-mile away, and he could hear voices rising in the distance. He pressed on, the cold wind biting through his sweatshirt. His jacket would have helped cut the wind, though the fresh blood might have given the hounds a better trail to follow. He’d left it behind in a clump of brush when he first heard the dogs on his trail, hoping that the mud and rain would confuse their noses.
Just shows how much you know about dogs, he sighed, pressing ahead.
Maybe if he’d killed the old lady’s pesky dog right off: he always liked to keep the noise down to a minimum. It was a source of professional pride, he smiled grimly. And it might have been enough to keep her where she was, watching television, letting him back off to return another day when the house was empty. But the silver in the house was just waiting there, and he could still imagine what was locked away in the jewelry case he’d seen through the window, in the bedroom. With the price for silver heading skyward, it had been too tempting to pass up.
Behind him, he saw a ribbon of light glowing beyond the last hill. Flashlights, he thought. Probably made it a lot easier than groping through the half-darkness, tripping over every branch and downed tree in the woods. The cabin was just ahead, down the pathway through the trees and visible in the pale moonlight. He felt his heart pounding wildly. If he could just push himself a little more, he’d be safe.
What was it she’d screamed: not again…never again? Something like that. How was he to know she was a basket case who thought that every man was after her? It might explain why everyone in town thought she was such a strange old bird, always scolding the kids for stepping on her lawn, or the UPS driver for knocking too loudly on her front door. It wouldn’t help him now, of course, but next time he’d try to find out a bit more about the owner. It might help keep him from making another amateur’s mistake. Like breaking into a house when someone was home.
Making his way down the path, Willie could hear the hounds baying up the hill, gaining on him with every step he took. Breaking into a run he tripped over a woodpile at the end of the pathway. Rising at once, he limped madly toward the dock as the moonlight rippled over the water.
If only she hadn’t come at him with that knife, his mind cried out, struggling to push the sight of her wild, fearful eyes from his mind. What happened was really her fault: if she just hadn’t rushed at him, screaming and slashing wildly. Then he wouldn’t have had to defend himself. And once she’d drawn blood, he grabbed the first heavy object he could find. That baseball bat she kept by the back door was probably heavier than he needed, but he was too angry about the slash marks on his face to think about stopping. After the first few blows, it probably didn’t matter much anyway.
He saw the old fishing boat moored at the dock, and felt his fatigue melt away. Racing onto the rickety dock he worked frantically to cut the knots holding the boat in place. A garish beam of light flooded the dock, and he could hear men barking orders to him through a bullhorn. Pushing off from the dock, he fitted the oars into the oarlocks and began rowing as fast as he could toward the far shore, where the lake flowed into the river. He could feel his heart pumping harder with each stroke of the oars.
Soon his fading mind felt itself floating downward, into darkness; the last sensation he felt was the cold, enveloping his body.
***
“You’re sure it was him?” asked the sergeant.
The sharpshooter looked up from his scope.
“Fine time to ask, Sarge,” he grunted, shaking his head. “But I knew him. Arrested him three times in the last three years. And I went to high school with him, besides. He was a loser then, and hasn’t changed a bit.”
Dropping the bullhorn to the ground, the sergeant took a deep breath and removed his two-way radio from his belt.
“Radio dispatch,” he spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Tell them we caught up with him, but they’ll probably have to drag the lake to find him.”
He knew the suspect as well, the sergeant sighed. He’d coached the kid in Little League. And a more promising young pitcher he’d never seen.
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