Beneath Still Waters by Cynthia A. Graham

Author:Cynthia A. Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blank Slate Press
Published: 2015-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

12

That night, Hick’s dreams took him inside the farm house. Sergeant Brody’s square shoulders were always in view, always leading the way. They were his anchor, his compass, he would not let them out of his sight. He motioned Hick to the other side of the doorway and mouthed the words One, two, three. Then they kicked open the door and the two men were enveloped in blacknes.

Hick sat up, his breath came in gasps, his body shook, and his head was drenched in sweat. He ran his hand over his forehead and flattened his palm against his chest, his heart hammering against it. It was painful, his chest swelled and tightened and he grimaced and shifted in bed. “Breathe,” he said out loud into the darkness, hoping his body would obey. His lips were open, sucking in air and making his mouth dry.

The moonlight streamed into the window bathing his bed in light. His eyes rested on the quilt. It was one that his mother had made for him and it seemed oddly familiar, yet out of place. He gripped it tightly, trying to remember the feelings of comfort and security that had been so much a part of his childhood. Back then, the world was as it should be. Now, it was spinning out of control.

He checked the clock. Why was it always three o’clock? Why couldn’t he sleep until four or five? He rose from his bed, stumbled to the kitchen, and filled the percolator with water.

Waiting for the coffee, he opened another of the stack of newspapers. This time he had gone back further. There were five months’ worth of papers scattered throughout his house and still nothing jumped out. Sheriff Blackburn has distinguished himself, once again, by bungling the case of the two young men who are known to have broken into the post office. The Federal Grand Jury has dismissed the charges stating there was not enough evidence.

Sighing, Hick put the paper down and poured himself a cup of coffee. Wayne Murphy was a mercenary son of a bitch who would report trash on his own mother if it would sell a paper.

The town was so small everything showed up in the newspaper, the purchase of a radio, the installation of a new party line telephone. How could something as significant as a pregnancy go unnoticed?

He dressed, putting on his fishing clothes. It would be a day away from the station, one sorely needed. The doctor told him to stay home and rest, to give the antibiotics a chance to start working. Hick was too tired to argue the point and he knew Adam would take the doctor’s side anyway. The flannel shirt was soft and comfortable, a welcome change from the irritating tie that constantly rubbed his neck. It would be good to sit at the slough, alone and unthinking, and let the day slide by.

By the time he arrived, the sun had risen. Still early, the birds sang loudly and the earth

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